Prolog

Darkness. Quiet. Sleep. Perhaps it's due to your nature, but you don't dream. Never have. When you close your eyes to rest, your mind does not cause you to vividly hallucinate as it compartmentalises the information you have gained during the day. Instead, you remember. Sometimes, you remember things that you have experienced. Sometimes, you remember things other parts of you have experienced. But you only witness experiences that have already happened before. Yet...Recently, you have seen things that you have not experienced, that you don't believe anyone could have experienced. Glimpses and flashes that fade from your mind...Are those dreams? Is this? Your feet tap against the ground as you follow a man in white. No. A white man. White skin, white clothes, white hair. Like snow. Or static. The hallway before you stretches ahead, endless. He turns to look at you as you walk, giving you a small smile. He has a face, you are sure of it, but it slips out of your mind the moment he turns away. And so, too, does his voice: "You're not looking too good", he says, in an amused tone. "Maybe you should do something about that." You can't answer. There are no words to be found. The man walks on, outpacing you. No, you're just slowing down. Like you're trying to move through water. He calls back to you, raising a hand up: "But now, you need to wake up." He slams the hand against the wall of the hallway, causing a reverbating noise, like someone striking the wall of your...

Your eyes open just in time to see a fist slam into the glass of your enclosure in front of your eyes. It pulls back, leaving tiny bloodmarks behind, only to strike again, causing the marks to streak a bit. Through the clear orange-tinged liquid you're floating in, you can see the angry, frustrated face of the man that could be called your creator.