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Static crackles in the far-flung corners of Sam's mind. Last he remembers, it was dark out, too dark to be properly out and about, but he was, and he was headed somewhere. Somewhere important, somewhere meaningful, to do...
...Something. What was it that he was going to do?
Running a fool's errand, a flat series of overlapping voices says to him from that static. It strikes him like lightning, causing his muscles to jolt. The pain sears right through him, as if he's being prodded across every inch of his body with a red-hot poker. The voices feel familiar, comforting, despite the agony it brings him.
Sam tries to speak, but his lips can't move. Actually, nothing can move. His eyes are closed, and it is dark. Or is it really just that dark outside?
Don't, the voices warn him. You'll only make it worse.
He tries to wonder, make what worse? Except even his thoughts aren't moving.
Come now. Don't fight it. You're already lost. To her, to life. It's time to get up.
He feels blood pooled around his head.
Fate calls.
Everything hurts. Sam can't tell if it's the voices or whatever happened to him. He's starting to piece it together. Something happened to him.
A cruel and defining act.
The voices feel so otherworldly. His body, too, though he can't really feel it the way one might normally. It's a different sensation altogether. A pale, icy, numbing feeling.
There is some solace in this. You can begin again. You can transform.
He doesn't ask questions. He can't.
He feels his soul start to chip away.
He didn't even know he had a soul to begin with.
Begin with... End with...
Sam Wayne is dying, so it's the end of his world.
But he will begin again.