I emerged from the dark halls of my house and entered the only fully lit arena therein: a kitchen with wide, tall windows that welcomed the rising sun. I sat down at a small wooden table where scrambled eggs and toast waited for me on a dull, silver plate. My mother stood at the sink, washing dishes, and exchanged with me a brief “good morning” that I returned as quickly as I vanquished the food prepared for me. No sooner was the last bite entering my innards than I was returning back into the veins of my house…

Seven demonized humans turned vile creations from wounds inflicted by diseased, unreasoned, and inexplicable time struck an inert man repeatedly with their fists in the corner of the nineteenth floor of a glistening high-rise. In unbreakable specificity, these Henchmen of Rotted Time targeted the man’s face, hitting nothing else. These blows were wild with the cannibalism of violence: a chaotic hostility harnessed by and unto a chaotic hostility—a feeding of one fiend’s pandemoniac energy by another’s…

The air was musty and smelled of a compound of fruit and charcoal. A veil of haze shrouded what distances I could see and those distances—that were not of much distance at all—contained the walls, ceiling, and floor of my current world; I stood in the center of a small room—a room that I dreadfully labeled the Changer Box…

Head down this way,” I motioned with my arms, directing the couple before me into the stairway leading down into the basement of my house. “This will be the most exquisite collection you have ever seen. I promise you,” I added.

“Very good,” a man, clad in a black suit, an olive shirt, and a pale, yellow tie replied. He then escorted the woman at his side down the stairs. The woman wore an elegant and vivid yellow dress that eclipsed her form flawlessly…