[Misericorde]

Mason walked down the dark and rainy street, each street lamp revealing just how dark and dull his eyes were. He had his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and his shoulders were slouched. He looked like the typical depressed business man, considering he was magnificently dressed. He was always immaculate when it came to his appearance, though he didn't know why he bothered. He was a bit of an outcast in these streets, the only company he was able to keep being lesser demons than he.

Mason was quite wealthy, having established a very well known sleep clinic. But what most didn't know, is that the very night mares patients when in to have cured, were the same that Mason had implanted in their heads. He made millions from paying customers, and when their souls were corrupt enough, he would let them back into the world for a week. During that week, they would cause havoc, damning their souls to hell. That was Mason's job. Getting new souls into hell.

Tonight he was wandering the streets, looking for new victims. Poor, lost souls, people who wouldn't be missed when they disappeared. He had a special eye for finding these souls, and always made sure he lured them to his clinic. Well, that wasn't hard, it was the only clinic in the city, and the only one "known" to cure nightmares. Yes, Mason had a strategy, and he was horribly good at what he did.