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The beast was surrounded. Darkness enclosed it, enveloped it, smothered it. Each breath was a desperate effort, the will to live barely suppressing the futile struggle. It could feel its final hopes failing, fear overwhelming its senses. Minutes passed. And then came the noise. The unbearable earth-shattering shriek. Pain erupting throughout its skull, it summoned its last reserves of strength and hurled its arm in a wide arc. And then it was over. There was silence once more.

Mark awoke to the sound of silence, slowly prising apart his eyelids. His senses were unfocused yet still he could feel the thick, warm blanket draped across his body, the broken, uncomfortable springs supporting his back. Familiar lime green paint greeted his eyes and overhead a single light bulb flickered erratically. The muffled sound of raindrops dripping gently against the apartment's single casement reached his ears. Mark sighed. His body ached. With a pained grimace etched onto his features, he hauled himself from the bed. Through impaired sight, he stumbled across the cold wooden floorboards, and past the bathroom threshold.

The creature rose. It smiled sadistically. The fool ' Mark it called itself. For years it has been too blinded to see the truth. And for that pain, it shall pay. The beast ambled forwards, stumbling often. It would have cursed, had its lips not been bound. How it hated this miserable existence. It could see nothing but the eternal darkness that surrounded it. Its actions were not even its own. All that was left to take solace in were its thoughts. And that is what made it dangerous.

Mark fumbled in the semi-light for a moment, his hand blindly searching for the switch. Plaster crumbled from the walls at his slightest touch. Bare, copper pipes hummed dutifully as the residue settled upon them. There it is. A fluorescent strip flickered into life, bathing the room in a harsh blue glow. Mark hesitated. Some ancient, primordial instinct stirred deep within. Even in his semi-conscious stupor, something seemed wrong. He glanced quizzically across the scope. A thin sheen of water coated the floor. Two ceramic, dust encrusted taps remained untouched in years. A grimy image of himself followed his gaze through a rotting mirror. Pipes creaked as they supplied a steady flow of water to countless incessant leaks. Mark shrugged indifferently. Nothing new.

The creature skimmed its eyes to the left, and to the right. Faint images appeared through a yellowing miasma and what it witnessed sickened it. How could these beings live so carelessly, so indifferently to the world of suffering it inhabited? But no more... No more. The beast allowed itself to be forced forwards without resistance. It would need its strength, for later.

Mark shuffled forward, towards the damp ceramic sink. He allowed a trickle of water to fall into his open palms before splashing it across his face. The water felt fresh, cool; soothing. He glanced towards his reflection in the mirror. It blinked. No, that was not possible. A trick of the light. It blinked again. Mark stumbled towards the door, fear firmly implanted within his mind. Overhead, the fluorescent bulb flickered and died.

The creature surged forward, pain palpable across its contorted visage. Yet still it fought, fought the thousands of white knives, the crushing pressure. In its mind, this was necessary; in its mind, this was right. Minutes passed. And then it was gone. The beast was home.

Fear. Mark could feel little more. A hand was clutched upon his arm, its grip inhuman - immovable. 'W-w-who are you?' The words were barely more than a hoarse whisper.
There came no reply, only the sound of shattering glass. Mark tugged at the hand that grasped him, but to no avail. In the darkness he was blinded, claustrophobia closing in. And then came the voice, sickeningly familiar. 'Look me in the eye, and you tell me who I am.' Chills raced across his spine. Slowly, Mark turned his body. There was nought to do but resign, the creature's hold was too strong. Drawing a deep, rattling breath, Mark forced himself to face his foe. Moments passed. Nothing moved. The darkness remained. And then there was light. Blinding, inescapable light. And he saw. He saw his own face twist into a sadistic smile. He watched in horror as his own hand plunged a sharpened shard of shattered glass deep through his chest. And for a moment the world was in flames. Then'nothing.

Mark Williamson died on the 9th November 2008 at 7:47 AM. Police gave no official explanation for the death. Friends and family believe him to have committed suicide. But I know the truth. I know of the revolution. I know that it is spreading, and some day, the revolution shall come to you. So, if survival is what you seek, then hear and heed my warning well. Do not run, for they shall only follow. Do not anger, for so shall they. But when the day of reckoning arrives, pray that you may yet be merciful.