"Point"

Upon inputting "heap" into the machine, I was once again greeted by the loud beep and the opening of the box. Relieved by my rest, I almost-tearfully bid the bed goodbye (I hope I see one again shortly - they are such wonderful things!), I placed the key into the lock, and turned it. Upon stepping out of the room, I found myself in an alleyway, with another door a short distance away.


However, perched on a outcropping of rock, I bore witness to a being who's presence felt far too familiar for my liking. A single word from their mouth gave me reason to recall their identity.


"Hello, my dear Paragon," they said, with a smile that almost seemed sincere, and far too much like the jaws of a shark.


"A." No comma on that sentence, there's a full blown damn period on it. I knew who it was, and instantly felt as if I wanted to turn around and run.


"Aw, why so hostile?" The smile remained, although they thankfully closed their lips. "I only wanted to give you some friendly advice, and a charming comment from... well, let's call them observers."


"Shut up. I don't want your advice," although I had some mild curiosity. Mostly as to why A hadn't already thrown me against a wall and began punching me.


The seemingly sexless figure dropped from their outcropping, and walked next to me, before placing a casual arm around my neck, and leaning against me, with a leg raised off the ground. To use an uncharitable metaphor (and why should I use a charitable one?), it was much like a flamingo with arms. "Honestly, it's in your best interests."


"... fine." I couldn't run now; I should've made a break for it already. "Go on; tell me what you want to tell me."


"Listen to this, could you?" From some unseen pocket, they produced what looked like a mobile phone of some sort. Upon seeing my quizzical expression, they laughed (a fouler-smelling breath I've never smelled!) and shook it. "This, my dear, is a dictating machine. If you don't know what that is, tough. Now, this is a comment that I heard someone make regarding the little task I gave you to solve: you know, the first one? Tell me what you think when you hear it..."


After pressing a button on the so-called dictating machine, there was a few moments of silence, before a deep, masculine voice came out of it. "A caesar cipher and a riddle that answers easily as SOS, I'm honestly a little disappointed..."


There was a beat, and then A's voice spoke. "I'm afraid that the answer is useless unless the right person has it in their possession."


Another few moments of silence, before the deep voice came once more. "I'm more interested in seeing him figure it out on his own." And then the machine clicked, stopped and was returned to it's pocket.


My immediate reaction: "... who was that?" Who on Earth would be so callously malicious?


"A human being, my dear Paragon," A said; they detached themselves from me, and begin walking down the alleyway, their feet skidding over the cobblestones. The worn brickwork piled up far over their head, soaring into the sky, at least from where I was standing. "A human being, just like any other. A being who could help, but does not lift a finger out of some dark spite that lingers in their heart." They turned to me, a grim smile over their face. No longer smug, as if now confessing before preacher. "These are dark days indeed, when you do not need any mythical monsters, for it is so simple to create the most monstrous of beasts from the common human, isn't it?" A grim chuckle. "That's the way things are, though."


They turned back, and walked up to me, and placed a kind hand on my shoulder. "I would say that I'm sorry..." I had been looking down, turning their words over in my head. Why? I had another thing to turn in my head, as I felt a sudden pain in my gut, as A's kneecap promptly imprinted itself in there. I instantly felt winded, and stumbled backwards. "But I'm not. I'm just the bearer of bad news. You can't trust anyone, you know; why, you'd be so much better off alone..."


I didn't see them go. I was too busy fighting back the pain.


When I could stand again, I stumbled over to the second door, pushed it open. I suddenly felt as if my head had been given a large dose of clarity; parity reigned in my mind, purifying my pain and turning it into a sort of patient anticipation. Waiting for an occurrence. Beyond the door, I looked around; I was atop a building, looking around at a city around me. Skyscrapers soared over my head; roads run beyond the building, weaving between pillars of concrete and glass. I took a step; the support in my leg did not give way, and I walked forwards. If I was to observe the artwork that was the architectural planning that had gone into the city in which I found myself (which looked, somehow, newer then the streets and rooms I had been traversing thus far), I would have gone to the edge.


But another thing caught my interest; a statue, composed of myself and of A.


I'm not even kidding. It looked as if it could have been the scene of not even five minutes ago, with A's arm wrapped around my neck, as if we were the best of friends. The material was of darkened stone; I am, I admit, not a student of geology, and thus the type somewhat passed me by. It was a work of art, though; the creases of the clothings looked as if it had been a photograph of the reality.


I looked around; there was another statue some distance behind, which I had missed, due to the other statue having been in the way. I walked from the first to the other, only to be greeted by a most curious site. It was another statue of myself.


The stony-faced being was lying on the floor, as if they'd fallen into a deep sleep; the eyes stared forward into oblivion (or they would, if they were anything but stone); grasped loosely in one hand, a revolver. And in the side of the being's head, a head torn asunder and within it, a skull shattered..


Upon looking at it and realising it for what it was, the parity and clarity that had infected my mind dissipated as the night before the sun; the pain clenched my stomach as it had done before. My vision blurred and worsened, and I awkwardly stumbled back to the door from which I'd entered the rooftop plaza from; I angrily pushed against it, and found myself back in one of the "safe rooms". If there is a riddle to be found, I have not found it yet; I've no plans to find it at present, either.

"Perfection"

Since my arrival in this chaotic space, I found my senses dulling themselves; my hearing was failing, I was losing my ability to see. I was losing my ability to balance; I did not hunger, thirst or feel tired. But I can now safely say that those feelings are gone. I feel hunger, thirst, tiredness... and pain. I can't forget the pain.

From my last post, I closed the laptop, picked it up and pursued the ghostly figure who I had seen from the corner of my eye. It did not take me long to find the first dead end I had encountered since I had entered the maze. The place had been a straight line; white walls and white floors, all moving forwards. Twisting around corners, yes, but never splitting into two.

I shrugged; likely, I'd missed a turning at some point or another. Nothing to be done about it. I turned around, and walked, face-first, into a wall. I stumbled for a moment, as if I'd suddenly taken a stiff drink of my favourite vodka. I shook my head, and looked around. Instead of the path being how it was (which is to say, a straight line from the last corner to where I was now), it had changed. The path to my behind no longer existed, but a path to my new left did.

I sighed, and shook my head. I walked down the new path that awaited me, until I came upon a flight of stairs. This place had elevation, at least; I went down them at a brisk pace, until I found myself in front of a door. Nothing special about this door, really; I attempted to push it open, and was surprised to find that it didn't budge a single inch when I did so. It was practically impassable; perhaps I'd taken another wrong turning?

Oh, no, no, no. It was a pull-door. My mistake.

I pulled it open, and stepped into the street; the temperature around me instantly went through the floor on it's way down. I felt as if I'd been teleported to the Antarctica, and that an iceberg was working it's way up my spine. As if attempting to defrost the iceberg, I took a step back; this time, with a caution that turned out to be unjustified. The door was there, but closed; I put a hand on the door. I pushed against a door that did not give away.

I looked down the door's side; it had become locked. I had not heard it lock, but I had been rather concerned with the matter of half the Arctic trying to work it's way down my trousers. I sighed, and looked around in the street; fog surrounded me, limiting my vision. I shivered, and attempted to find a place to get back into the mild climate that appeared to be the inside here, since the outside stood a considerably high chance of meeting the Abominable Snowman.

As I walked across the street (and that is what it was; I walked off a pavement, across two lines painted with yellow paint, and onto the road), I found a shape coming into focus; a tall building, perhaps an apartment block. But as it did so, I could see a dark marking; upon it, black paint sloshed into a circle. The same shade of paint used, for a single letter within the circle, it's points touching the circle. A.

A in a circle, huh? Is that not what an anarchy symbol is? I pondered on this for a moment, before stopping. I could hear something behind me.

I called: "Who's there?" I turned around, staring into the fog.

A reply: "Me." A corny reply, to be sure. What had a distinct lack of corn was the sudden rapidness that the footsteps gained; I turned my head to observe, just as I felt a distinct sense of pain, as I was tackled to the cold floor.

It is curious, is it not, that I'd be able to give such a recollection of a scene which, to be honest, went by far too quickly for me to really remember it. I am as surprised as you, let me assure you.

From the floor, I felt a foot rest on top of my head, as my attacker got to their feet. The foot lifted, and then it fell. Ouch.

I startled, then spoke: "who are you?"

The foot did not rest on my head again, as the voice spoke: "why, I am myself, and none other, as I said. Weren't you-" I felt a foot-stomp on my back. "Listening~?"

"I was... but that doesn't answer my question." Despite my aforementioned coldness, the temperature had stabilised again, While I was in a rather bad position to judge (what with being quite literally under someone's feet), I did not feel the icy chill that I once had; the mildness of the buildings had come over me. I could feel something warm on my face, but ignored it.

The figure sighed; I heard them crouching down, but couldn't see anything but their shadow. "Let me answer that question, then. I am the shadow that creeps from your feet; I am the little voice that says do it." A giggle from the figure, and then a return to a seriousness as chilly as the atmosphere had been. "The aspiration to greatness; the desire to be that person; the urge to consume all that there is because you can." And then I felt a fist hit the back of my head, driving my noise into the tarmac once more. Ouch. "I am human nature incarnate! The apex of what it means to be human!"

I felt the hand that had smashed my face down grab my hair, and drag my head backwards, until I was looking into a face. A face that looked older then it should be; greying hair, wrinkling features, on a face that could not exceed twenty-five. But in their eyes, I could see a spark of vitality and youth; but the spark was outweighed by the roaring fire of malice. "Some call me an Aspect; some categorise me; others still call me an Elemental. But some, some call me a Fear. I like that~!"

"My name is A, and I am the Fear of Humanity."

As they were largely the ravings of someone who was clearly a lunatic, I paid little heed to them; I was more concerned by the slightly-tasty liquid coming into my mouth. The warm liquid that had come across my face; unsurprisingly, I was bleeding. Well, it's unsurprising for me in one sense, but surprising in another; this was the first time I'd really felt alive since I entered this place. But that was an aside; I think the contorted face above me was concerned more for itself then for me.

"What? Has my beauty scared you shitless, little human~?"

I tried to gargle a reply, but was unable to; a spurt of blood come out. The figure looked at me with some combination of disgust and mortification. They released my head; I gratefully took the urge to lean forward, and, uh. Shall we say, "vomit"? That's a bit graphic, but it works. So, yes: I took the urge to lean forward and noisily vomit onto the floor.

I didn't hear or see them leave, and didn't particularly care to. I think I crawled away from the pile of my own... releases and over to where I had dropped the laptop, and fell asleep there, in the middle of the street.

I awoke only moments ago; I typed this post up as soon as I could. The apartment blocks with the anarchy symbol have vanished, as have the... releases. My body aches with pain; my nose is no longer running with blood, although I cannot imagine that my face is clean, based on what I can feel. None of the buildings on this street have an open door; I am going to try and stand now, and then find somewhere to sleep. If I find a single soft spot, I shall be very happy for it. I shall try the building I left yesterday first, but I hold little hopes that it has unlocked itself.

Something to eat, too, would not go amiss.