Hopelessness and desperation, for all they take from a man, do bestow one boon to those they inflict. A corruption of the virtue of confidence. This confidence stems from the certainty that there is no greater harm than what has already befallen. And so, the assumption that the present has attained the lowest limits a mortal life could fear to let the hopeless man stride with confidence in his step. Thus, actions that other, more fortunate individuals would consider loathsome no longer seem so. Hope could even be found if the expectation of any change accompanies said action. The hopeless, desperate man may stride into a lion's den with his chest puffed forward, assured his life has already endured the greatest harm. Yet rarely has a man's life reached its lowest possible point. The folly of his confidence is exposed as the claws and teeth of the lion prove greater pains are yet possible. Dying, the man will realize it wasn't until this moment his life truly reached the deepest pit.

It was a similar hopelessness and desperation that gave Samuel Gibson the same foolish confidence. Military service had not been kind to him. His wife, whom he had expected to be waiting faithfully at home, had been less so. Earning his first purple heart in Normandy and his second in a divorce attorney's office he found his only comfort with two fickle friends, dice and bottle. Some months later Samuel had no job, no home, and no hope, just the streets of New York. Remembering those days would be difficult for him. Not only because of the emotional tax they had, but because he lived in a stupor and days blurred together like lights on a rainy night. It was during these hopeless days that they had found him. Charming men in suits. Sweet words dusted their conversation, promises of a better future. All Samuel had to do was participate in their study, discretely of course. No work involved. Simply show up to a particular building five days from now a half an hour before midnight and his life could be better.

Samuel knew that rich man making such offers to a homeless beggar like him meant particularly shady business, but he didn't care. Confidence is what drove him to knock on the green alley door of Leibler St. and enter the sterile lab-like building. Confidence is what pushed him to join the dozen other homeless men and women who had the same recognizable hopelessness in their features. And confidence told him that whatever this study was, whatever these people wanted, could not be worse than what he was already living. Samuel was wrong. In the end, confidence is what led him to foolishly walk into the lion's den.

He now sat in white room with concrete floors lit by a solitary overhead lamp. It was populated by him, the other participants, folding chairs, a speaker in the corner, and the strange stone brick archway at the far wall. Each chair was equally distant from the others and they were all facing the archway. Samuel was closest to the arch, choosing the center seat in the front row. The bricks comprising the arch had what looked like specific patterns carved into them, each mirroring the opposite stone until reaching the keystone which had its own unique pattern. It wasn't long before a voice echoed into the room from behind them via the speaker. "Your participation in this study is appreciated. Your job is simple. We are testing a new technology, think of it like television. However, it can have different effects depending on the perceiver. Watch the archway until the test is done then report what you saw and heard. You will be compensated after the report. The test will begin in ten seconds." A crackle of static signaled the end of the announcement. A new technology like television? Samuel saw no wires running to the arch, no screen to watch. It looked just like an ordinary stone archw-

Samuel's thoughts cut short as a low hum filled the room followed shortly by a sound reminiscent of tearing paper, but deeper in pitch. These sounds were accompanied by the appearing of a white glimmer underneath the keystone of the archway. Wiggling like a raindrop on glass the glimmer began stretching downward. Slowly at first, then quickly as its pace increased exponentially. The volume of both the hum and tearing increased in tandem with the pace of the glimmer, which also grew brighter as it fell. As the glimmer grew Samuel felt his body prickle with static, intensifying each passing moment. Soon the glimmer reached the floor, creating a writhing white line filling the archway. Samuel's senses become overwhelmed as the noise grew to painful heights and the shimmer glowed enough to sear his eyes. Then, with a muffled crunch like bones breaking, the shimmer ripped open like the eye of some great beast, and within the tear was the void. Blacker than black, the hole in reality drank Samuel's senses and mind. Thoughts could not be summoned as he lost himself in the cavernous depths of some distant, dark place. There was nothing. Then there was horror and pain. Some vast presence collapsed upon his consciousness as a flood. Tearing at his mind, ravenous like a starved predator, the terrible thing began unmaking every piece of Samuel's mind, relishing in every memory taken, every pain endured. Samuel struggled to fight, to resist, to will this being away from himself and back into the darkness. It felt futile. But then suddenly the pain stopped. The being began to communicate with him through an understanding that was pressed unbidden upon his mind. He could fight, but he would break, and his mind and will would be torn to ribbons through the effort. Alternatively, Samuel could concede. Hadn't he become so tired of all the effort he had given, to only wind up discarded, left as waste? Everything would be so much easier if he just gave up. All he had to do was place himself at the mercy of this terrible thing. The thought struck terror in Samuel's deepest being. Let this thing do whatever it wished to him? Samuel did not know what its will for him would be, but primal instinct informed him that it would be terrible beyond imagination. But then again, he was tired. And it would be easy just to let go. Hadn't he already almost done so almost a dozen times living on the streets? Every single choice, every single moment of Samuel's life grew small as he considered the offer. He pushed down the terror, his instinct, of what this thing was. In trade he received curiosity. He realized as he made his choice that it was always going to be this way. From his birth this was the path he was destined for. Then, in that dark and terrible place, Samuel Gibson was remade.

Samuel blinked. He was back in the white room looking towards the archway. However, instead of sitting as he had been, he was standing tall, his posture exuding confidence. Looking about he saw the others that had been with them in various states of dissolution, their minds unable to accept the reality they had been shown. The fools had fought back. Or maybe they were too weak to be noted by the presence. Some were clearly dead. Others writhed and muttered, broken. He found that he didn't care. Samuel was disassociated now from the pain of normal men; he would not grieve for them. In fact, he felt like everything he had done his whole life had been small, insignificant. Every tear shed, every pursuit, and every emotion had blown away. Men were ants, he had been elevated. The door opened behind him. Turning, Samuel's gaze met a handsome man in a clean suit striding towards him like one would an old friend. "Welcome to your new life, friend," he said with an English accent, "welcome to reality. How does it feel to finally be awake, after being asleep your whole life?"