He walked around the neighborhood with his hands in his coat's pockets and reddish eyes scanning the entire block. It didn't take him long to spot the small shop. Disoriented as he was, the man entered and started searching, looking at every dusty corner, and every single crate. Alas, they were all empty and useless.  

 

 Once he took a turn, ready to step out, a sound from below caught his attention. Curious enough, he dropped flat on the floor, shutting his eyes. Something was down there, or maybe someone. His actions were immediate and carefully planned. Searching for a possible entrance, he came across a trap door that was leading to the basement. No light could guide him, yet he dared to go down and walk through the narrow hall and the spider webs, and with every step, he was getting closer; a devilish grin formed on his lips and his hands ran down to his pants, wiping the anxious sweat off his palms. He couldn't enjoy his triumph, though. Victor released a loud gasp and his head was forcefully yanked backwards, a fingernail scratching deeply into the flesh of his skull. He shut his eyes tightly in pain, and seconds after his screams were silenced....

 

            Restlessly, the man walked around the neighborhood with hands securely inside his pockets, and his reddish eyes anxiously scanning the entire block. It had already been his second day there, yet Shrlix had used his power on him thrice already. Victor was a war criminal, with a body count of one hundred civilians and another thirty of his very own soldiers. He would hide the bodies in basements and occasionally sodomize them. His sentence was what they called 'Oblivion'. Shrlix could meddle with memories and the human mind, thus becoming the tormentor of those damned souls. He’d watch every single one of them going back to their crime scenes, coming across the grotesque scenes, and at the peak of their shock, Shrlix would painfully erase everything, placing them back at the beginning like pawns on a wooden board. 

-David Logway, Oblivion