Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair! Down we plunge to the prison of my mind! Down that path into darkness deep as hell!

–Act 2 Final Lair Scene, Phantom of the Opera.

No one knows what it's like to be the bad man… To be the sad man behind blue eyes… No one knows what it's like to be hated… To be fated to telling only lies…

A globe of black pervaded the environment. Ribbons of red danced and twined through the space. Crystalline orbs floated among them casting prismatic shadows over the crimson.

The world refocused and he found himself staring at the open black file with a strip of red down its front. His vision was blurred; he could not read the papers before him any further.

No… No… No… It can’t be… This isn’t right! Please… No!

But my dreams, they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be… I have hours, only lonely… My love is vengeance that's never free…

They had discovered all seven members of a Project called Heptagon. The first five all ended the same… experiment failed- member terminated… Why didn’t they do the same to the Sixth?

Why didn’t they do the same to me?

No one knows what it's like to feel these feelings like I do and I blame you… No one bites back as hard on their anger… None of my pain and woe can show through…

They had not perfected the Serum and it killed the first five members. They corrected the formula and discovered that the younger the subject the more favorable the reaction. So they administered the Serum to the next innocent. The Sixth Member did not die, but there were unforeseen penalties.

My father knew… He authorized the experimentation… He let it happen…

When my fist clenches, crack it open before I use it and lose my cool… When I smile, tell me some bad news before I laugh and act like a fool…

The sub-personality was created and programmed for unsympathetic killing while the Primary personality was as naïve as always, but during Programming something went wrong…

During Simulations, the Primary personality began to surface while the sub-personality was still active. The sub-personality was much stronger than the Primary and fought against the reemergence. The subject suffered through the same violent tremors and seizures that the others had, even flat-lining for a few seconds on several occasions. In a brash attempt to salvage the Sixth Member, the subject was again injected with the Serum. Within the hour, the subject stabilized and began breathing unassisted again.

Though fated to forever take injections of the Serum, the Project had been saved…

If I swallow anything evil put your finger down my throat… If I shiver, please give me a blanket- keep me warm, let me wear your coat…

The subject was returned to its former environment. Soon after the homecoming, the real problems began. The Sixth Member started to exhibit a brutal change of behavior. The subject was suddenly malicious and abusive, both to animals and humans- no longer identifying on any level with his victims. The once socially active subject withdrew significantly from human relations, showed an increase in narcissistic and tyrannical tendencies, was prone to sudden, sadistic bouts of rage, and yet suppressed most of the psychotic inclinations behind a temporary semblance of normalcy.

In the last psychiatric exam the Sixth Member submitted to, Dr. Viktor Puccini reported that the once loving child now fit the profile of psychopath and was diagnosed with psychotic personality disorder. Shortly after analysis, the subject committed his first murder- that of his closest friend.

The Sixth Member was deemed a failure and was left behind while attention was turned to the Seventh creation.

I am a monster… Their monster…

No one knows what it's like to be the bad man… To be the sad man… behind blue eyes…

Bound at every limb by my shackles of fear… Sealed with lies through so many tears… Lost from within, pursuing the end… I fight for the chance to be lied to again…

Why? Why? Why him? Why not Parker instead of him? What did he do? What could he have possibly done?

Questions twisted with contemptuous insult speared his mind and dug in its razor-sharp talons. The image of the men who had posed as his father formed before him- the real Mr. Lyle and Mr. Parker…

Had Mr. Lyle known who Puccini was? What did he sell him to the Centre for? A new tractor? Dogs?

You will never be strong enough… You will never be good enough… You were never conceived in love… You will not rise above…

And what of his birth father? Of Mr. Parker? Of course, he was aware of all this. He knew from the moment his son was born what would happen to him and not only did he not stop it he approved the experimentation.

His mind reeled as images of the past zoom by him with lightening speed. The ground tilted at a staggering angle as memories of all the times Mr. Parker tried to have him terminated invaded him. Was it really because what he had done was so terrible or was it because he wanted to rid himself of his own past.

Bile scorched his throat and unbridled rage and hate churned within him. He was blinded by now, unable to see anything but red.

He was beleaguered by the unfairness of all. A pounding drummed mercilessly at his temples. His hands went to either side of his head, applying as much pressure to the throbbing as possible. Dampness wet his cheeks.

The file fell and landed facedown at his feet, scattering its contents all around.

They'll never see… I'll never be… I'll struggle on and on to feed this hunger burning deep inside of me…

Visions of his and Parker’s birth appeared before him, unwelcome and uninvited. He saw his mother and he saw…

Raines!

Strings of curses coiled through his head all directed at the man in the doctor’s white coat. And something else began to happen- the reminiscences that had been blurred for so long began to sharpen.

Raines had been the one to do this to him… And suddenly he was fifteen again. He saw his “counselor” sitting in a chair across from him, asking about his home life. There was nothing extraordinary to report to the nosy man; his problems were no different than any other boy his age. Apparently, the good counselor saw it differently. Two days later, he was removed from his home and taken to what he was told was a psychiatric hospital. From that point the memories dimmed again as the only clear image was Dr. William Raines holding a hypodermic needle filled with an inky fluid…

I’ll kill him… I’ll kill them all… after all it is what they created me to do…

But through my tears breaks a blinding light… Birthing a dawn to this endless night… Arms outstretched, awaiting me… An open embrace upon a bleeding tree…

She watched him quietly, understanding that he needed to deal with this on his own, but she remained within reaching distance should he need her.

When the folder fell, she cleaned up the strewn contents and read through the documents. Her eyes spilled over with fresh tears, not for herself this time, but for him.

What would possess anyone to do these kinds of things to another human being? What would make parents sell their own flesh and blood? Why?

She shivered with apprehension- there was a distinct feeling of evil in this place and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what the cause was.

He groaned in distress with his hands still clutching his head. He dropped to his knees, his eyes wide and moving from side to side as though he was watching a movie reel. Then he fell forward putting his forehead to the floor. She could hear him ranting, but could not understand what he was saying. Kneeling next to him, she placed a compassionate hand on his back.

The air about him changed and was filled with the sweet scent of roses. He’d forgotten that he wasn’t alone. Embarrassed, he tried to regain his composure before facing her. He’d always hated for people to see him at his weakest moments- it simply wasn’t permissible.

He pushed himself away from the floor, his left arm trembling as he did. His back hit the desk behind him sending a sharp sting up his spine. Still a mess internally, he finally lifted his eyes to meet hers.

The look in her eyes had changed and it frightened him.

How can you see into my eyes like open doors leading you down into my core where I've become so numb? Without a soul, my spirit sleeping somewhere cold… Until you find it there and lead it back home…

The once stormy gray turbulence that had always been in her eyes was no longer having been replaced by a calm, gentle sea of clear smoke. There was a kindheartedness in them unlike anything that had been directed at him before.

“Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!” He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes as though it would somehow remove her from his mind.

“Go away. Just get away from me!”

There was no response and for a moment he was afraid that she had actually gone. He didn’t move, even though acumen told him he needed to move, to get out of there before they caught him.

So what if they do? What does it matter anymore?

“Bobby.”

Wake me up inside… Call my name and save me from the dark… bid my blood to run before I come undone save me from the nothing I’ve become…

She saw surprise register in his eyes and she was surprised that he that he thought she’d left him. It greatly disturbed her to see him in such grief, but her experience with things of this nature was so limited that she didn’t know quite what to do. Almost unconsciously she reached out for his left hand and pulled it away from his face. She wiggled her nose thoughtfully; she wasn’t sure why she always took his left hand. Perhaps it was the way he always kept it in his pocket, hidden away from prying eyes. She could only imagine the insensitive reactions the sight of his hand must spark. She sighed miserably. Things couldn’t get much worse for either of them.

She hated this place… that was about the only thing that she was sure of. She absolutely despised the Centre and everything associated with it.

Now that I know what I'm without… You can't just leave me… Breathe into me and make me real… Bring me to life… Frozen inside without your touch… You are the life among the dead…

“Get out,” he said despondently. “I don’t want you here.”

She frowned at the change in his demeanor and it reminded her of something… Her memory suddenly jarred and she saw herself with her mother. Her mother had the same glazed-over look in her eyes and what she was saying made no sense; her movements became sporadic and her mood swung drastically between extreme highs and lows- all symptoms of a psychotic episode beginning.

She glanced worriedly at him. He tightened his grip on her hand as much as he could all the while telling her to leave him alone.

She had no intention of leaving, but she thought if she gave him some space it would help. As she stood, his mood changed.

He pulled her roughly back down, twisting her wrist in the process. There was a vicious look in his eyes and for the first time, she was afraid of him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, grabbing her hair with his right hand and pulling her head back. “You were going to leave me, just like everyone else, huh?”

She tried to reason with him, but he was beyond reason. He was suddenly above her and he quickly pinned her down, continually tugging harder on her hair as though trying to make her cry.

“Do you really think I would let you just walk out of here like nothing happened?!” he spat. “Do you think I’d allow you that chance, huh?” He pulled her off the floor just slightly and then slammed her back down violently.

Pain flooded her head, jarring loose many hidden thoughts. She gasped for air, but was unable to get any oxygen into her lungs for he was crushing her diaphragm with his forearm.

For a brief instant, the pressure was relieved and she could breathe and managed to cry.

“Bobby!”

All this time I can't believe I couldn't see… Kept in the dark, but you were there in front of me… I've been sleeping a thousand years it seems… Got to open my eyes to everything…

Her sob awakened him. He shook his head and stared at her. He saw the fear in her eyes, the pain in her features, and tears on her cheeks.

What happened? Why is she crying?

His gaze traveled over her and he saw his own hand tangled in her hair and his own arm compressing her throat.

It’s me…I’m the one hurting her… I’m the one she’s afraid of…

Instantly, he was off of her. He crawled back to the desk, shaking hard in disbelief. Sweat poured down his face and dampened his shirt. His head dropped to his chest and he tried to regain control of his breathing. He groaned- he could control every aspect of his life, except the rage; it had always been beyond his power.

It didn’t take her long to understand that she was not the one his rage was direct at. Gradually, she lifted herself into a sitting position. Her head was still aching and her scalp was very tender. She rubbed the back of her head gently. Determining that there was no permanent damage done, she crawled on her hands and knees to him.

He didn’t have to look to know that she was beside him again. He was dumbfounded that she would come anywhere near him after what he’d almost done to her. His muscles knotted in stress as they so often did when she was close. Despair finally broke him.

His tears were more than she could stand and she scooted closer to him wrapping her arms around him.

“As bad as all this is,” she began softly. He looked up curiously at her. “At least we’re not alone.” At his puzzled look she elaborated as she wiped his face. “I mean it’s terrible what they did, but at least they made two of us. We’re not alone.”

Her innocence and eternal optimism only depressed him more. They were alone… more alone than she could ever imagine but he couldn’t quite tell her. Her hope was keeping them afloat for now; she was his only lifeline.

Without a thought, without a voice, without a soul… Don't let me die here! There must be something more… Bring me to life…

In a corner of a painting on the wall, a tiny electronic eye was watching them and reporting everything to its boss.

“Well, well,” the Boss sneered. “It would seem that Mr. Lyle has a heart after all- a bleeding heart just like his sister. We’ll have to fix that”.