Hello there, friend!

Phillip stared at the ceiling in thought, his leg twitching in an anxious tick. It would jerk out and kick every now and then as he laid in bed, pondering his lot in life.

He knew what he had done to deserve this, so why did he feel the need to ask that question again and again?

He had been so happy when he was chosen to go to that horrid island. So excited to start working with his idol, to have finally gotten the job of his dreams, to be living out his greatest ambition.

How could it all have gone so wrong?

He turned his head, his ear throbbing as he stared at Howard. His best friend who had gone through hell to save him, and after that even managed to save the world. How could Phillip have the gall to hold a grudge against the man who nearly died—and quite possibly did die, from the looks of those scars on his hand—just to get him back?

It hurt. His ears, his legs, his hand, his heart. He just wanted everything back the way it was. Before Morose. Before the island, before all the blood and experiments and vivisections and guilt.

This is what he deserves, and he knows it. It's the perfect karma—to feel what he inflicted onto all those people, to know what it's like to live as such a beast that your closest friend can hardly stand to look at you. Eldritch influence or not, he hurt people. So many people. He did such horrible things to them, things he'll never forget as long as he lives.

It's ironic. In his pursuit to save his sister's life, he nearly took everyone else's, including his own.

Dig two graves, they say.

Is this what They wanted? To see him suffer his own wrath for his attempts to defy Them? Was he doomed to always be a rabbit in a cage, watching his loved ones be picked away as he's forced to survive?