Heine's dog laughs again; it echoes off of something in the darkness. First of all, you don't come near my master again. He's been keeping me down, you know? Makes me mad. He doesn't want to kill. Rip you open. I want to, haha, fuck. Get into your stomach. Your lungs. Haha.

From time to time a flash of pale skin or hair appears in the darkness around Eichel—someone pacing around him in a tight circle—but that's it. Nothing more is visible, even when the warm damp breath on the back of his neck becomes the brush of lips and teeth as it speaks.

I don't give a fuck like he does. He'll let me out if you try again... on him or that kid. It goes quiet for a moment, almost thoughtful, as its hands meander over Eichel's shoulders and arms to take hold of his wrists and presses against his back from behind. That wouldn't be so bad. I could taste you better.

But the boss is the boss. Another laugh, and nails digging in so deep they're more like claws. I listen to him. And now you do, too.