Jahn barged through the hordes of people, pressing his hand to his head, as if to try and keep his brain from falling out. He struggled down a shady alleyway, fighting against the stress that filled him. He thudded against a wall, bringing up the contents of his stomach. Every step he took, the stones below him seemed to extend tentacles to ensnare his soul. He struggled on. Took a left turn, stumbled into a small courtyard. He looked around him. Suddenly, his surroundings fell into place. This was it! He stared at his reflection inna puddle, battered, bruised, yet a miracle all the same. He truly was worthy of greatness. Somehow, his subconscious had brought him here, to the hideout prepared for him by his mysterious contractor. Someone up there must have plans for him. This must be the proof he was destined for greatness. But… he had let panic overtake him, when it mattered most. He had fallen victim to his own mind. If he wanted to be great, he would have to overcome this. He unlocked the pitted iron door to the hideout with a slim silver key. Dust sneezed out of the gloom. He staggered up stone steps, flopped down in a wicker chair in the attic, and fell asleep, without even checking his surroundings.
