[000] Breathe in, breathe out.
A phonograph played some tune he couldn't recall the name of, skipping when it reached a certain point and starting over again. He became aware that he was sitting in a high backed chair, his shadow stretching out far behind him. His limbs felt heavy when he tried to move, a long white cloak draped over the torn and tattered clothes he wore under it. A white mask with black lines on one side and gold around the eyes rested on his chest like a brick.
He was so tired, but he had to keep moving. It's different suddenly, he's standing on a set of stairs leading up to a pair of doors far above him. The steps behind him crumble and he stumbles forward, starting to break into a run. Whatever is below wants his life. It's been there for he doesn't know how long but it's gross and disgusting as it starts to move in the pit. His boots strike the stone steps in rapid succession, voices crying out for him. They cry to be saved and ask him if he's here for them.
He knows he is, it feels right to be their voice when nothing else will hear their tortured screams. A voice whispers to save he has to destroy, but that doesn't seem right as he throws the doors emblazoned with crosses wide. ...and walks into a stateroom, the pounding of rain on the roof fit to drive him mad. He steps forward, staring at the broken window smeared with blood as the phonograph skips sharply. He gets time to see a white half-face mask with a cross on it before he's back in the chair.
This time he's flanked on all sides by hooded figures dressed in black with a silver cross on their chests. He knows these men and women who draw their swords and point at him, but their faces are hidden by their hoods. He stands silently, their sword points piercing his flesh and leaving bloody lines in their wake. Finally after all of the horrors he's seen he speaks quietly, a bitter smile that is as polite as he can make it on his face. "I won't let it happen."