Archey Billiard is an imperfect man. His once earth-shatteringly impressive mop of curly hair has been reduced to a few clown-like tufts above his ears, with a single spiraling hair on his forehead. The moles and wrinkles of a ninety-year-old man litter his gaunt face. His upturned lips and deep-set eyes communicate a single emotion at all times: glum. Archey Billiard is a very, very glum being. The epitome, the personification, the worldly embodiment of glum. At the end of a tough day of winching, Archey is on clean-up duty. He sweeps the paths, wipes the bathrooms and empties the corpse box of Winchward Beach’s class action-dodging amusement park. In a bush near the roller coaster, Archey finds a single horn, stained with fresh blood. Written on it in marker are the words PROPERTY OF ABADDON. Archey wonders who the horn could possibly belong to. With the sleeve of his park-appointed jumpsuit, Archey wipes some of the blood off the horn. A jet of light shoots out the horn's end in response, then slowly twists itself into a humanoid form. The light dims to reveal a tall, horned creature with enormous black wings and wild, sunken eyes.

'So,' says the creature. 'It seems we finally begin.'

Archey wonders if this creature knows who owns the horn.

‘Can't you read?' the creatures asks. 'It said my name on it.'

Archey cannot read.

‘That explains a lot,' says the creature. 'I am Abaddon. We will meet again soon. What you have started today cannot be stopped.'

Before Archey can ask who the horn belongs to again, Abaddon lifts off and flies away. Rude.

In mild bewilderment, Archey trudges back to his winch. Before he can lay his hands on its sweet, sweet wooden handle, however, a man in a torn purple suit pounces out of nowhere and sinks his razor-sharp teeth right into Archey’s neck. Archey, his battle instincts that he didn't know he had kicking in, sees a chance. The man’s frenzied eyes lock with Archey’s and suddenly, somewhere deep in the man's animal mind, he understands he has made a mistake. One of the tumours in Archey's neck explodes. The man is thrown back. He hits Archey’s winch, causing it to undergo ten full rotations. The roller coaster starts. The roller coaster is still starting. It takes a while to start. Just give it time. The man in the purple suit, a dusty brochure still sticking from his front pocket, attacks once more. Archey has a sudden aneurysm and dodges unintentionally. It appears an exploding tumour does bad things to one’s body. The man lands on the rickety roller coaster tracks. Archey, briefly forgetting which way is up, stumbles on after him. The roller coaster finally starts. The cart hits the purple-suited man first, flipping him into the front seat. Archey follows soon after, pulverizing his right arm in the process. As the cart shakily climbs the coaster's first incline, the man wraps his elongated fingers around Archey’s delicate, half-exploded neck. He squeezes. Archey can no longer breathe. He squeezes more. Archey can no longer feel the pain of his aneurysm. Helpful. He pokes at the man’s bloodshot eyes, careful not to actually hurt him. That would be rude. The man recoils in annoyance as the cart reaches the apex of the first incline. Archey grabs onto the handlebar with his good arm. The man grabs onto Archey’s jaw. The cart plummets. A brochure flies out of the man's pocket and plasters itself over his eyes. He falls backwards, groping at it, and falls out of the cart altogether. He hits the ground hard as the cart approaches the second incline. The man tears the brochure off his face and jumps impossibly high, landing right back on the cart again. He grabs Archey by the collar and throws him off. Archey lands by his winch in a bruised heap. The man follows after, landing on his feet. He bends down and picks up Archey by the single hair on his forehead.

‘Join my pyramid scheme,’ rasps the man.

Archey nods vigorously as a bead of sweat runs down his arm. It hits the man’s hand and sizzles. With an otherworldly screech, the man lets go of Archey and jumps back in pain. He collapses to all fours and scuttles away, now seemingly terrified of the frail winchman. Archey, quite exhausted from the whole situation, simply flops onto his back and tries to catch his breath.

His moment of relaxation is quickly interrupted by a hard kick in his side.

‘Get up,’ says his boss, Mr. Legion, ‘You’re on the job.’