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Chapter Text

 Jschlatt inhaled sharply as he dropped the can of baked beans to the ground.

 Heavy rain poured down - onto the can, onto his face, and onto the cold body of a man; face mangled and the skull cracked, leaking blood and other fluids he couldn't quite figure out.

Jschlatt gazed down at the flesh before lowering the gaze further on his shoes. They were soaked in rain, cold and heavy, clinging to his socks. Just like the heavy boulder in his mind. He liked to call this feeling the boulder in his mind. It was like guilt. The kind of guilt he was supposed to feel, but he didn't. It was more like an annoying voice in the back of his head. 

He flicked open a lighter and lit a cigarette. 

After taking a drag or two, he clasped his hands together in an almost peaceful gesture, closing his eyes. The sight might have looked sacred, if not for the body slumped in front of him. The prayer lasted a minute before he opened his eyes again.

Jschlatt stepped away, holding the cigarette firmly between his lips. The loud siren was getting close. That doesn't mean he was gonna be caught though. Nobody could caught him. It was like an ability of him - being unable to leave a single trace behind the crime. He always got away. Call him delusional, if you dare - but don't forget to lock your windows because he will get to you.

You might wonder, why? Why is he doing this? 

Jschlatt wasn't kind of a man to think about that deeply. Simply, because he could. Imagine that you killed someone and boom. Nobody knows it was you. Nobody would ever know. You can do whatever you want. Who wouldn't resist that? He was gifted. Gifted by the lord - gifted by himself. Then why not enjoy it when you have the power?

Everybody is a hypocrite.

And Jschlatt would call himself one, too - but at least he was honest.

"Oh, fuck. I almost forgot him again. Thanks, man. I appreciate it."

"Nah, it's fine."

 Jschlatt scooped up the orange cat out of the other man's arms. He had almost left Soup in the store again. He sometimes tended to forget his cats after picking up the packages and loading them into his worn-out truck.

He didn't even want to think about the day when he accidentally left Soup here and lost him. He thought that someone had stolen Soup for some kind of revenge - he wasn't sure who would dare to touch his cat -  and almost reached for the pistol in the glove box of his truck. The pistol he'd made sure to never touch again after adopting his two bundles of joy - Jambo and Soup.

But thankfully, before things got bloody, he found his cat from the delivery supplier's store. Cradling the black cat in his arms, he reminded to himself not to think about the past again. Never again. 

Because, he had things to protect now.

The rebellious days were over.

Schlatt wasn't the twenty-something kid who had too many secrets for his own good anymore. He was older - and maybe, more wiser now.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the supplier let out a chuckle.

"You should really look after your cats more carefully, you know?"

Oh, did he think that he didn't know that. Geez. Schaltt let out a snort before rolling his eyes.

"I know, I know. You don't have to keep bragging it up every damn time you see me."

"Just reminding, man. Anyway, this is the last package for today."

The supplier handed him a box. He nodded a quick thanks before leaving the store. Walking to his truck, he wondered if he could finish his job early to go grab some junk food before going his home. His life was much blander now, but also much peaceful.

This is fine, he thought to himself. He could get used to this.

 Jschlatt picked up the last package with a groan. It was heavier than usual, he grunted under his breath. The plan of leaving early and enjoying his late-night beer was ruined; because he was exhausted now. He couldn't wait to get back to his house and crawl into his bed with his cats.

Schlatt stepped onto the porch and set the box down. Stretching up, he noticed the front door was open. He peeked inside without thinking much.

A little curiosity won't kill the cat, right?

Schlatt was slightly disappointed to see an ordinary hallway inside. But as he traveled his gaze further into the living room, he was left frozen.

There was a puddle of blood spreading wider - and a body that was missing some parts of its limbs.

He snapped out of the brief shock. He had to leave quickly - he didn't need to be involved in another crime. He'd already had enough. No more violence.

Just as he was about to turn back, the front door swung open and a tall man appeared behind the door. Schlatt tried to run, or at least fight back - but it was too late. The last thing he saw was a bloody wooden bat flying toward him, right in front of his eyes. After a minute or two of dazed coma, he realized that the world was tilted. Like, tilted to the side, as if- oh. Scratch that - he was lying side way. Or more like he collapsed. Well, this was new.

The first thing he noticed was that his head was pounding. And it hurt like a bitch. His ears were ringing. He couldn't see very well. His vision was bleary and his tongue felt heavy. Was this blood he tasted right now? He wasn't sure. Everything felt numb.

The second thing he noticed was the warm feeling of blood tricking down his forehead. Oh fuck. He couldn't afford the hospital bill. This was huge - he was bleeding in the head. Huge wound meant huge money. Fuck. The fact he wasn't scared of who hit him or what was going to happen to him amused him slightly. Maybe the hit left him stupid.

The last thing he noticed was the two round glasses that was staring down at his eyes. He blinked slowly, trying to fight back the dizziness that was swallowing him. He felt a hand grabbing his chin - the man was inspecting him like some animal. Schlatt would've felt furious if he could feel anything. All he could feel was numbness and the pounding inside his head. He tried to say something - anything to pry off the hand grabbing his chin - but the sound that left his throat was a low groan. 

He tried to focus his gaze on the man's face. Though his eyes tried to roll back about every 30 seconds, he finally scrapped enough strength to look at the man's face.

Schlatt would've thought that all of this was just a dream when he saw a young man - maybe in his 20s - looking shocked as if he wasn't the one who literally knocked him out with a wooden bat. For a moment, Jschlatt saw the younger version of himself in the man's face.

He was murmuring something to him. But he couldn't fucking listen. His ears were still ringing and it was getting harder to focus.

Finally, he let go. His eyes drooped shut as he lost consciousness.

Chapter Text

 Jschlatt was dreaming. 

He was in the void. He wasn't sure if he was closing his eyes; because even if he blinked, all he could see was the same, pure darkness. His head was throbbing. He thought he might vomit.

Then, the void shifted.

There was a mirror in front of him. He squinted his eyes. Slowly, taking a careful step, he looked into the mirror. It was all bleary. He leaned in closer, trying to see himself inside the clear mirror.

Then, he saw it. Himself.

But it wasn't him in the same time.

It was a... ram? Or a goat. He couldn't figure out. Its round eyes were staring up at him. It was creepy.

But somehow he was sure that it was him. He was seeing himself in the mirror.

The flicking of its ear, the faint sound of his breathing - his headache was getting worse.

His ears began ringing again. He reached up, trying to cover his ears  instinctively - only to find the curled horns and fluffy ears.

He was the ram. He was the goat. It sent a shiver down his spine.

Oh God.

Jschlatt found himself in a chair.

For a moment, he was confused. He didn't remember why he was here and what happened. And the pain in his head didn't help him either.

He shakily stood up. The room was spinning, but he could handle it.

He tried to remember - how did he got here, why his head hurt so much - but fuck. His head was pounding too hard. He reached up and rubbed his temples. As the dizziness got better, the memories rushed back to him.

The front door. The bat. The pain.

Schlatt's body shuddered at the memories. Whatever the situation he was in, he had to leave.

Just as he opened the door - it wasn't even locked to his surprise - and took in the surroundings, he heard a voice behind him.

"Schlatt? Oh, thank god you're finally awake!"

His blood ran cold. Whoever was behind him, he knew his name. And the man's voice was too calm for a kidnapper. Too polite.

Schlatt slowly turned around. He faced the man - the round glasses slightly crooked on the man's face, the weak grin on his smile which looked creepy because of the mouth wrinkle. He was taller than Schlatt. And much younger. He remembered that face from the hazy memories when he was hit. His breath hitched slightly.

Schlatt didn't say anything, waiting for the man in front of him to continue.

However, the man just tilted his head slightly. Schlatt could sense that he was at least insane. Or psychotic, they said? Whatever was wrong with this man, that wide opened eyes - staring down at him as if he knew everything made him uneasy.

"...Who are you? Why am I here? Where- where am I?"

Schlatt finally spat out, the words feeling uncomfortable on his tongue. 

"Well... first of all, I'd like to apologize for hitting you. I didn't know it was you."

The man's body trembled slightly - he looked like he was holding back something. He stepped forward, which made Schlatt back away until his back hit the wall. Schlatt looked up at him. He was surrounding him like some predator animal. But his eyes, behind the glasses, they were shining with awe. Or, excitement. He couldn't quite figure out since it was a new emotion he'd never seen from the others before. Every single thing this man he did made Schlatt uncomfortable.

"Alright, but you still didn't answer me. Who are you, and... how did you know my name?"

As soon as Schlatt finished talking, the man suddenly reached out and held this hand. Schlatt flinched, clearly not expecting that. However, the man was just holding his hand with the trembling hands. The man looked down at him, leaning closer. Schlatt wanted to kick him off and run away, but the voices in his head told him that the man in front him was dangerous. So, he just stayed still.

"It's a long, long story... You're my idol, Schlatt. My hero. My savior. I'm your fan, Schlatt. I'll do anything for you."

The man's voice trembled - not out of fear, but awe.

"My name is Ted. Ted Nivison. It's so honor to finally meet you, the Big Guy himself."

Schlatt froze.

...What?

"...How did you know." Schlatt growled out, his eyes darkening.

Ted looked down at him. With the same annoying grin on his face. Was he mocking him? Schlatt gritted his teeth.

"Answer me, before things get ugly."

"And what if I don't?"

"Bullshit. You said you'd do anything for me."

Ted just let out a quiet chuckle, almost challenging him to punch him.

And Schlatt didn't hesitate to throw a punch on the bastard's face.

They were sitting at a diner table after Schlatt literally beat the shit out of him. Ted had an ugly black eye and a nosebleed, but the same shit-eating grin was still there. Mocking him. Schlatt wondered how many punches would take to wipe the smug grin off of his face. It seemed impossible.

Schlatt asked him how did he know, and even threatened him to speak up, but Ted just chuckled him off. It made Schlatt frustrated. But the more he asked, the more Ted got weird.

Schlatt did everything he could. He punched Ted, kicked Ted, and even strangled him. But it didn't scare Ted at all. And Schlatt was left exhausted and drained. The way Ted didn't fight back at all - it made him more uneasy. He just wanted to go home.

After a heavy sigh, Schlatt opened his mouth.

"...So, you said you're my fan or something."

"Yep, kind of. And as I said, sorry for hitting you earlier. I just didn't know it was you."

"So how? How did you know my name and-... And that I'm the Big Guy."

Schlatt said almost hesitantly. He didn't like the way he sounded. It felt like he's weak, and he didn't like it.

"Hm. Let's just say that I was really, really interested in you."

Ted said, grinning widely. The stretch of his mouth, the mouth wrinkle - it bothered Schlatt.

"And from the moment you saved me, I've been waiting for you. You were... my muse."

His voice drifted into a some kind of nostalgia. But all Schlatt could feel was pure confusion. Had them meet before? He didn't recognize Ted's face.

"I'm sorry, but what? I don't think we've met before."

"Yes we did! You're the one who awakened me."

That didn't answer his question, nor made sense. But still, he had things to do. First things first, he had to get back to his home. Because, he was sure his cats were screaming like a siren in hunger. Schlatt rubbed his fingers against his temples, sitting up.

"Alright, you know what? I don't fucking care. Just give my keys back. I need to go home."

Ted raised a brow at him.

"Really? Just like that? What if I blackmail you?"

Schlatt suppressed an eye roll at that. If Ted was gonna use that and take advantage of him, he'd have Schlatt tied in the chair. And, he literally said that he was a fan of Schlatt. That didn't make any sense.

"No you wouldn't. Now, cut the crap and just hand me the damn keys."

“You know, Schlatt. You seem awfully calm for this whole stuff.”

That made Schlatt pause. Well, it was true that he was always numb with fears. He didn’t feel any fear. The word ‘scared’ was a foreign language for him. But that doesn’t make him unable to feel any emotions, for fuck’s sake. He did feel worry, panic, love. And the tone Ted used offended him. Like, he was some heartless bastard who kills people for fun. Even if he did, it was too long ago. 

“No I’m not. Just… let me go home. I got two cats to feed.”

Schaltt said almost desperately. He missed his cats.

Ted just blinked. Once, twice. Slowly, he nodded.

“Alright, fine. Here.” 

Ted handed him his keys. Fucking finally. He snatched the keys out of Ted’s palm and stood up. The world tilted for a moment, and Schlatt almost sat down again. Fucking ouch his head. Bastard. Creepy bastard.

Jschlatt was exhausted. He didn’t want to think about who this Ted guy was and that he literally knocked him out cold - dragging him in this house and dropping a bomb. That he knew who he was. The weirder thing was that Ted was his fan. That just didn’t make any sense. He thought he might be dreaming if not for the horrible throbbing on his head.

Schlatt stomped out of the house without looking back. The outside was still dark - thank god he wasn’t passed out for too long. And soon, he found his truck parked on the street. Settling in the driver’s seat and starting the engine, he still didn’t look back. Whatever is wrong with Ted’s head, Schlatt was not going to meet him again. He ignored everything and began to head for his home. The way Ted didn’t even come out to say anything to Schlatt before he left - it made him feel uneasy. He felt uncomfortable. Fucking creepy bastard.

He sighed heavily, gripping the wheel tightly. For the first time in a long time, he was gonna have a long night.

 Ted sat slumped against the chair. His face still hurt from all the punches he had from Schlatt. His nose was still dripping blood. Even after Schlatt left, he didn’t move. He just couldn’t. If he got up and continued his life, this might be disappear. As if it was just a dream that he always wished to have.

A shaky grin appeared on his lips. Then a laugh. Then another, until he was wheezing. It quickly turned into a hysterical laugh. He couldn't stop laughing. He couldn't breathe.

Ted touched his nose and winced. It hurt, but it felt fine. Fine in a weird way. He raised the hand to his eye level. His fingers were shaking, and the fingertips came away red. It was blood. His own blood, caused by Jschlatt. The Big Guy himself. He chuckled again. His lungs hurt from all the laughing. But he didn't care. Oh, this was the best day- no, the second best day of his life.

Ted brought the blood-stained finger to his mouth and tasted it.

Salty. Metallic. Fresh.

Ted hummed softly.

He knew this wouldn't be the last time.

Chapter Text

 Ted Nivison. Theodore K. Nivison Jr.

That’s what people call him. That’s his name. He supposes.

But in reality, he was nobody. Nobody. He didn’t want to define himself. Because that’s just fucking dumb.

How can people define themselves if they don’t even know who they are?

In Ted’s life, everybody was an idiot. Nobody was like him. He was the only one who understood the world.

Ted was around thirteen when his parents found out that something was wrong with his brain.

He tried to remember the day - when he had been staring down at the road, curled up on the street. The young Ted was staring down at a rat. A road-killed rat. It was stuck to the ground, its guts squeezed out of the body. He heard his mother shifting closer to him. And then a quiet gasp. Maybe that was the reason why his mother sometimes looked at him with those eyes - full of emotions he couldn't quite figure out - when he did something similar. Staring down at dead animals, kicking the mice that were sneaking into his house, etc.

Then one day, his mother decided to drag him into the hospital - he's still not sure why, though.

The young Ted was sitting on an uncomfortable chair. His mother was beside him, holding his hand. He was bored. The doctor was saying things that he didn’t understand. But his mother did - he could tell because she was crying, and her hand that was holding his was shaking.

It all felt too loud. He didn’t like it.

On the way home, his mother kept saying things he didn’t understand - just like the doctor did. None of it made sense. It was like talking to an alien. They didn’t understand each other even though they were from the same universe.

But the way her face softened, the way she kept saying everything was going to be okay - it was enough to calm the voices in his head. She was his mother, after all. Even if he didn’t quite like it.

When they arrived home, it was getting dark.

He got out of the car.

He slowly stepped forward.

He opened the door.

He saw the body of his father.

He saw a man holding a gun.

He heard his mother screaming behind him.

He was-

...Oh.

I was thinking about that again, wasn't I.

Sorry about that.

Let me just change the perspective.

It's better this way anyways.

 Ted snapped out of his thoughts when he accidentally burned his finger on the pan. He hissed and quickly turned off the stove.

His meatloaf was ready. He hummed softly as he plated it in a small dish. He wiped off some of sauce that was smeared along the edge. It looked perfect.

His father used to make him this meatloaf when his mother wasn't home. He said it was her 'special recipe.' But what the young Ted wondered was: why did it taste different when she made it? If it was her recipe, how did his father made it so much better that he didn't want to eat anything else?

But Ted wasn't thirteen anymore. He just hoped he'd guessed the special ingredient right - the one his father used.

Ted had been making meatloaf since he was eighteen. Over years, the first perfect meatloaf - the same taste his father used to make - came out when he was twenty. 

When he first made that perfect meatloaf, he cried all night. He had finally done it - his mother's special recipe, his father said. He chewed each bite until it turned like porridge, savoring every second of it.

And when he was done, he made another. And then another. He had four big meatloaves in total that day. He couldn't make more because the meat ran out. But he wrote down the recipe with trembling hands, jotting down the exact amount of ingredients and cooking time.

That's how he could still make the perfect meatloaf whenever he needed it.

He sat at the dining table. The meatloaf was steaming hot, and it looked so delicious. Oh how he missed it. He hadn't eat this meatloaf in a week. His mouth was watering.

Ted carefully, slowly took a bite as if it was the last food in the world. And he chewed. Once. The juice spreading through his tongue, tender meat on his teeth, the sauce- oh, he almost cried.

He had missed this so much.

 Two weeks passed after their strange meeting.

Jschlatt was feeding his cats breakfast when he heard the knock. Who the hell was knocking at his door at 8 a.m.? He grumbled, opening the door.

Schlatt was met with a milkman. 

First, he didn't remember ordering milk.

Second, that man was taller than him - and he remembered this guy from somewhere.

Third, that damn smirk. The mouth wrinkle. That was it - it hit him. 

Ted.

He almost didn't recognize him because of his outfit and the lack of the glasses. But that was not the point.

How did he know his house?

But before he could say anything, Ted- no, the Milkman started.

"Hello, sir! Would you like some milk?"

The faint accent he used sounded foreign. Schlatt looked up at him dumbfounded, only to meet with a wide grin. Was this man joking?

"Ted, what the hell do you think you're doing? And how did you know my address?"

Schlatt spat out, scowling. The Milkman just let out a chuckle before continuing.

"First, I'm not Ted. Call me Milkman! And, you didn't answer my question."

"The fuck are you talking about? Are you high?"

"Nope. Absolutely sober."

Schlatt felt the headache returning. He almost had to sell his truck to prepare the hospital bill, thanks to this creepy bastard who hit him with a baseball bat. And his head wasn't even fully healed yet. What is wrong with him? What the hell was this guy on.

Jschlatt rubbed his temples and looked up at him, hoping for some explanation. But of course, Ted didn't say anything.

"...If I buy your milk, will you please- get the fuck away from me? And leave me alone?"

"Oh, no. The milk's free, but I'm here to discuss something with you."

Ted politely took off his hat and tuck it between his arm. Was he expecting Schlatt to let him in? Hell nah.

"Excuse me? I'm not letting you in. Get lost."

Schlatt scowled up at him, and leaned back to close the door. But Ted blocked the path, grabbing the door with a firm hand.

"Please, Schlatt?" That was all he said.

Schlatt looked up at him, the familiar feeling of unease slowly building up again. He sighed heavily, knowing this is futile.

"Fine, just... don't touch my cats."

Schlatt sounded desperate, almost vulnerable. Ted raised a brow at him. Then, he blinked slowly.

Once, twice. Then Ted nodded silently.

Schlatt wondered if that meant anything. He wished he could read this guy.

Ted was pissed.

Why Jschlatt - the Big Guy himself - was caring for some damn cats? He didn't understand. That damn annoying cats, they corrupted his idol. But he could work with that. If he take enough care of him, he'll turn back into Jschlatt again. It's fine.

Ted took in the surroundings of Jschlatt's house as he was lead inside. It was an ordinary apartment, with two cats sprawled on the couch.

Annoying piles of dust and fur. Stupid cats. They're not even edible.

But for now, trust was important. Ted couldn't show Jschlatt that he was irritated. Ted could see Jschlatt was wary of him. The way his body tensed whenever Ted moved, the way his brows knitted together when Ted asked something to him...

Oh, this is beautiful.

He's going to carve every moment into his cortex, drain every single fluid from his body to replace it to Jschlatt. Oh, Jschlatt. How perfect person he is. He admired him. He wondered how Jschlatt will taste on his tongue.

Ted remained smiling while Jschlatt led him to the dining table and offered him a cup of coffee.

He picked up the mug and took a sip of the hot black coffee. He still hadn't said anything to make Jschlatt uncomfortable. 

Finally, Jschlatt frowned and opened his mouth.

"So, you wanted to discuss something. What is it?"

Ted smirked at him, leaning back against the chair. Ted loved how uneasy Jschlatt looked. He waited for the perfect moment, before beginning.

"I want you to help me."

"Help you with what? Spit it out."

"Oh come on, man. What do I need you to help me? The Big Guy himself?"

Ted enjoyed the wincing of Jschlatt's body and the clenching of his fists whenever he referred Jschlatt as the Big Guy. It was amusing.

"...You want me to help you killing people? Am I correct, or nah?"

Ted chuckled softly. He rested his chin against his hand, leaning forward.

"Right. I need you to help me, Jschlatt."

"Just call me Schlatt."

"Alright, Jschlatt."

Schlatt was very tempted to punch this guy in the face, but he held back.

"Look, Ted. If you want me to help you, you'll have to be more specific. Like, I don't understand what the hell you want me to help you."

Ted tilted his head, processing the words.

"Alright, then. I want you to tell me what you did to witnesses to make them shut up."

Schlatt paused at that. Would Ted believe if he said he just killed people and the witnesses magically shut up? Hmph.

"I don't know. That's my secret, you know? Can't have my business idea flying out there."

Schlatt swallowed quickly, pretending to be a cocky business man, the Big Guy in his prime, who Ted wanted Schlatt to be. And he didn't forget to make a cocky grin on his face. Schlatt wasn't an idiot. He knew this guy was going to at least kill him if he knew that Schlatt was no longer like that guy who killed people for fun. It was better to stay in character, for fuck's sake.

And to his surprise, it worked. Ted's eyes widened and his shit-eating grin returned. 

"Ah, my bad! My bad. Yeah, that was stupid of me."

Ted chuckled, taking another sip of coffee. A long silence stretched on.

Ted was amused, to say at least.

Oh, Jschlatt looked so damn nervous. Ted wanted to reach out and grab his face in his own palm - feeling the skin and the warmth. Admiring him.

In Ted's eyes, Jschlatt wasn't an idiot like everybody else - he was a sheep.

A ram.

A ram in wolf's clothing, and he knows he's terrifying.

But what he doesn't know is that he is also terrified. Even if he was out of the wolf's clothing, that doesn't change that he, in fact, was in the wolf's clothing once. That's how he will be for the rest of his life.

The other sheep would never trust him, and the other wolves would be suspicious of him. And he doesn't even know the fact he's terrified. That's the reason he hid from the world, Ted guessed. The ram could be the sheep - who symbolizes the innocence, purity.

And yet he chose to be a goat. All that because he didn't want to be the sacrifice.

Jschaltt gazed down at Ted. 

This creepy bastard, he was inspecting him. Schlatt had met this kinds of people in his life. They were arrogant, and they thought they were the only person who's awake. But guess what? He was too familiar with this kinds of people.

In Schlatt's eyes, Ted was Jschlatt. The young version of himself, the young man who wasn't afraid of the world. Maybe that's why he hated Ted so much. But there were some things he couldn't figure out. Sure, Ted was like Schlatt. But some things just didn't make sense. Perhaps that's because the guy in front of him was insane. 

He hated that when he looked at Ted, he could see himself in Ted's face. Ted was like him, but in the same time, he was different from him. Ted was more like... just a reflection. He was empty inside. All the plans he built outside, but over them, he didn't have any purpose.

Huh. Wait. Did I even have one?

Schlatt shook his head. This guy was messing with his head, and he didn't like it.

Ted was a wolf in sheep's clothing, He wants to be like him. It's creepy.

He has the power. He has everything. And yet what he wants to become is a sheep. He wants to mimic a sheep in wolf's clothing by wearing the sheep's clothing himself.

Ted was imitating him, but the man he was copying was not even Schlatt anymore. He wasn't like that.

...Or so he thought.

 After a while, Ted cleared his throat.

And Schlatt snapped out of his thought at the noise.

Ted finished the coffee and gently put the mug down onto the table. Then, he leaned back comfortably.

"So, what do you think about my outfit?"

Schlatt squinted his eyes slightly and said. "Since when did you get a job as a Milkman?"

"I made it myself. Needed a brand for myself."

...A brand for himself.

"What do you mean, a brand for yourself?"

Schlatt didn't like where this was going.

Ted just let out a quiet chuckle. He took a lot of time before answering.

"You had a brand for yourself. The Big Guy. And I'm gonna make one myself, as the Milkman!"

Schlatt's blood ran cold.

Oh God.