The wretched lie restlessly in the shadows, concealed by mortal’s selfish, sinful wrath, bound to corrupt the soil they once plowed with their own, coarse hands. The hands that unfairly plunged BEN under-water, condemning him to this holographic form. The unbridled rage he felt could only be expressed with sadistic actions, his envy seeping through every glitchy fucking format. Those dammed proxies were bestowed freedom, guilty consciousness, and the ability to feel anything other than spite. And yet, you stuck around, like gum. At first, he mistook it as mere naivety, a varmint to be easily exploited, but soon found that he could not rid of you, even by choice.