In infancy he had learned the power of the Voice, and therefore withdrew into himself. The bright and clever baby slumped like a lump of lead in a crucible into a dull, placid youth. The world thought him retarded, and smoothed the way for his inattentive feet, the while mourning and mocking his inutility. His parents despaired and birthed another child, a girl, brighter than he, but unknowing of the Voice. He swelled to adulthood without any of the violent tempers or fumbling demands of his peers. His parents found an undemanding job for him and forgot him. He was twenty-three.
When he was forty-seven he was attacked, beaten, raped, and left for dead in an alleyway. From the dark corridors and bright halls that he walked with the Voice he looked at the withering shell of himself and thought it for the best. He closed the doors and locked them behind him, curtained all the windows save one, and waited for the end. When his body was buried, his cold lips stirred and some of the Voice soaked into the ground. The earthquake shook the world and destroyed half the city and in this manner he had his revenge.