"This is all your fault, you know."
"I know."
"You should have fought harder."
"I know."
"You let them take me away."
"I'm sorry."
"Well… it's okay now. We're together again."
Jack nodded, and the little girl's face beamed with a smile.
He watched as she pranced around, playfully swinging a doll in the air, and thought:
How strange.
I was terrified just moments ago…
But now I feel so calm, almost happy.
What was I so worried about?
The little girl suddenly slammed her small body into him.
"No, no, no… your mind is elsewhere. You should only focus on me."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"I'll do that from now on."
She smiled.
Jack couldn't really remember who the girl was, but there was a strong sense of familiarity. He stared hard at her, pushing her bangs back with his palm.
"Hahaha, that tickles!"
He squinted.
Were your eyes always this dark and hollow?
His palm trailed to her cheek.
"Hahaha, stop it!"
And your ears… where are your ears?
He tried to recall her face, but his mind betrayed him. The memories became muffled and distorted, always just beyond reach, dripping through a filter he couldn't pierce.
"It's really dark in here. I can barely see anything."
She tugged at his shirt, breaking him from his thoughts.
"Oh yeah, it is."
"Why?"
"Hmm… I think it's because we covered the eye sockets."
We?
Jack frowned. "How are we supposed to know if it's day or night?"
The little girl's voice faded into the background. Cold sweat dripped down Jack's face as his mind and heart raced.
We… we… we… we… we…
That's right. Someone was here with me.
He turned left, right, front, back—but there was no one. Only he and the little girl existed. Everything else was darkness.
Then a distorted voice spoke. Polite, but dreadful.
"It's really dark, isn't it? Why don't we remove those covers and let some light in?"
But it was already too late.
"Sure. Let's do that."
...
Harris hid in the shadows across the cold, damp skull. His uneasy glare remained fixed on Jack and the man standing beside him.
The man moved around Jack like a ghost, adorned in white, wearing a smile that was sweet—no, twisted.
But Jack didn't seem to mind. Neither did Harris. Or he shouldn't have.
As time passed, the unease Harris felt toward the man transformed into malice. Every movement, every word, every flicker of that smile infuriated him.
His strange clothing shimmered between stark white and blood red.
And soon, a thought came unbidden.
Why don't you just kill them?
At that moment, Harris's eyes met those of the man in white—and Jack's. Each gaze was filled with murderous intent.
No.
He refused to listen to the whispers—not because he didn't want to kill Jack, but because he didn't trust them.
For some reason, his mind was muffled. His train of thought was stuck in this damp skull. He could neither think of the past nor the future. Only the present existed. His entire world seemed confined here.
But that wasn't right. From his clothes to his thoughts, those skills couldn't have been acquired in a place like this.
Something was amiss.
And most of all, the man in white—the whispers—they all carried the same terrifying presence as the thing that had swallowed the outside world.
But what could he do? He refused to act without insight.
Dammit… I know I'm close.
But the closer I get, the slower my thoughts…
It's… it's… so hazy… like there's a…
"—there's a… there's a…"
Crack.
That's it… I can't remember the word.
Jack stood, moving with purpose, but his face remained distant, detached from this world.
Harris also stood, grimacing. By now, corruption had reached his throat, making it hard to breathe. How had he not noticed the pain before?
He walked toward Jack slowly.
"Kill them. Kill them. KILL THEM!"
Harris tapped Jack lightly on the shoulder. Jack turned, staring with a distant gaze.
"Have you ever encountered the White Death before?"
Jack nodded lazily.
A smile.
"Could you tell me about it?"