"Greetings, Sir Laphey. How are you faring? Any memories stirring in there?" a voice echoes, syllables slow and careful, almost coaxing.


    "I… I don''t know anything," he answers instinctively, then pauses to think.


    "Brilliant! Just brilliant!" the voice snaps back with the pace of a typewriter. "You''ve really gone and blown it, huh? Welcome to the endless void - your own never-ending purgatory of psychological self-torment."


    His mind races. "What happens now?" he manages to ask, voice laced with apprehension.


    "Disco inferno," comes a response, somewhere between sardonic and detached.


    "Silence. Only pure, perfect silence. No gossiping neighbors, no cynical coworkers, no fractured family ties. Just you, here."


    "Forget it. None of it matters. Nothing’s happened, nothing''s happening, and nothing will happen. But you could exist beyond all of it, beyond time and space. Isn''t that something, cock star?" echoes a shadowy voice, dragging him into a spiral of surreal absurdity.


    "That… almost makes sense," he mutters, though it doesn’t.


    "What sense is there, really? Do you even want it - the surrender to fate?" chimes in a voice that feels like some jester of the afterlife.


    "Fate… What''s my past?" He is helplessly drawn back into memories, feeling the weight of something nameless.


    "Burn those tapes memories, torch them," says the voice, laughing like a match to dry kindling. "Burn it all to rise beyond humanity - be ubermensch. There is no need for crawling back to rat''s life, and live in a life worse than laying hopelessly under plague infected villawhe of Nowheresville, in Lonesome Road near your resting castle." says Sire Old Personally With Honour Fucked Brain that he has won the just.


    "Do you know the chances of death after waking up and scornfully regard personality of yours?" it asks, because he is aware of what kind of shit is happening here.


    "It is sounds like menace rather than something good" he doesn''t want to perceive despair of sad and dismal reality that isn''t willed to embrace him.


    "You are our friend. Don''t behave yourself as a knight with shining plates, and who fucks every second princess and witch he meets. Kick out this materialistic life as materialistic garbage after staying in toilet." But idealism isn''t always the exit to sustainable life, but its stagnation.


    "I don''t want this. I want to return to… them.'' He tries to remember those who might have mattered, but his mind finds only locked, forgotten names.


    "Who, exactly? Who still needs you? There’s no one but us - your inner friends, the only ones who see you as you are!" the voice sneers.


    "And don''t bring God into it. God is nowhere, everywhere - but that’s just between us, your inner circle." The mocking tone drills deeper.


    "Listen to me," it sneers. "The world''s forgotten you, even God. Better to embrace the void."


    “No… No, I don''t want this. Get out of my mind, you monsters!" His voice trembles, a hollow defiance.


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    "Well, as you wish." Says as capitulating emperor.


    "But remember...." It begins with stupid trial to be mystery motherfucker.


    "All your choices are your..." Prehistoric brain rises its inner voice.


    "Fate. Shitpeddling fate, funky dick! Yeah...." Then silence comes with gradual steps, maybe annihilation of the civilization also.


    The silence returns, but this time it has weight, like the end of some decaying empire. Shadows coalesce, blending dark and light until a murky gray world forms in the void. Somewhere, a knight’s voice breaks the stillness.


    "I''ve waited a long time for this - many summers, many winters," says the low voice.


    "Who… are you? An angel here to take my life?" he asks, fear threading through him.


    "No. Something else entirely. Do you remember me? The shadow and face of your own soul…" The words feel like the taunt of an old memory just out of reach. "Shall we renew our contract?"


    Suddenly, in the middle of nonsense, the pine table appears as the first quark of the universe. Sheet, not shit, but jurisdiction-related sheet of contract appears also as Big Bang, but not as hamburger. The line of light illuminates the table and two chairs. He''s seated, staring across the table at a figure - a person with a dark hood, who slowly reveals her face, as the yarmoseck through the crowd of yarmian children in concentration kindergarten.


    After removing this mysterious hood, photons of light stream spreads on the face of this creature - woman, about middle thirties, with odd, and even weird, rufous hairs, small nose and gorgeous yellow eyes - why she seems to be abnormal? Her face appears to be familiar, but consciousness can''t reach to the depths of old good amygdala. Although her appearance seems to be pretty sexual, however, she is as hoe valiant - the peak of the stoicism.


    "Welcome," she says, her voice carrying a hint of operatic grandeur, a voice out of place here in the bleak void.


    "H-Hello. Thank you… for the welcome." He stumbles over the words, trying to find his footing.


    "It must be confusing. You have questions, I''m sure." Her voice is warm but unwavering.


    "Please… explain," he asks, almost in a whisper, like a sugar added to cacao igirish tea.


    "This is your Zone, a space between dream and reality. Think of it as a place between mind and matter."


    "Zone?" he echoes, heart racing.


    A small room begins to form around them, colorless yet saturated with some unspoken dread. A bed, a nightstand. A window, distant and veiled, calling to him. She steps forward, revealing herself in attire part gothic, part post-apocalyptic - a reminder of survival through chaos.


    "The Zone is a place in your mind, something of an unconscious world," she continues. "Think of it as a sanctuary between worlds. Does that make sense?"


    "Am I… insane?" he tries to make light of it, but her unwavering gaze says otherwise.


    "This is no game," she says softly. "You’re here because you have a task, Sir Laphey. A task that’s significant not just for you, but for humanity."


    "What''s that?"


    "Contract." Only one word, but it is enough for him to understand.


    "Contract? Then what will happen if I sign this sheet." Level of craziness is in an excessive amount.


    "You have already signed." By saying these four words, absurd goes up in the his analysis of question: Whatda fuck is going on there?


    "Wait, what?" Surprise pistol shoots from the position of his tongue, feeling no taste, except ethanol.


    He shares his attention to the piece of contract. There is a sign written by blue inks: Sir Laphey.


    Stuporous anvil smached his mind. What is it? What''s fook with that? He can''t answer. What is the answer, if everything is forgotten and lies somewhere not here, but in the depths of the gray creature in the skull, more certainly, in the castle of overthrown the king of the consciousness. Panic gradually starts to conquer his nervous system with great pain of realisation of what sort of shit he come across.


    "You don''t need to panic. Everything is fine and there''s still a little, but chance, to improve your situation. Now, listen me. Firstly, my name is Marina. You can just call me Mari. Secondly, I came here to give you very important ordeal, which isn''t only significant for your life, but also all humanity. Finally, you can appear here when you will complete some challenges that your life could give you."


    "And if I’m not interested?" he snaps, panic seeping in.


    "Do you even know how you came here?" she asks, eyes gleaming.


    He falters. "Because… I chose life?" The words hurt more than he expects.


    "To wake up, to bring him back… and take this." She reaches into her coat and hands him an old, worn headset. As he takes it, the paper contract bursts into blue flame, illuminating her face.


    "Don''t forget," she says, her final words laced with both gravity and warmth.