JDH

The white forest wasn't made of trees. It was made of white trunks, frozen in bizarre poses, more like the bones of gigantic beasts. The air was thick and soundless, absorbing Lololoshka's every breath and heartbeat. He ran, his sneakers silently pushing off the mossy, springy grass beneath his feet. His casual gait gave way to a run.

Tsok-tsok-tsok.

The sound was barely audible, but it pierced his consciousness more sharply than any scream. The dry, staccato tapping of chitinous paws on a white surface. He didn't look back. He didn't need to. He knew what was there. John—his former partner. The one with whom he shared thoughts and trust. Now—a nightmare of a white suit and spider legs. Lololoshka's mind involuntarily completed the picture behind him—the impeccable suit, the orange glasses concealing the buttons, and those eight legs carrying him with impossible, graceful speed.

"Tired, Lololoshka?" John's voice was just as Lololoshka remembered it: calm, lecturing, with a hint of mockery. It sounded as if it were in his head.

Lololoshka tried to speed up, but his legs suddenly felt weak. A terrible, all-consuming fatigue washed over him like a wave. It wasn't just physical weakness. It felt as if his very soul, his will to fight, his very essence were being sucked out of him. He slowed, his breathing ragged.

"Everything has a price," John continued, his voice growing closer, lower. "And your gaze is too valuable a currency. Let me... exchange it for something more stable."

TsOK-TsOK-TsOK.

The lunge was lightning fast. Lololoshka didn't have time to react. Something large and cold pressed against his back. White spider legs wrapped around him like tentacles, preventing him from moving his legs. A cold, silk-gloved hand roughly grabbed his chin, forcing his head back. The back of his head hit the hard shoulder of a white suit.

Lololoshka's panicked gaze met the orange lenses of his glasses. Behind them, he discerned two flat, bottomless black buttons.

“Don’t be afraid,” John whispered.