A lone swing was creaking as its occupant slowly swayed back and forth, the old rusty chains letting out a small cry each time he glided backwards. There weren't any other children around. No one playing around or on the various fixtures and playthings the park's playground provided. If the silence was enough to let the young man know that he was alone on that particular afternoon, the afternoon sun quickly alerted him with its almost unbearable bright light and smoldering heat. Smith Raymond was alone here, as he had been many afternoons before and most likely, would be again. This fact didn't alarm; however. No, Smith had been on his own for quite some time now. As a child, he remembered having friends. The games they played together and the notions that they would remain friends for the rest of their days. Yes, he remembered those feelings. Perhaps it was now best to call them dreams. The faces of the other young boys had faded from his memory; his mind had filled in the gaps with the smiling faces of what he had imagined them to be. Even their names were gone now. That had been another life, another Smith Raymond who was able to blend in effortlessly with his peers. That Smith Raymond was the one who didn't feel an awful sense of dread each time he peered into the darkness of night or found himself incessantly checking the closet for something besides the shadows of coat hangers. Something that created a mental scar that reached so deep, it derailed his young mind. Fear of the unknown evolved into a fear of death. Death was what he decided was plaguing him. Death was something so dark and destructive; it called out to him in these sensations. Smith couldn't allow it to consume him. No, he would fight it off until the day he could no longer draw breathe with every one of his being.

These fears were common, as he was told many, many times by his parents for a child his age, but soon he was no longer of age for such delusions. Soon Smith was "strange" and "abnormal" for revealing his constant need to fight off the feeling of something lurking just around the corner. Young men didn't fear the boogie man or his many minions. Young men of Smith's age should only concern themselves with girls and the thrills of soon being an adult. These feelings were "trivial" and "ridiculous". Feelings that family and close friends soon grew tired of dealing with before writing Smith off as "troubled" and a "disappointment". But these notions didn't change Smith's increasing problem with these feelings. On the contrary as these feelings soon made him feel that others were the troubled disappointments. He was just fine. They were the ones who needed to get their eyes checked. They were the ones who needed to start checking under their beds. There was something there and when the day came when they realized this fact, he wouldn't be there to console them. No, they weren't worth it anymore. He was his own family and friend. Smith only needed himself and that was enough.

It may have seemed tragic to be so accustomed to such a degree of loneliness. However, Smith wasn't saddened at all. After being on his so much, he preferred his own company to that of so called peers and friends. Yes, they didn't understand him and he had long forgotten how to understand them. The memories of friends of days long gone may have brought some small comfort back to him as he reminisced on their old stomping grounds, but the idea of trying to make new friends had the complete opposite effect. The energy of trying to fight the strange feeling of something lurking in the shadows coupled with the stress of meeting new people was simply too much for him. Not a single person on the planet was worth the effort he would have to put forth in order to go through such an ordeal or that's how he saw it anyway. It was at this point in time that the strange figure from a few days earlier approached him once more to engage in another conversation. Smith didn't really talk or even acknowledge him, but the figure went on, full speed ahead. The stranger taking his usual seat in the swing next to Smith. He didn't seem to care if the boy looked at him or even gave him a notion to speak since he simply began again with his speech.

""...mankind doesn't have to be the cattle any longer. Nor even prey with a fighting chance. Because people like me, people like you, have the ability to become Hunters."

Up until this point, Smith had written the stranger off as some kind of fanatical zealot. Some poor fool to busy making up excuses for his short comings to face the truth. A loser who was applying his own deficiency to others in some desperate attempt to make a friend. Smith had originally considered him a nuisance that would soon wear himself out and move on. However, his determination and the way he spoke on that particular day finally reached Smith. Words that shook him to his core. For the first time, he turned to face him with a reply.

"I'm in. Where do I sign up?"

It was one thing to offer some kind of therapy group or confidant to confide in. Those were things Smith could do without. He didn't need some stranger whining to him every day about the feeling of dread that these mysterious situations stirred up. No, he would be better off on his own. However, the game changed completely when it seemed this stranger could offer a way out. A way to turn these fears into strength. If this was his way out, he was taking it. And with these thoughts in mind, he signed away his name.

"I assure you, stranger. I'm going to be the best Hunter you've ever seen."

These would be Smith Raymond's last words. After this, the young man that was Smith Raymond disappeared behind a gasmask with the new name of Alpha Eight. The feelings were gone and he was set free. It was exhilarating to be able to move about without the memories of the past. Failures of his friends and family instantly erased. That sensation was intoxicating and he later felt the repercussions of such a state. His words destroyed him and eventually dug his own grave. What was supposed to be a way out, a light at the end of the tunnel, turned into a living nightmare. Alpha Eight didn't escape or overcome. He simply sank lower than Smith thought possible as he became a liar and a coward. A creature obsessed with surviving without even having a reason to do so. No one was waiting on the other side and any hope of creating a reason to go on dissipated the instant he decided to open his mouth. The grave had been dug and ironically, it turned out his only real release was his greatest fear: death. Death was the light at the end of the tunnel. Something that freed him from every nervous gaze at the creaking door, every stomach-turning trip down a dark back alley. Smith had been wrong and Alpha Eight had been wrong. Death wasn't his enemy. If he truly wanted to be free, all he had to do was embrace it. Nothing could be won or gained otherwise. Alpha Eight proved that with his every move. The door was his only reward and after his cruel judgment and view of others, an undeserved reward.

Walking through the Door turned out to be his first and only good decision.