The night was quiet, the library dimly lit, and the only sound was the gentle ticking of the antique clock. James entered, his face weary, his steps slow. Martin sat by the fireplace, sipping from a glass of red — wine, or perhaps something darker.
James: So… again, I've come back, Martin.
Martin: (smiling) I see. What brings you now, James?
James: I want to know who I really am. Not just fragments. Everything. Why I am like this. Why I feel like a stranger to myself.
Martin: Hm… identity. The question every broken soul asks when the world gives them no answers. (He leans forward.) You should believe in yourself. Work for yourself. People make promises — say they'll come back, say they'll help… but in the end, most don't. You know that already, don't you?
James: Yeah… I do. This world is pain. Maybe I was made from pain.
Martin: Maybe you were. But if you look in the mirror and see nothing, it doesn't mean you're a monster. It might just mean you're hiding from what you are. But still… that monster inside you — it wakes up, doesn't it?
James: Yeah. It does.
Martin walked toward his cabinet and pulled out a black case with a single syringe inside.
Martin: What about another injection? You once said you forgot what happened when you were 14. I have something that might awaken that piece of your past.
James: Please. Do it.
Martin: (preparing the syringe) This is your choice. And remember, what you see may not be what you expect…
He injected it slowly into James's arm. The effect was almost instant — the room stretched, the air grew heavy, and everything twisted.
James's POV (hallucination/dream):
A swirling void. Shapes formed and vanished. He saw a black figure — tall, with a blurred, faceless head — whispering.
Shadow Figure: "You are shapeless… not bound by skin or memory. You were never James… you were never whole. You are pain formed into flesh. A monster formed from silence."
Then voices echoed. A younger James crying. A man shouting. Blood. Fire. Screams.
He screamed in the dream.
Back in reality, Martin watched James, unconscious and twitching.
Martin (to himself): Yes… remember. Let it all come back.
James gasped, waking up violently, his eyes wide.
James: No… no. That man. That face… black coat… Was that me?
Martin: (calmly) So… you saw it?
James: I… I think I am a monster. That thing in the coat — that was me, wasn't it?
Martin: Perhaps. Or maybe it was just the reflection of what the world turned you into. You were something once. But they — the humans — tried to take that from you. Mold you. Silence you.
James: Then who am I really?
Martin: You already know now. But keep it to yourself. That's my only favor. If anyone else knew… it could destroy everything. And remember — I did this with your permission.
James: I know. I won't say a word.
Martin: Good. Then I suppose this is goodbye — for tonight at least.
James: Yeah. I have a meeting with Kuchaske tonight. I'll see you after.
Martin: Adiós, James.
As James walked out, Martin turned to the fireplace, his smile returning.
Martin smiles
The scene ends