A tense silence drapes across the hollowed out earth, as palpable as its cold sting.
Then — lights bursts like capillaries and paint his world red, staining everything with color and filling the ridges and grooves with shadows. Music warbles to life as though coming from an old misshapen vinyl record; it churns out a beat marred by hatred, by contempt, and he recognizes it just well enough that it sends a chill down his spine.
Hushed voices laced with venom sing, “Takedown, takedown-”
With hands still bracing his body upright, Jinu wills himself to look over his shoulder. Dressed in sequin-lined costumes, Mira and Zoey stand side-by-side and chant in pitch-perfected unity, their hooded eyes marked with disdain as they drink in the sight of him, of his half-clothed form swaying with pitiful exhaustion.
Overhead, the backing track reeks of mockery. “Takedown, down, down, down.”
A single useless word ekes out from his lips: “What?”
“It’s a takedown,” they tell him, in sync as their bodies launch forward to meet his.
