Sawyer Jackson, a regular child aged 10 years, lies in his bed, his ears open to the sounds of the roads at night. He pretends to slumber, but cannot, and instead listens to the siren's wail, the train's clack and the men's shouts. He knows not what happens outside his window, only the dulled audio he receives.

Suddenly he hears something that is not the diluted metropolis. A voice, no, four voices. All whispering something. Sawyer struggles to make it out over the city's ramble. It's his name, repeatedly.

"Sawyer." whispers a harmony of four voices, overpowering Sawyer's urban orchestra. The voice says only one word, but holds much more. A promise, a secret. Two things Sawyer desperately wants. So, he gets out of bed, opening the door to his hall, scanning for his parents. They, luckily, are not there and so he continues through the hall, out the house, to the house across the street to where the voices led him to with an audible string.

He nears the house and the sounds of the city gets louder, pushing the voices down. Sawyer glances back at his house, his safe, comfortable house. Who knows what this door might hold? Terror? Pain? Death? If he goes back to his house, there would be no adventure, but there would be no consequence.

No, he shall continue. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And so, Sawyer reaches for the doorknob, trying to ignore how the metropolis' music swells. The moment his hand touches the knob the city screams, a wail that tells him not to do it, not to open that door, for great danger is inside. Then, like it came, it is gone. The streets return to normal and his name resumes.

"Sawyer." whispers the four, inviting and enticing. The aforementioned Sawyer turns the handle and finds only darkness on the other side. He's confused, where is his great adventure, where is his reward. He takes a step forward into the unknown black and falls.

Down, down, down he drops. The he descends no more and finds himself in house very like his own. Almost identical, but something seems off. Something about his room seems... Different. His thought is broken by the opening of his door and the man who enter his (is it his, or merely someone like him) room.  The man is thin and has an ample beard, which has started to grey in places. His eyes are a piercing, curious and intelligent inky black.

"Sawyer Jackson. We've been expecting you." says the man, his voice betraying only the tiniest excitement.  His eyes twinkle and his right arm extends for a handshake.