Cold Rain

Grasshopper coughed. The rain had started up again, and he was soaked through. The ground was sludge beneath his feet, pulling at him. He trudged on.

Suddenly, the rain became cold. It had been warm just a second ago, the rain of a rainforest. Now the water beat down like ice pellets.

Grasshopper stopped. He had heard something, just to his left. The softest whisper of movement in the foliage. He blinked and moved on. He was tired; the forest was getting to him. But then another rustle, this time right behind him. Grasshopper started hyperventilating, fear coursing through his veins. An uncontrollable instinct to run beat a rhythm in his eardrums. It was colder than ever.

He ran, straight into a man dressed in an immaculate and somehow dry silk suit. Grasshopper slowly looked up, and cried out when he reached the face. The man’s face was a mask. Not that he was wearing a mask, he simply had no features, save for two red dots where his eyes should have been, pulsating with malevolence.

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