Harsh and echoing sounds of sopping wet shoes splashed down the halls of the second floor dorms. An eerie mood dampened Otto's mind much worse than his clothes. Soaked through and through, a chill so deep it was trapped within his marrow. It was hard to concentrate on any one discomfort. The developing cold symptoms were minor, albeit aiding his already horrid state of being. He felt heavy with anxiety, both pulling him down and keeping him on edge.

He could still feel them crawling over every inch of his skin. Tiny legs, thousands of them. Skittering and scattering. Itching his nerves. Biting his skin. Crawling into anything they could to make him suffer; make him relive his worst nightmare. The darkness, filled with terrible red eyes of ghastly ghosts, cornering him and pestering him to stay.



"ͣ͒Á̎͋ͬͨͭ͒̇rͭ͒͂ͦ̑ͫ̍̚e͑͊͆ ͊yͨ̈̇͌̀̎o͑̚û̔ͮ̾̏ ̔̾̔͌ͥ̈̌͐̚s̉̌ͣũ͋̀ͧ͗r̎ë́ͮ ̾̑tͤͣ̔̂ͭͥh̓̏̇ͪ̇e͑ͮ̿͆ͬrͩ̐ͦ̾ͤͭe͆͐̿ͯ̅̈̾ͩ͗'ͥ̎͋̃̅̎̃s͆̈́ͫ̊ ̿͋̈́ͪ̋̃ͯn̅ͯ̇̅ͮ̃őͬ͌̅̓ͮ̊tͯ̒ͯ̀ͩ̎̓̚hͦ̾́ī̄̓̓̿͒͒̉͗n͌ͯ̒̈̾gͤͭ̊́̽ ͗͛̋̆̾eͬl̓̎ͬ̽ͧͫ̽̚s̃͐ͮ́͋͗̈è͑?̑̆͂ͫ̿̌"͒̇̔ͬͩ̀̈̚ ̉͊̿
ͮͧ̓̋ͮ̅ͦͩ̅
͂ͧ̃̚"ͧ̂̈́͋ͨT̓ͮ̾̎̍̈́͂̿hͫ͛ͧeͯ̾͂ͤrͧ̀̇̓ĕͭ̌͒ͩ͗ ͋̏̓ȉͥͦͧ͑͋ͧsͥ̔̔ͨͩ̊ͦ ͭ̒̐̓a̎̒̒͋̽ͦ͒́ ͫ̿̇̒̊̈̿̾f͑aͬ̅͌ͮ͗̄͊ͧ̚n̾ͦͮ̐̿͗̀tͩ̋̿̆ͯa̽͗ͦͫs̄ͮ̏̌̈́ͮtͮ̊͋̐͋iͣ̌͆̀ͧ̚̚ć ̓dͪ̒͊ͥͬ̄̚ės̉ͫs̽̄͛ͨ͛̑̃̉̑e͗̍ͩ̀͂ṙͬ̉͐ͥ͑t͌ ̆ͭ̂mͭ͛ͭ͌e̅̍͒͆̔ͬ͑ñͩu͛̑ͧ.̾͒̑̊͊ͣ"̎͆ͮ ͑̏
ͥ̿ͦ̔ͫ̃
͒̉̽̈́ͭ̓ͬ́̌"̈̍̒̈́Íͪͪ ͪͪ̍̒͌h̉̆oͧ̂̏̌pͪ̎͋ͧ̅̌èͣ̑͂̿̉̐ ͂̔ͪ̌ͥͣͮỷ̓òͪ̓̀ȕͫ̇̋ͪ̔ͭ'ͦ͋͌̐̉ͧl̿̇ͩ̾ͯ̐̅lͪͬ̀ ̄b̓̌͂͑e̓̌ ̇͆s̓̎̐̓t̔̓̏͑ͮͪa̅̄̇̐ÿ͋̾ͨͬ͊̈ͨ͗i͐̿͒͌͋́̚n̔̍̃ͫg̏̈́͒̄͗ͨ ̑̀͐ͬ̉͗ͤ͋f̄̽͑ͤͥổ͛ͣ͗̄r̄̇͗͛̓̓̿̿̔ ͑̂ͧ̚e͊ͥ̂̔ͧnͦ̓t̊ͮͬ̐̐͋̋̑e͂͐ͩ͗ͬ̊̄rͦ̅̓̑ͥ̈͋̉t͋̃a͂i͋͑̈n̔͌͆ͣ̆̊̏͋ͮḿͫͥ̀̂ͩeͩͪ̈ͩ̆͆̐̂ńͮ̐̚t̂ͬ ͥ̀̆͆̓ͨ̃̌t̃̈ͩͤͯͥͫ̄o͗n͊̓̿̇̈́͊ͩ̍ǐ͂g̒͒͌͒̇͑h̍̇̉ͭ̑t͑̆̅̎͂͑̽ͦ.̓̎"ͯ̾̈̇̂ ̿ͭ͊̏̆
̒̇̃̇ͧͧ̅
̿"͛̓ͦWͨ̃̓̽̃e̅͒͒'̄̋͑v̿̃͌̚eͩ̓̋̆̓ͨ̐͒ ̈ͬ͌̋ͮ̎̿̓͋e͊̅n̽̈ͥ̑̈̚s͌͗u͆ͣr̋̐̚ẻ̀d͑ͫ ͧ̀ͤͯ͛̽̚ä́͊͋̓̓̊̆l̏͛ͭͣ̅̓ͥ̈́͛lͭ̏̈ͫ̍̿ ̇͂ͩ̀̆t̓ͯ̈́ͫ̿̓h͂͋͊ͣ̉͐eͥ ͂̍ͨ͒̚rͤ̃o͒́͗̿̍͌̓͒oͣ͐̈́ͫ̊͑̄̚m̍̿ͯ͊s͆͛̇͑͛̂͛ ͤͭ͆ͯ̏ͦã̽ͬ̉ͪ͊ře̊ͯͭ̇͗̑ ̌̂̄w͂ͧͯeͯ̆l̓ͭ̒ͭ̽͊̔̽̄l̍ͧͫ͆ ̅̍̽̉f̂͆̈ͧ̿u͋̑̄͆r͐̈́ͧ͗n̅ͪ̽iͭͫ̏͐̉̅s̍͋̐ͭ͆̌̓̾̌hͧ̐͋͋̓ͧͭͤ̒e̊͑ͯ̊̓d̊̿.̃̌͐͑"̔̉ͤ ͋̓̄̏ͪ̈́̉̓
͗̄͐ͨ̇̄͐
̂"ͥ̈Ả̾̍̾͛̍r̔̾̾͌ͥ͒̓̎̚e̾̄ͫ ͩ͋̄͑͆ͫ̈̆ȳ͋̓̂ͪ̇͆ͫ͑o͊͑̆̔̌ͮuͭͫ̍͋̔̆ ͛̉ͥŝū̌͐ͥ̉rͫ́́̂̽̌̾e̿̈́ͨͬͤ ̒͗̋̄ͫe͑ͩͤ̑̂̂̍̾̇vͣͦ̓̄ͨ̍̓̚ẽ̈́ͬr̿̎̑̈̐y̅͌̉̂ͤ̉̌̅t͋ͨͨ̾̇ͧh́̓͗ͦiͯͬ̇͐̏̄̚ñ͐͊̏ͦ̾̊g͂̄͆ͨ̿̽͐ ̊͒ͣiͣs̔͛͑̏̐͒̓͊ ͮ̇̃̚u͛̎p̈́͋ ̓̽tͥ͆ͧ̊òͦ ̅̓ͬ̿s̏̾̂͐̽̆̇aͦ͒̉ͨt͆̿ͬ̅̑ͧͫi͐ͨͮ͋̆͆̏s̀̂̓ḟ̄̌̐̏ͨ̈ͥa̾͆͆͒cͫ̋̑t͆͂ͤ͑̓ͣiͮ͗oͩ̍ǹ̒͑̔͌?̄ͣ͌̊"̊̈͑ͫ̑ͧͬ ̽ͥ͒
͗͆̇
Noise. Noise and static like a television gone haywire. Otto's vision and hearing shorted out every so often; memories of the ship, it's crew, and his time spent in the Horsemen's Dungeon. All crashing together before his eyes like a haunted tape.

"͡J͟u͘s͡͏t̢ ̨͜a͜ ̀́͠s̷̀m̵a̴̷̡ļl͝ m̧̛͟o̴m̵̷en̴ţ͘͠ ͝of ̴̛p҉a̡͢i̴͝n̕,̧͠ ͟I͡ ̵p̵͠r̨o̵͘m̸̧i̸̢͢s҉e̕,͟ ͡҉p̴͜͞l̶͘͡e̷a̧͝s̡͏͜e͏͏ ̨̢d̶̛͟o̸̢͞ ̵̕nò̴̵t͏ ̀͟ş̢t̡ŗ̷͡ug͏͠g̵͜͝l̴̨e̶,̢͝ ͢͏į͟ţ ̷ḿ̧͟a̶͘҉k͜è͘s͠ ̵̵̧this̕͏ ̡͢e̶҉̧a͏s͘i̸e͘͢r͘͜͟.͝҉"̴̵͡

His eye twitched, and in reflex he grabbed the back of his neck. Despite the obvious touch of his ice cold skin, he could almost swear the scar had burned just a moment ago.

Bugs. Bugs were everywhere. Burrowing, always burrowing. Deeper into his flesh, feeding on what lay beneath the surface until he would become a hollowed out shell.

Otto entered his room, softly shutting the door. His limbs shook, all strength gone from his body. How did he get here again? He didn't remember. All he remembered was drowning in the frighteningly dark abyss of the wild ocean. The man who'd saved him, a trainee he never met, would sadly never get a thank you.

Every light was flicked on. Every night light, lamp and fluorescent available to turn on was kept on. Not a shred of darkness would be allowed in his room. The blonde slowly dragged himself to the shower. A long and hot shower might help, he thought.

It didn't.



B̆ͩ̉ͣ́҉͓͔̩̯͖̹̬̬͙u̢̘͔͆̿g̢͙̲̾ͥ̾ͦ̒͆͝s̟ͬ̾͂ͭͨͣ̿͜͞ͅ ͇̩̬̙͙̲͎ͦ̂͗̾̌͜͢͝E̼͚̦͇͓͓̒ͅv̸͋ͧ͏͇̞e͌҉̮̫̪̘r͗͞҉҉͙̖̟̦̮̞ỹ̴͎̙͖͛̀ẁ̜̲ͮ́̋ͦ͟h͖͚̫͕͇̪ͨ̓ͣ̉ͤ͗̿̋͡e̊͒͏͎̫̳̬͔͎͎͘r͔̱̣̜̳̟̹̺ͥ̈ẽ̙͕͖̞̝̤̂̌.̊̃҉͎͎̦͚͖



Otto now sat on his sofa, his previously icy skin steaming and warm from his shower, clothed in dry pyjamas, and a soft blanket gripped tightly around him like a cocoon.

He wanted to sleep. His head ached and spun, he was sneezing and stuffy. But more distressing was the glitching. The constant flashes of dark figures in the corner of his eye. A sudden skittering of a memory across the floor, a tingle on his arm or foot. Always itchy. Constant unrest. He was constantly teetering on the border of dizziness to near blacking out, almost unable to keep his own head atop his shoulders. His heart never stopped pounding erratically. The fear of dying of drowning fresh in his mind. The fear of the bugs crawling everywhere. The fear of being trapped in the dark.

He rubbed his arms over and over again in a vain attempt to calm down. The images, with eyes open or closed, never went away. The sounds, the voices, everything tainted.

If he had just drowned back there...

Otto groaned, clutching his head and curling into a ball. No. He hated this but he didn't want to die. He had friends here he'd not want to leave behind. He had a will to live, a will to survive.

But sometimes... sometimes he just didn't want to be here anymore. It was too hard. No matter how much he tried to push down all the bad things that happened, they just got stronger and stronger. He felt poisoned by his past, a sickening dread that feasted on him from the inside out.

His stomach growled, but he wouldn't eat.

S͊̄̒̋̆ET́͛̃̓̽̓ ͬ͛MÉ͗̃̇̒̃N͑̄ͣ̄̔̈́Uͫ͒͂̊̓̑ ͬ͌͛I͑ͥͪ̃̋Ī͗̄I͗̈́̓̌̍ ̀̆
ͥ̄͌
̊͐Sͩ̈́ͦè͆̆ͧ̓̃ͨàͭͮ͂ͥrͧͮĕdͨͧ̒ ͗̊̈̋ͫ͒́Se̔̏̿̆͋͌̽a̿ͯͥ̍ ͯ͗̎́̍ͪ͊S͑ͧ̆ͤ̿͊c̅ͯ̓̒͗̽̚al̅ͤ͗̃͐̊l̆̑o̒͂͋̌̇̄̿p̌ͦͦ̀͛̈́ͪ ͬͯ͗̂́S̋a̋̇̂̚̚lͮä́̉̄̾̔dͮ͛̅̒̾,͗̋͂̓ ̌To͂̄̇͑ma̎̋̔tͦͤo̔̈́̒ͯ ̅͛C̆̃ͩ̂ͮ̇o̾̈͂ͣn̐̽ḟ̓ī̌̂̑̄tͪͮ̓ ͋̎ͤ͂̍̊̚aͯ̑ͮ̐ͪn̒ͩ͆ͥ͆ͮd ͯ͋̍B͒ͨͩͤͤ͌͐a̿̓ͩc̓ͥö́̊ͫ̎̚n ̎͐Vͨ̅ͦin͆ȃ̆́iͫ̎͑̑ͬ̈̿g̎̏ͮ̎r̒̊͗̂̿̚eͧ̌t͑te̒̎̂ͦͫ̆̔ ̓ͫͨ͂ͭ
͒̀ͦͦ͌̀
*̑̐͐*͂̈́̂̈́*͌͊ͫ̌ ̇̄̔̾̈ͮ͌
̅̌̂́̽ͫ̚
͒̇̔ͬT͗͐͑ͯ̅͂oͪͫ̓ͫ̐̌m̋ȁͪ̅̿ͫ͌͑t̂ö́ͬ̋̾ Śͮ̎̌͊̂ò̃u͛̔pͧ̓ ̇͐̃w͛̓ͪͮi͒ͬͫ̾ͮtḧ́ ͗̅̅͗ͤͨ̄H̒̆̃ͬ̓̏o̓̀̃ͮ̑̊͊m͌̈́͐̉ͮͮ̆ë́ͬ̾̅̀͐̈́maͥ͛̊ͬͮdë̽ͩͧ͗ ͆͒̋͋ͩ̆Ric̃o̊͊t̓ͬ͌̄tȃ ͮ͛͐͛ͨCͤ͂ͦ̔͑ͤh̓̽̾̚̚eͦͨ̍͆̅eͬ̈́͆ͫsë́̽̈́̌͊ ͐̋ͬ
ͣ
*̏*͊͊ͩͭ͛̚*̂͋ͤ͆͌ͣ̿ ͧͬ̓̚
̾̔̈́ͬ
̎̈̃́ͯ̾̓Blͬ͒̅aćk͗̎ͭ̅̀ͭ̊ ̽̈P͋ͮ͗ͯepͫͥ͛͆p̔̓̅ͪ̍ͮėͤ̑ͦr̋̓̓-ͪ́̈́̑͛̔ͥC̓̃͑̇r̐ͩ̓͌u͒͌ͣ͊s̓ͫt̑̍e͊̓͑ͪ̉͑d͑̀̍ ͬͥͤ̂Tū̄̓ͪ̃͋ͪb̎̋͋͆̿ ̀͑͛͗̋ͭ̍T̃i͗̈́mͣ͑̓ͭ͂ ͊ͣͫ͊̀ͤ̾Fͣ̌ͣis̆̇̍̿ͩḣͣ̄,̿̉ ̉Cͣ͂r͑͛̈̏̀ͤ̇aͨͨb̈̉̓͊ ̋͋M̈́ͦͫeͧ̈́ͧ͌̏͂̎aͪͧ̎t ́ͤ̔Raͫͣͨ͒vͤͭ̐͑͑iͫ̈́̾͂o̎̊̃̓͑̏ͭl̑̈̌̎̏ͮͧiͤ͂ ͣ̌ā̇͛̚n̒ͩ̅̽d ̅S͛͊q͑ͨ̿̚uͫ̋͐͋id ̒̒͆Ì̄n͗̓̽k̈́̎ ̋̒̊ͫSa͗ͫ̅̍̂̉̈́ũͪ̾̅̂̉c̈́ͨͧê̎̈́ ̈̆ͬ̂͆̅
̽ͨͨ͌̌
orͯ͂ͨͭ͗͒ͥ ̏̒̚
̐͌ͣͧ͛
̊͛͗̈B͒͒̇ͫa̍c̑̾̍̐ŏͪ̇͆̒̋n-ͣ̾̒̓ͭͬW̽ͫ̋̊̇ͯr̾͛͊̽̄ap͒ͯ̅p̋̋͊ͥẻ͊̄͒͌̾ͭd̈́́́̈́ͤ̀ ͤͮ̀ͫ̍ͤAuͤ̈́̔̆͒̎ͭstͧ̋r͑̏̈̀ͣå̀ͬl͒̾̈͐͒͆i̅ͭ̑̆ͫͨaǹͩͫ̄̆͑ ͛̔ͩBe͆͌̉̑ȅ̂̀̎ͨ̏̌f͊ͭ͆ͨ̔͂ ̉ͭͤ͒̏̚F̽ͬill̄̏ͧ̔ͥ̇ěͦ͑t̓́̇̂͛̿͗,̾͑̐̓̇̍̊ ͮ̅̇̈͑͐R̋͐̂͛̿ͬ̚őaͤs͛̒̑͊tͣe͋͐̑̋d̾ ͭ̃̃͒͊͂P̈o̔̈̔̔̍͋ť͑̓̑̎a͒̿̿́ͥẗ́o͐͋ͯ̐ë̋ṡ̍,͛ͯ̓̃ ̀ͧͩ̿̉̌ͨŤͯ͛̀růͣfͭ̽̃̈ͦ́̿f͛̍͛̽̏l̍ͧͤ͊͋ͭẻ̈̌̾ͨ͋ ̑ͤ͊̌ͪͪO͌̑͑ͥ͗̅̅i͌̈̔̂ͯ͐́l̅̄ͩ̔ ͤ̅a̔ͥ̓͒ͪ͛nͯͯ̃d̓ͪ͊ ̾̀̽ͥ̊̌̂Ḃ̓̎͒è͆ͪͧͥe̐fͬ̌̾ͩ̍ ̌̈̈́J̿̈́͋u̾̑̌͛̔͊ͨš̿̈͗̃̄ ̽ͪ͗̔̆͛
̔ͪ̈́̇
͒̌ͤ̂*̓ͫ̚*̂*̇ͣͥ ͒
͂ͨ͌ͫ
͋̈̇̑Dͪͨ̎̋ͯͨa͗ͨͮ͂i̓ͭͦ͐́l͗̌̀͊yͤ̆ ̒̈De̐s͐͛̎̂̀̐͊s͆̃ͤ̉̿ͬ͋e̽̒̚r͒ͤ͒̍ͦ̑̃t͗̑͌ͭ ͗ͥ̈͌Sͦpͩ͑ͯ̚ecͮi͋̽ͫ̈́͛̍ả̑lͭ̓ͭͤ̅͛

That food he'd had on the ship. A ship of the dead. Bugs everywhere. He'd... had his own meal, as well as Nevada's. Whatever contents had been in Otto's stomach made a mass exodus upward. Otto leapt from his couch and back into the still steaming bathroom, beelining to pray to the porcelain God.