Pain. Terrible pain ripping away at Atwell's hands. Swelling up in front of his very eyes, were some of the worst blisters that Atwell had seen in his entire life. Puss oozed freely out from the red balls that were blanketing his olive-colored hands. 

 When Atwell started his descent down the ladder, he never saw the distance beetween where he sat and the ground, which was a grave mistake. At least two hundred feet of ladder stretched from the exit to the ground, which seemed to be sunken into a pit of sorts. Sweat dripped from Atwell's brow, and he found himself stumbling over the rickety ladder constantly. The ladder was obviously not meant to support multiple people, and at some points, it seemed that the ladder was going to snap, due to the amount of strain that was being put on it. All Atwell could feel was the dull throbbing pains in his hands, as he kept climbing endlessly. From withing Atwells squinted eyes, he saw something brown, something below him that was taking up the entirety of his vision. Slowly, Atwell's sight became blurred, his grip slackening on the grainy wood. The wind began whistled in his ears, and an odd sensation of weightlessness overcame Atwell. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦?  Thump! Suddenly, the wind disappeared and was replaced by extreme pain in his back. It felt as if millions of tiny hammers were pounding ruthlessly on his back. Atwell tried to cry out but was unable to muster anything but a grainy  "help".  Everything around him started to fade into black, and Atwell's senses became muted. 

Within the folds of the darkness, Atwell could see a blue light, pulsating, and growing ever bigger. Growing and growing, the blue light took up his entire view. White spots appeared randomly in the vast blueness. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘺. He was gazing up at the sky, lying down on some sort of flat surface. Atwell tried to move his fingers, but could not. He was immobilized with nothing but his mental thoughts functioning. Tingling sensations shot through his entire body, little needles dancing on his skin, prickling him in every spot possible. His senses slowly started coming back to him, staring at his feet and going all the way up to his head.  Something cold and hard lay beneath Atwell, rough and bumpy. Yet again, Atwell tried to move his hand, which twitched and did nothing more. Trying, again and again, Atwell finally got the blood flowing freely in his hands, and was able to move it slightly. Shackles bound his hands and feet down, restricting his movement greatly, and leaving him very bewildered. Atwell began to panic, thrashing around in his confines until he became tired. The last thing that Atwell could recall was climbing, so he had no idea what was happening. Five minutes past and nothing happened. Ten minutes past and nothing happened. Just as Atwell started to drift back to his sleeping state, the sky was shrouded in mist, and not the usual fog. Blackness blanketed the sky obscuring everything, and an eerie voice whispered into Atwell's ear raising gooseflesh; "Come down with us". An echoing chorus rang out from the blackness, all chanting, "Come down with us".

 Bony black fingers gripped the sides of Atwell's face, clawing at his cheeks, like otherworldly beings. Looking through his peripheral vision gave him a small view of what was happening; small frail beasts scuttled towards Atwell, letting loose blood-curdling howls. Melted mouths and eyes covered each and every monster. Some were larger than the others, and all appeared different, all were coming for Atwell. Someone must have made them this way, as they looked to have been mutated, or tortured.  They all seemed to be manifesting from one singular point in the room, waves of the creatures rushing onwards. From that location, a figure arose, rising above all other creatures. Raising its head, Atwell got a glimpse of its appearance, towering on his mountain of hideous beasts, arms outstretched. In place of a face, it housed a mask of black, with white ripples prominent in it. Flowing black robes concealed its chest, black as the night itself. Atwell began to struggle like never before but to no avail. Resting on top of his mask, there stood a black hat, crooked, and menacing. Fixed to the black hat, there was a skull of some unknown creature, most likely the one of something he had killed. An arm began to extend from the figure, with a small craggy hand on the end, and five crooked fingers. From within the sleeve, it unfurled a pointer finger, and stabbed it through the air, right in Atwell's direction. No noise was audible for a split second, and then huge scuttling noises erupted into the black chamber, followed by a voice that Atwell thought he had heard before; "When will you realize, Atwell?". "You can't hide from me". "you can't hide from death."

 A scream echoed in Atwell's mind, and a screeching laugh panged around in his brain. That scream... Atwell swore he remembered it from somewhere. Blood dripped from the sky, pouring over the walls, and terrifying Atwell. The monsters surged forwards, coming closer to Atwell at speeds that Atwell would never imagine possible to achieve. Monsters were now flinging themselves at Atwell, clawing at his face, and gnawing at his metal bonds. Tears poured down from Atwells eyes, puddling on the slab, flowing like a river. His hands. He could move them. Atwell looked own, quickly noticing that the monsters had chewed through his bonds, but were now biting his flesh, attempting to get a taste of the juicy innards within. Flinging them off in the blink of an eye, Atwell tried stood up on top of the wood slab, but instead, his knees buckled, and he fell onto the black floor. Closer and closer they came, snarling and biting the air. Laughter in his brain. Blood on his body. Atwell's body was no longer on the floor, and now he found himself falling, falling in the swirling darkness. "Who are you?", Atwell screamed into the air". "Why are you doing this?". A black oval surfaced in Atwell's mind, white streaks rippled through. A mask. It was the same mask that was glued to the figure that he saw earlier. "The Puppetmaster", it rasped, the voice coming from within the mask. 

Plunging back into the air, Atwell continued to fall, never-ending, never stopping.