It should have been a great day for Special. He should be drinking, partying, indulging in sin, but here he was, late at night, sitting in the Ministry gardens. There was a nagging feeling, an empty voice screaming inside of him despite all he'd done for the Ministry.

He'd won awards, done interviews, brought attention to the church. He'd completed the mission he was given ten times over. He'd been praised by the higher ups more times than he could count. And yet it still wasn't enough. Or maybe it was, and just didn't fix the gaping hole left behind by the general mistreatment of ghouls and ghoulettes by humans. He didn't know.

With an exhausted sigh, Special buries his head in his hands, the cold mask against his skin. He cries. For the first time in months, he cries.