"So you're the guy? You're 'I am'?"

Cyrus looked at the man, as the camera refused to pan towards him. As Cyrus walked towards the desk the German voice spoke.

"Indeed. Funny isn't it?"

Cyrus nodded, sitting down.

"I thought I'd heard that voice before, but never thought it'd be you, Mr. Goeren."

As Cyrus said the man's name, the camera panned towards him, introducing the world to the man behind the voice, behind the shadows. Azrael Goeren.

"Yes, m'boy. Quite comical."

The German laugh boomed through out the room. Cyrus looked around the area as he noticed footsteps, tiny and quick, on the wooden floor. Cyrus shook it off, looking back at Azrael.

"So, you've got the pills I need? You've got 'my fix'?"

A slight chuckle. Cyrus looked at Azrael as he strummed his fingers against each other. Cyrus waited for a second.

"As a matter fact, I am the sole carrier of these pills."

He reached into the desk, grabbing a bottle of pills. As he brought the little brown bottle up to view, he put it down on the desk directly in front of him. He looked at Cyrus, and grinned.

"And I know what these pills mean to you, so I'm willing to offer them to you, for a slight fee."

Cyrus looked at Azrael, quizzical.

"A fee?"

"Come on, Cyrus. I'm a business man. You know this. I'm not just going to give into your demand. You live in America, you understand Laissez Faire. Capitalism. You understand, don't you?"

Cyrus looked to Azrael, as his tone was almost spiteful, as though he was questioning Cyrus' intelligence.

"Yes, I know what you mean."

"Good. Then you understand that by doing you a service, I myself need a service in return."

Cyrus sighed, sinking back in his skin. The footsteps prodded over the ground again, and Cyrus turned, just in time to catch a shadow fading away behind Azrael's desk.

"And what were you thinking, Azrael?"

An evil grin.

"Be my Yes Man."

"Yes Man?"

Azrael nodded.

"You follow me into Outlaw Pro-Wrestling, you listen to me and do what I want, and I'll give you these pills."

Azrael gestured with his hand, business like. Cyrus thought for a second, sighing. The noise. Cyrus refused to turn.

"What kind of 'stuff' are we talking about, Azrael? Getting your coffee, messaging your feet? That kind of thing?"

Azrael grinned.

"As suitable for your condition that would be, no. You're physique demands something more violent. Something more of a challenge."

"You want me to be your hit man? Is that what you mean?"

"Hit man? Not the words I would've used, Cyrus, but... suitable. I want you to deal with my problems before I have to, that way I can do what I need to do, you earn what you need to get, and we're both happy. I'm a business man. I have no time for problems, and instead of paying you for your services... I'll keep you out of your neighborhood friendly institution."

Cyrus thought to himself, pondering the situation.

"I don't exactly want to be your bitch, Azrael. That's not what I'm about. I'm not someone's toy. What if I say no?"

Azrael motioned to the door.

"Then you go home with Dr. Nguyen and two other security guards."

As Cyrus turned around, a shadow passed over the door. Cyrus jumped up, pushing the chair away from him.

"What the f--"

The chair fell over, Cyrus turned to Azrael.

"Did you just see that?"

"What?"

"That... shadow. What the hell was that?"

"I didn't see anything, Cyrus."

Cyrus looked at Azrael, before setting the chair upright. He sat down, looking at the bottle.

"How long do I have to be your Yes Man?"

Azrael motioned with his hands.

"Eh, that's hard to say. As long as I need you."

Cyrus sat back in his chair, debating.

"The choice is simple, Cyrus. Take the pills. Be my Yes Man. Do what I tell you, get what you need. Stop seeing these mysterious shadows. Or not, go back the institution, where you belong. Let them treat you with the same pills I'd be giving you. Just, inside of a little room with padded walls. Go back to seeing the bugs, the cockroaches. It's up to you, but my offer stands until you walk out the door."

Cyrus looked at the ceiling, the shadow falling towards him. Cyrus covered up his face with his forearms, causing Azrael to laugh. Cyrus lunged towards the bottle, screaming.

"Fine! Fine! Just give me the damn pills, please."

Azrael smirked as Cyrus opened the pill bottle, throwing it down his throat.

"Excellent... I had a feeling you'd agree."

Cyrus looked at Azrael, and sighed...

...Knowing he just signed his soul to the devil himself...