"This place is creepy." The small child said, voice half full of curiosity, half full of fear as he explored.

"It is." Answered the man "But it was meant to be that way."

"Did you make it?" Asked the child, continuing to search the area.

"No, my child. I didn't. Markat say a man, if you can still call him that, designed it as a trap."

"Who's Markat?"

"Just a man. An old man."

"What does it catch?"

"Poeple. People who want others to recognize them as evil."

"Why would they want to be evil?"

"I don't know, child."

"Why do you live here?"

The man paused in thought a moment before answering, "I do not live here. I simply hide in this place. Ironic, I guess, hiding from the world in a den of infamy."

"Why do you hide?"

"Because most people don't like me."

"Why not?"

"Oh, it's alright. I don't generally like them either. I'm happy enough coming here."

"What do you do here?"

The man's face was struck with tension upon hearing the question. He remained quiet. The child, not hearing a response, stopped exploring and turned to face the man. The child asked again, "What do you do here?"

"I do, well, I do my work."

"What work do you do?"

"I study, research, learn. You are a most inquisitive child."

"Inkwistive?"

The man laughed, though it did little to hide his unease. "It means you ask a lot of questions. It's a shame, all this. You might have made a fine researcher yourself."

The man began whispering to himself. As the child began to ask what the man meant, his voiced was interupted. His body went rigid. The man approached.

"I'm sorry little one. But I the work I do is necessary."

The man set the small rigid body on a stone slab, drawing a blade from his belt.