The next several cycles of eat—cable—sleep (Days? Who could possibly know—) passed by in a haze. Well, more of a haze than usual. A bone-deep fatigue had settled within him. He hardly moved, half-asleep and lethargic even as the Others’ auras poked and prodded at him. He was too tired to put up any resistance, to fight back, to even really think. It felt like he was trapped at the bottom of the ocean, miles of water pressing down on top of him.

And even though he had sunk to the ocean floor, there was a deep trench nearby, one that stretched down to the very core of the earth. And something was down there, calling out and writhing and buckling under the pressure of the entire ocean. It screamed incomprehensibly from somewhere down below. Down, down, down, so deep that he could hardly hear it. But he could feel it. And he could feel that it wanted him. He didn’t know how he felt it. He didn’t even know what it was. But he knew it was down there… Down where? The ocean thing was a metaphor, there was no ocean, just pressure. But somehow he knew it was down. Below. Deeper. It was down there, somewhere, and it wanted him.

By the time he regained enough strength to move, he pushed himself up to stagger forward until he hit a wall he couldn’t see. He scrabbled for purchase, fingers scratching uselessly against the plush padding, desperate to get up and away from it. He had to get away, he had to get away, he had to gET AWAY GET AWAY GET AWAY PLEASE—!!

Exhaustion overtook him within a matter of minutes. He collapsed to his knees and then slumped over onto his side, panting. His weakened body rendered motionless in stark juxtaposition to the fear gripping his heart. It was down there, lurking just out of sight, poised to get him any moment. He laid there, stiff and trembling and resigned to his fate, and waited…

And waited…

And waited.

And waited—

Itchy cloth and rough twine coiled around his arms and torso, yanking him upright. His breath hitched at the sickeningly familiar sensation. Mogami was—no, Rope—who?—was here, binding his limbs with fabric. Almost immediately his mind started working on detaching itself. But no, it was still there, trying to haul itself up from the abyss. It was coming. He couldn’t let it get him. For the first time in what felt like centuries, Shigeo found his voice.

“P-please, please, what is it? What, what is it? Mm—make it stop. S’loud. It’s coming. It’s coming! It wants me! It’s gonna get me! Help!” Despite the urgency, his words were quiet, raspy things. Rope’s telekinesis dragged him away from the wall and into the white nothing. Hands began to poke at his mouth. He jerked his head away with an exasperated yelp. “No! Listen! It’s down there, it wants to get out, it wants me. I feel it, I feel it down there, I feel it!”

Much to his surprise, the Hands froze, and the tightening cloth paused. A brief splash of trepidation leaked through the cracks of Rope’s aura. For a moment, everything was still. There was just the sound of his quickened breath, the squeeze of Rope’s power, and the faint presence of it in the back of his mind. Did… did Rope hear him? Was Rope listening?