[when shamspeare hears the message, his surroundings shift around him.
he can't see anything. something is covering his eyes.
rough hands pick him up and then push him down into something, and he hears the creaking of something heavy shutting, and then a thud and a click of a lock. he struggles, and a blindfold comes off of his eyes, but it's too dark to make out his surroundings.
it's cramped in here. there's just barely enough room to move, but not really enough to stretch. he can hear muffled squeaking around him, and then lurches forward as whatever he's in gets picked up.
no subject
he can't see anything. something is covering his eyes.
rough hands pick him up and then push him down into something, and he hears the creaking of something heavy shutting, and then a thud and a click of a lock. he struggles, and a blindfold comes off of his eyes, but it's too dark to make out his surroundings.
it's cramped in here. there's just barely enough room to move, but not really enough to stretch. he can hear muffled squeaking around him, and then lurches forward as whatever he's in gets picked up.
a voice, amidst the squeaks:
-̶͙̘̮͈̞̀͑͛̈́̂͌̄̓̓̚-̸̰̲͓͈͇͇͌͛͗̏̎̏͆͒͘̕ ̸̡̡̻̙̣̭̱͎̄̄̒̆͝͠-̸̡̢̡̧̛͇̠͉̞̯̝̣͉͒̾͒̿̎͂̊̽̓͑̚͜͝͝ͅ-̸̨̛̣̹͔̗̇̄̿̌̋̉-̸̻̱̹͔͚̜͚̅̃͠ͅ ̷̧̛̳̼̭̲͚̤̩̠͔̬͖̱̿̽̇̾̾̌̓̀̉̏̾͘̕͜ͅw̷̧͎̘̯̲͚͇͔̤̣̭͑̀̒̀̽̃̆͝ì̶̧̧̖̩͚̩͍͙͙̖̈́̾͂́̈́̌̋̊̌̆͜͝l̶̳̟̄͐ļ̷̯̱̰̩̝̟̥̗̃͊̉ͅ ̶̨̮̳̹̊̀b̵̛̛̗̻̼̰̳̋͒́̄͐̐̿͗͛͗̚͜͠ͅe̶̡͖͔͇͊ ̷̧̢̨̨̡̢̞̻̟̪̲͎̞̼͋̐-̶̛̛̭̩̭͙̞̂͗̒́̃͑̀͝͝-̷̛́̌̀ͅͅ-̴̧̧̛̲͍͙͙̞̲̤̣̺̹͎̠̆͛̈͛̃́́̽͌̈́̿-̷̡̢͎̳͇͉͓͍̮̼͑ͅ ̶̧̡̡̡̩͉̣̼͊̊͒͑ẗ̷̨̥̞̗́͐̐̂͐̓̎̓̽̓͆͝͠͝o̸͚̤̗͕̎ ̵̢͉̦̭̀͌̋̈̒̍̃̚͜͠͠͝-̸͎̫͖̺͈̮̬̖̰̖͐͝-̴̝̤͈͍̟́̈́̔̎͐̎͊͘-̴̨̦͖̰̽̊̓̒͘̚-̵̮̇̄͆̾̍̓͆͌͐̓̐̕͘͜ ̵̯̽̄͊̆͒̀͜͝h̷̙̺͊ị̸̫̤͔̖͂̄̽̀̾̆̅͆͠m̶̛̲̓̋͐́̈̀͒̊̿̃͊
more squeaking that sounds almost like laughter, and then -
everything is normal.
he's back in the car wash.
the radio is playing, cycling through all the messages that have come through so far. he's been here all along. this is normal.
isn't it?]