Hatchetfield.

Paul is panicking about the thing in his body.

Paul was scared.

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think. There was stuff -He didn't know what- dripping down his face, from his eyes, his mouth, his nose, his ears.

And yet he was smiling, even behind the stone mask on his face, even though tears were streaming down his face.

Paul wanted to throw up, the blue bile bubbling at the back of his throat, but he couldn't, the thing wouldn't let him. The thing in his body, the thing from the meteor, it wouldn't let him. If wouldn't let him speak, all that came from his mouth were notes, musical notes, the thing Paul hated most.

He wished he could go back, back to before all this happened, back to before the meteor, before he could barely hear his co-workers over the music in his mind. Everything was fine, just going to work everyday, talking to Bill, and Charlotte, and even Ted. He'd go to Beanies as well, ordering the same black coffee, gazing at the same barista. But he guesses... This was inevitable.

Bill had invited Paul to the premier of Mama Mia, of course, Paul declined, being trapped in a musical was his worst nightmare (but he doesn't have a choice anymore). He'd gone to Beanies, talked to the cute barista, and finally introduced himself, her name was Emma.

And then, after having an argument with a very rude Greenpeace lady, he went home. He went to bed. And a meteor crashed into the Starlight theatre. The P.E.I.P managed to secure it before anyone got infected, but somehow, just somehow, it had gotten to Paul.

He tried to control it, he tried to be normal, but it wouldn't stop singing, it wouldn't stop telling him to infect the others, to spread the seed, to become The Singular Voice.

Sometimes he couldn't help but to let it out. He would throw up for hours, he'd miss work, he'd miss out on going to Beanies. Blue sludge would just poor out of his mouth, he'd wretch, and choked, until it got too much, and he started to sing.

The meteor was destroyed, the original brain was gone. Paul was the brain now. Sometimes It made him wear a mask of stone, Paul's not sure where It had got it, but It made him wear it.

Sometimes others would sing as well, but they'd always snap out of it when the song was over. Sometimes people would find out. Sometimes people caught him throwing up, and he'd sing, a piercing tone, and they'd scream, until it became one. Those people wouldn't be seen again, not for awhile at least.

Paul was terrified, he'd have nightmares at night, of the horrible slime, and the horrible mask, and the horrible laughter that filled his brain. Until, a flash of yellow, a psychic wave that sent him tumbling, and for one euphoric second, his mind was silent.

And then It came back, angry and wild, but the incident had sparked hope in Paul, hope that one day, he could be free, be free of the singing, be free of Pokotho.