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THE DEMON SAID: "THOU SHALL BE CALLED SET VOLAND."

"If you do not do what you're told to do

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"If you do not do what you're told to do

When you are told to do it, you will be punished.

Do you understand?"

Muse, Psyco


Some people find that dialogue is a constructive way of solving problems. Set was not one of them.

On Sunday, the 14th of May, he was dragged to the 22nd Precinct. Four officers went out of their way to accompany him. They were trying to reason with him, they said. They just wanted to understand why he jumped the girl in Central Park.

They bombarded him with questions, making it harder for him to keep it together until he finally reached the point of no return. Dizziness hit him first. A hot stream of energy formed at the base of his spine and started throbbing like some living thing was about to burst out of it. The vibration spread through his body, climbing his vertebrae, heating him from the inside while fear crawled on his skin. Beads of cold sweat rolled down his face and the energy flooded his eyes, making them itch.

The police station and the officers morphed into something different.

The spinning stopped in some kind of medieval village. In front of Set, there was a woman that used to be his mother, accompanied by two muggers and a murderer. He couldn't remember their names, but they were assholes, and that was clear as day. His mother and one of the muggers came closer and tried to grab his arms.

"Get off me, woman!" Set screamed, struggling to break free.

"What the hell are you talking about, brat?" She replied with a hoarse male voice before pulling him along the corridor.

"I said, let go of me!" he cried out. "You're not my mother anymore!"

The woman ignored him and glanced at the mugger. "We've got a freak today," she laughed.

While they crossed the hall, faces and distorted voices piled up around him. Trying not to make things worse, Set kept quiet and let them drag him into a smaller room. Brightly colored fish floated in a small pond and a patch of red marigolds grew behind it. A corner of the room was turning into a garden. When he finally lifted his head, he saw the village priest sitting behind a dark wooden table. He tried not to stare, but that man's icy glare held him still. Set knew he enjoyed abusing children.

"I understand you are quite confused at the moment, Mr. Voland—if that even is your real name—but don't you think you ought to be apologizing for jumping little Anne this morning?" the priest asked in a calm voice.

"No need to worry, the child is alright and her parents are willing to be compassionate. If you acknowledge your fault and provide them with a written apology, they won't press charges," the former mother said, with the very same hoarse voice, while passing him a sheet of pristine paper along with a fountain pen. "So, you just have to write it down, and in the meantime, try to remember where you left your ID."

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