If there's one thing I can count on about myself, it's that I'll tend to fuck up anything I touch. My job, my friendships, hell, my whole damn life. I'm one giant bundle of mistakes named "Art," but now I've probably made the big mistake, the one that will end my life. I know what happened to my friends when they tried to peer into that void and what it did to them in return, and what did I do about that? Peered in myself, even though I know that safety is just a comforting illusion, because I'm a stupid fuck. Well, if I'm going to go down alone, I'm not going to sit in my apartment alone and rip apart some helpless doves, I'm going to snatch the eagles from the air and snap their necks even as they claw and peck me to death.

I could hide in my bunker, sure, but I know the void would just come sliding under the locked door like mist, whispering its obscenities and catching me cornered like the prey it wants me to be. I may not be the top of the food chain, but damn it, I'm not going to be the bottom of the food chain either. If the best I can hope for in my final days is to not be easy prey for the hunters, then so be it.

I've still got one bargaining chip, something that people want more than me. Maybe I can flush some of them out, make them face me in their lust to have it. It's probably not even necessary to arrange where, they probably already know what I'll be doing before I do it. I'm sure they can already see me standing in the park in the shadow of the statue. Hell, they probably put the idea of going there in my head themselves. Maybe I still have one surprise up my sleeve, though. Maybe I can not fuck things up, just this once.