His call was heard.

It was barely past midnight when he summoned them. This was not an accident. Masky was promised seven days. Those seven days were over.

It was a low, metallic howl, screeching through the walls and air and sky. Or perhaps not, and the ringing was solely within them, their conscience and their souls. But really, it mattered not how they heard it, but that it was heard.

And they understood.

Some say even the

dead

can still hear.

Even Toby, who had seldom felt his presence to such magnitude. He knew. It was something all Proxy's knew, from the very moment the Operator saved them. It was instinct, a strange unspoken language. The only line between humans and Proxy's.

They followed the voice of their master, knowing exactly where to go. Guided. For how could they be lost now?

In the tallest tower, large and grand. It spiralled and swirled, as all did, but they enjoyed the climb. For as they neared closer to him, they could hear his clangorous melody grow

louder

and

louder.

And the noise, it did exactly what it was meant to. Real or not, it soothed them, calmed them, eased them. It erased all fear and doubts, all heartache and sadness, all love and passion.

And in its place, an undying loyalty. Loyalty to destroy.

Destroy. Ark.

Finally, they reached the room, the room of the Operator. The one he hid in, night and day, until it was time to feed once more. The one that surrounded itself in an ethereal electricity that every other room lacked. Only by approaching the room, they could feel the slightest jolt of excitement and giddiness.

He called for them. He needed them. And they would serve, unquestionably.

And in the room he stood, towering over like a lengthened shadow. His blank, featureless face revealed absolutely nothing, though his reverberating song continued to soothe. Though he wore no eyes himself, his gaze could be felt at every angle. He was everywhere.

He was

everything.

They knelt down. Not once did they look each other in the eye. For they did not matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing but him.

With assertion he howled to his Proxy's, his demonic hymn wrapping around them, coiling as if like his own black tendrils. It embraced them, softly at first, but then took hold tightly, grasping at their minds, until finally it

pierced through them, filling their consciousness with new goal and purpose, becoming their thoughts. It echoed through them like empty chambers, filling what had not felt empty until it wasn't anymore.

Though the noise may have been imaginary, its purpose was not.

For now they knew.

They knew exactly. Exactly what to do.

The information was simple. A location, a name, a face. A deadline. A. Cost. Just enough to know the job, and to do it right. It was all they needed. All they could ask for. And they were grateful. Oh, they were grateful. For they had purpose.

How could anyone be sad?

The Operator's metallic voice had finished its song. It was time for them to leave. But they didn't mind. Now they could make him happy, as he did for them. They left the room, not looking back. They were now on their mission.

His call was heard. And they would now answer.