Hollis.
Legacy Name: Hollis.

Hollis sighed, pulling the hair from his forehead. His eyes narrowed, one slightly more than the other, the movement around his right eye greatly hindered by the collection of scars along his jaw. He had a bad habit of screwing up his face in concentration. Four sacks of white flour, a gallon drum of chia seed, twelve cans of pumpkin puree, a large bag of sugar, "Check." He maintained a quiet contemplation, crossing the items off his list as they were accounted for.

Running a bakery wasn't all sugar plums and muffins. It was work and sweat and late nights - nights like tonight where the clock ticked past eleven and he'd yet to check in half his stock. He was stuck here, day into night, but he was thankful for his obligations. They kept him out of trouble... and his clothes always smelled like butter and sugar. Sweet. Not like before.

Hollis held his churning stomach, hot blood pouring like vomit from his open mouth. The stumps on his back shivered, scattering blood-stained feathers. Sticky palms searched the floor desperately, gripping shattered glass, eyes screwed shut. His flesh was screaming, every inch. Shrapnel carved at his cheek and tore the sight from his eyes with every terrified movement. He peered into the darkness through red-painted eyes, limbs shaking beneath him. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry. I've betrayed you." His voice was soft and warm but terribly frightened. "I-I'll put it back. I was a fool. Shall I put it back?" He fell to the floor in a regretful heap, baptized by his own blood - a unfamiliar fluid. Then, he heard it. For the very first time, Hollis heard the nothing. Silence. All at once, he understood his fate. "No... no, please! Don't abandon me!" But the darkness did not abide.

The room shifted. A phantom pain cut across his mangled eye and he soothed it with a digging palm. The sickness burned at the back of his throat and an ache like fire awoke the nerves deep within his shoulders. His clipboard made a terrible racket upon the cement floor but he steadied himself against the wall with a shaking arm. Then it was still. Silent. There was no blare of trumpets, no terrible light. This was his prison... and no matter how the sickness within him swirled, the big man wouldn't let him fall.

He sighed, reaching blindly for his fallen checklist. "Where was I?"