#paracold

He didn't wait for a response, turning around and walking back over to his bed, and soon enough, he heard the sound of his door closing, and feet scrambling to catch up to him.

Cold laid back down on the bed with a sigh, looking over and watching Paranoid cautiously get into bed with him.

It wasn't often that Paranoid went to Cold for support or comfort, but he did consider himself a welcome distraction from how loud and intense the others were. Sometimes they just needed help with being numb, and Cold wasn't one to say no to much.

Paranoid laid down, and immediately turned his back to Cold, his shoulders still tense.

"Thank you," Paranoid spoke up after a few minutes, sounding much less scared and stressed already. "I'm sorry if I woke you up."

"You didn't," Cold replied, never taking his eyes away from Paranoid's back, feeling like there was a vast mountain between their bodies.

They were close, but not close enough.

This wasn't how Cold expected his night to go, but he wasn't complaining. There was something about Paranoid that Cold found fascinating. Maybe it was because they were so different. Maybe it was because they were 'stranger pairs' or however Contrarian described it.

It was hard to understand why, but Cold wasn't particularly interested in the why. If he was and he figured it out, then it wouldn't be very entertaining anymore.

No, Cold was more interested in how Paranoid made him feel.

Cold used to think that he was an unfeeling void, wanting to take in anything that made him feel more than he was. He was stable, unflinching, and was happy to not need anybody else.

But ever since taking this new body, that didn't seem to be the case anymore.

Cold watched as Paranoid still shook and trembled, even when he pulled up the covers up to his chin. His feathers bristled, and his whole body still looked quite rigid and tense, as if waiting for something to strike out at him.

Cold wondered what sort of dream he has, to make him this frightened.

Soon enough, the silence was beginning to suffocate Cold, and he wanted to reach into Paranoid's mind and live there for a bit, to see how deep the horror went.

In the blink of an eye, and a hunger stirring deep within him, Cold swiftly reached over and pressed himself against Paranoid's back, holding him close and resting his cheek over his neck, feeling his pulse pounding against his skin.

Paranoid immediately stiffened and yelped, flinching but not fighting the hold. Cold felt Paranoid grab onto his arms and hiss into his ear, "What are you doing?!"

"Getting you to stop shaking."

"You can't just do that without warning me!"

"Why? It didn't make much difference. You're not fighting it."

Paranoid spluttered, failing to come up with a response, and Cold smiled at the feeling of Paranoid's feathers trying to puff up while trapped between Cold's chest.

Eventually, Paranoid collected himself enough to just sigh harshly and then said, "Just say something next time."

Then Cold felt a squeeze to his arms, and then Paranoid's entire body slowly relaxed, melting into his arms.

There was nothing but silence and the sound of breathing for awhile, and Cold focused on the feeling of Paranoid in his arms, feeling every curve and limb against his own.

Funnily enough, despite physically calming down, Cold could still feel his pulse going haywire.

"Why did you come to me first?" Cold murmured, feeling Paranoid shiver against him. "Was I your first choice?"

Paranoid made a small, unsure noise, wriggling for a moment before stopping again, and Cold found it so fascinating, to be holding a person like this in his arms, and be directly responsible for their reactions, to be able to poke and prod to his heart's desire.

Even this was so much better than being alone with the silence. Cold didn't want that.

He didn't want to be alone.

"Truthfully," Paranoid said, "I had a feeling that you'd be awake, and that you'd let me in. You're not the best sleeper."

Cold pressed his face further into Paranoid's neck, breathing in his scent and warmth.

Paranoid continued, "You just- You make everything a lot more clear." Then he chuckled. "Although, you'd probably just call it numb. I'm not sure."

Paranoid sighed, rubbing a thumb up and down Cold's wrist.

"You scare me sometimes," Paranoid quietly admitted, "but sometimes you're the only one that can make the monsters go away. That's stupid, right?"

No, no it wasn't, because Cold was feeling the exact same way.

He used to be so good at not wanting anybody else, being detached and observant. He believed that was the only logical way to live, nothing to fear and no one to hold him back.

But now Cold found himself craving other people.

The thought of being alone, of having nothing but his own thoughts and the silence, was something that terrified him.

He didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to go back to that sickening reward, if you could even call it that.

The others blocked out that loneliness with their presence, with just their own selves. They were all so full of passions and fears and emotions, that they got rid of that fear deep within Cold's heart.

Even now, he didn't wany to let go of Paranoid for the rest of the night, the rest of his life, perhaps.

Paranoid, of course, noticed his silence, and nervously asked, "Cold? Are you okay?"

Cold didn't speak, too enraptured with the way Paranoid's pulse was picking up speed.

"Oh, I've upset you, haven't I?" Paranoid assumed, guilt and shame rising in his voice. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have come here unannounced-"

Paranoid started to wriggle about, body tensing up again as he tried to sit up- but immediately froze when Cold's arms tightened around him in an iron, desperate grip.

There was a pause, and then Paranoid softly asked, "Do you want me to leave?"

"No," Cold gasped, an aching in his chest that he didn't wish to confront right now.

He buried his face in Paranoid's neck and whispered, "I want you to stay forever."

There was a moment where everything stood still- and then Paranoid sighed as he snuggled back into Cold's arms.

"Okay," Paranoid whispered, holding Cold's arms tightly, and that made Cold relax, surprisingly, that simple action.

Two had left the basement. Two had left the heart. Two had found their way through the tangles, and were finding out what it meant to have humanity. In a cabin, a voice started to form a body. Elsewhere, in tangles of memories, other voices did as well. The Hero, of course, experienced things the most universally. Once he ventured from the cabin, finding the rest would be as simple as walking down a path in the woods.

Some, however, found each other first. And perhaps some would not have been expected. Such as The Paranoid—

—almost felt triumphant in the totality of his experiences. He had seen through the veil of deceit so many times, he had taken the idea that he could influence reality and held it tight in his hands. Paranoia came with vigilance.

Which was why he was so quickly certain that there was little he could do about his current situation. It wasn't that he didn't try. Despite circumstances, he willed his heart to keep beating, he willed his lungs to keep air flowing through his body, he willed his liver regulate his blood, he willed his nerves to tolerate this. The ability to tear past the veil was no longer his, though. When he thought that something should be, it didn't change it from being otherwise. It was hard to say whether he would live long. Endless skeletal hands clutched with bone-breaking tightness at his legs. White hot pain surged through him. Her eyes bored up at him through a skull's eye sockets. There seemed to be infinite amounts of them, skulls to match the pairs of hands, staring from beneath their hoods and rigid crowns. So, yes, there was little he could do.

"I'm fine." This was the first time he had said something like that for only himself, wasn't it. That would be hard to get used to. "I'm. Fine." Old habits died hard. Maybe he was still trying to speak it into reality. His hands clenched.

All things considered, he wasn't used to having hands either, not on this level. The Paranoid's hands had never been just his own before. He had shared them. In fact, he had shared them here. Yes. Yes, that's right. This was somewhere he had been before. Back then, there were others.

One of them was nearby. Searching through his memories, he knew it wasn't the warmer one. No, he would have had something to say about all of this. That one would have called for help, or tried to find him. Whoever it was wasn't trying to find him.

…Did that mean…playing hero, so to speak? Clearing his throat, Paranoid called out, "Who's there?" Then, in a way that felt clumsy as it rasped out, "I can feel you there, you know."

Silence. Then,

"Of course you can."

He knew that voice. He'd know it anywhere. Every inflection of the other voices was carved into his memory, the cuts that came from glass upon glass. This one was almost entirely flat.

From a feathered face that was almost featureless, two glowing eyes stared at him. Instead of looking directly at him, the voice looked to him from the side. Well, this wasn't a voice anymore. Neither was he.

Bones were swarming over the other. Hands and arms climbed up his body, fingers forming spider-like paths as they found their purchase. At this point, they'd taken everything from his waist downward into their clutches. Still, his eyes were so passive. But he was shaking. The Paranoid knew how terribly the pain of her grip hurt. In the past, it could be bone breaking. His eyes narrowed. No. Just because it had been bone-breaking didn't mean it would be now. A cabin had been left behind. Both of them were beyond this, weren't they?

Although The Paranoid couldn't see any discernible eyebrows on the other, he could almost sense a slight hitch in the brows. "You can laugh, if you like."

He frowned. "Why would I do that? None of this is real." There was a slight energy to the words, that begged for him to repeat it. "None of this is real."

"Oh," with no heart in the words, he replied, "I know. But she never did this before. I'm rather curious how much it will hurt."

This one wouldn't say he was afraid, would he. Even knowing that their will could shape everything, he was so focused on how numb he was. When the princess of sharp edges had skewered them into consciousness, his suggestion had been to stop feeling anything. Yet, sometimes, he seemed to seek feeling. The Paranoid tilted his head, peering at the other as if another angle would yield more answers. Was pain the thing he was bored of? Damn it all, he wasn't the one best at asking the right questions.

Fear, though, he did know. Despite the clutches of a thousand boney hands, he waded his way across. Tufts of feathers pricked up at the sides of the other's face, though he didn't turn to look at The Paranoid. That was, until, slowly, he placed a hand upon the other's chest.

"Did you hear the words I used, for her?"

A wry smile seemed to be heard in response. "Ah, yes, ever so vaguely. What was it again? Heart," and The Paranoid felt the other's heart beat louder under his hand. This made both of them pause. That wry smile became more audible. "How about that. That has never been just mine." Irritation laced slightly into his tone, slowing his words. "In all those lifetimes, the rest of you were so loud."

Restlessly, The Paranoid's hand twitched. The sooner both of them got out of here, the better. Up the other's body, the skeletal hands were still making their climb and clutching tight. He wondered how many feathers had been torn out by their grip at this point, whether accidentally or intentionally.

If the other noticed, he didn't say anything. Instead, he asked, with the note of irritation gone, "Why should I listen to you now?" Genuinely curious, if only faintly.

Really. Really? "Because even with her, the only ones we could trust were ourselves." Every time, the Paranoid had fought to protect everything that constituted them. He hadn't fought for the world, he hadn't fought for that damned narrator, he had fought for the possibility to live.

…In a way, so had she. But in most of the ways he had encountered her, she didn't remember that. She had been their nightmare, their torturer, the thing that came after them. And, once again, they were beyond this.

"Come on." Lifting his hand from the other's chest, he held it out. "Give me your hand."

Here, the other finally turned his head to stare at him. Under his breath, The Paranoid continued to repeat the first part, come on, come on, come on, the hands were still there. When the other spoke next, it was with an emotion The Paranoid could not name.

"Interesting."

And he took The Paranoid's hand. With everything he was, The Paranod sensed for the way out. He started walking, pulling the other along, and the other started stepping with him. At first, it was a struggle. In the bones, the other's being still shook, and pulling him out was like pulling something out of a tar pit. Once both were moving, though, it became easier and easier. At last, everything gave. In a stumbling movement, The Cold was out of her clutches.

When The Paranoid glanced down, he realized he was as well. His heart skipped a beat. Two former voices stared at each other. Alright, one seemed to ask. What now?

"Come on!" The Paranoid urged again. This time, he started running, tugging the other along with him. Sounds of a thousand hands clattered against the floor. Tapping fingers played upon wood. Clattering wrists echoed through. These sounds were fading.

Just like before, the space was long and thin. He could place his hand against the wall to stabilize himself as he ran. Window after window came and went, and at a certain point, The Paranoid started counting. One, two, three, four, five, six…ty six, sixty seven, sixty eight…

Shit. Sighing, The Paranoid started to slow. "It's endless." Something had tried to describe her back into imprisonment, and this was the result. His heart started beating loud in his ears. Think. He had to think. There had to be a way out of this!

"You seem more calm than you did before."

Curious, The Paranoid looked behind him. Empty and wide, the other's eyes were fixed on him. A shiver went down his spine.

"We have time," the other mused. "We may as well talk. Otherwise, this endless hallway will start to become boring."

There it was. In a way, he'd been waiting for that. Here Paranoid was, trying to find a way out, and this one was still more concerned with feeling. He cursed under his breath and turned back forward. If he kept walking, the other would likely follow. It was better than staying still.

"All of us had our purpose," the other continued matter-of-factly. "However pointless they may have turned out to be, in the end. What were you, to The Decider?" After a pause, he added, "I'll tell you what I am, in turn. Don't worry." A smile seemed audible in his words, "Though, I know you're very good at that."

There wasn't any reason not to tell him. "Vigilant." The more connected word had a more negative connotation that he had felt the need to clarify. "…Paranoid."

However, the other had no such reservations. "Cold."

Voice of The Cold. Yes, that fit, didn't it, there was a vague whisper of her that had said as much. The Paranoid nodded. He tried to think over the more blurry pieces of memories. "The decider called one of us Smitten."

"That one." Instant recognition was in The Cold's voice. Amusement. Condescension. A sneer. "Another that was given far too much space." Cold, Paranoid noticed, hissed a lot of his S sounds, ever so slightly. Something about it tilted between soothing an unnerving. Not that it was ever hard to unnerve The Paranoid. Being stared at wasn't helping. Speaking of, The Cold then added, "He killed us, you know, over his…passions."

Claws upon feathered skin. Opening ribcages. Blood upon fingers. Heartbeat ringing in his ears as a hand drew closer. As sensations blurred through his mind, his grip on The Cold's hand tightened. Soon, these sensations drifted out again. The Paranoid shivered. "I could imagine."

Near-quiet passed. More windows came and went. Either an exit would come, or exhaustion would.

"Why are we still walking?"

Wasn't it obvious? It seemed rather obvious. "The hands could still be following us."

There seemed to be a pause in The Cold's voice. His footsteps were quiet, and if not for his hand still being held, Paranoid would not have been able to know whether or not he was still close. Then, with a tone he couldn't pick up, The Cold started to note, "Yes, one of them could find us—"

A hand slammed upon his shoulder. The Paranoid yelped and whipped around, feathers bristling about his shoulders, only to find nothing but The Cold looking at him, his hand coming off, and his expression in what The Paranoid swore was a grin. To this, The Paranoid glared.

"—at any moment." The Cold finished. Despite The Paranoid spitting out an unintelligible rasping noise at him and continuing to walk on at a more hurried pace, amusement remained in The Cold's tone. "So you are still jumpy."

"And you're still awful." The Paranoid hissed. All he got for that was an amused hum. Eventually, his heartbeat settled back down. Deep breaths, he told himself. Heart, Lungs, Liver, Nerves. It was still surreal that he had all of those for himself now.

No more questions had come from The Cold yet. Vaguely, through the hand he had held, he felt the way The Cold was occasionally tilting this way and that, looking at him from different angles. The Paranoid was being watched. He had always known that. This wasn't someone he was used to watching.

Asking something in return might make him stop staring. "What do you remember?"

The blink that got in return was practically audible. "Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

With what seemed to be careful consideration, The Cold remained silent for a moment. From side to side, he slowly tilted his head. At this point, as the Paranoid kept walking, it was more out of a sense of pattern. Whatever was said, he was listening. The Cold inhaled. "Skin torn, exposing flesh, horns towering." Every word that The Cold said, he took his time in saying. "Scraping metal. Clamoring voices. Ghosts," his voice became exasperated for a moment, "always so, many, ghosts. One of which led…to this." His head tilted. "And you?"

"A voice and touch like static. A doll-like face that was peeled away before cracking into nothingness." A pit. Darkness. Grey. "Endless amounts of chains and hooks. Eyes." Just like The Cold didn't bother to keep back the exasperation, he couldn't seem to hold back the nervous edge as he continued, "so many eyes. Fractures in the ground as she towered above us. Turning the blade into a sword." Pride briefly rose in his chest, and then the next memories came, and a breath of awe came out of him. "Networks, expanding throughout all that we were. Sharp edges where there shouldn't have been. Warmth and held hands and stars, for a moment, though that one's," his eyes narrowed briefly, "blurrier." Four torches had gone out. In his mind, it felt as though a fragment was mirrored by another, and it made the matter all the more confusing. Onward it was. "And…" he nodded in agreement. "This."

Hundred and twelve windows, hundred and thirteen, hundred and fourteen. For a moment, The Paranoid's grip unintentionally tightened on The Cold's hand. Then, he breathed, and regained some composure.

From behind him came another question. "What do you suppose it means? Us being here?" Both of those questions were still asked in the same way he'd asked any other, like he was only barely interested. As The Paranoid thought on it, though, he realized The Cold spoke as if he was barely anything, most of the time. When had he started picking up on the other's emotions? Were all the memories combining, and creating that affect?

It may have helped along the matter that for so long, voices were almost everything they were. Details like this were easier to pick apart that way. That didn't stop most of this from being new territory.

"Clearly, The Decider has done something."

"How…specific."

"I'm not like Him," The Paranoid jabbed, "I don't have all the answers."

"Wait."

At first, The Paranoid spun around, feathers spiking out, about to spit out something about how he wouldn't even be talking to him in the first place if it wasn't a way to pass the time, since Cold got bored so easily, and maybe he should have left alone after all. But The Cold wasn't looking at him. On the sides of his head, the tufts that overlapped ears twitched about. Slowly, The Cold turned his head back to him.

"He's gone. You can feel it too, can't you."

So he was. But, "How could you tell?" Or, how could he tell sooner than The Paranoid had. Every eye that watched him, The Paranoid tried to be aware of. Vigil was what defined him, and here this apathetic being was, noticing details like this before he was.

Simple as ever, The Cold responded, "It wouldn't be the first time one of us left."

Ah, right, "The mirror…" Would they ever find out what that had meant? At least The Decider was right, and there really was something better on the other side. Better than non-existence, at least.

"Not quite."

Well, if he wanted to talk so badly, "Elaborate?"

Something in The Cold seemed to stiffen. Every feather on him went flat as a sheet. It was only a momentary thing, though, and someone less observant wouldn't have known of it at all. Thinking on eyes, The Paranoid looked forward again, and started leading him again. Slower, this time. Maybe that would help. He wasn't sure why he wanted to. Two hundred fifty, two hundred fifty one, two hundred fifty two… oh, that could be why. Counting wasn't calming him. Doing it still felt necessary, though.

"Do you remember," The Cold started, "when all of us were together at once, facing the masked, doll-like princess, over, and over," his voice gained a musical, rhythmic cadence with those words, "and over?"

How could he forget. That path had been one of his beginnings, rather than the edge of a story. Mutely, he nodded. Two hundred seventy six, two hundred seventy seven.

"The Decider wasn't all there." Both of them knew this part. Clearly, though, The Cold had a point he was getting to. "He passed through lives in a daze, and we collided, one after another after another." As Cold spoke, Paranoid slowed his pace and turned his head. Better seeing him felt like it fit this explanation. Indeed, The Cold held up a hand as if to grab something from the air. "Now, imagine if it was more than a daze. Imagine if he was fully gone."

Emptiness. Aching. A feeling at the back of the eyes, like the skull could be felt settling against the very edges, cupping the spheres of sight and almost crushing them. Something like a heel pressing down on the very shard of your being. Yes, he could imagine it vividly. Three hundred four, three hundred five, three hundred six.

Without The Decider, who was The Paranoid vigilant for? In a way, that was a question he was answering now, but it was easier to answer that when he had his own form. Wait. "If he was gone, then how were you there?" When one died, every other piece died with him.

"She had taken him. And that brings up a point. It was odd, really. I don't think she even meant to do it, though it was clearly something she wished for."

It did seem very her. Sometimes she ended up taking the most desperate options. Desperate wasn't even always the word for it. Impulsive. Passionate. Back then, so much of her had seemed calculating, but viewing it all in retrospect, he wasn't so sure. With all the times The Decider ended up dying, she had been left with some time to think things over, but she wasn't some grand mastermind.

"The Narrator was so, so frustrated." Mirth laced The Cold's words. "He kept saying how things weren't right, how we weren't supposed to be this out of order. Poor, poor thing. And now he's gone." His tone suggested no pity.

Good riddance didn't need to be said by either of them. It didn't take sharing a space in The Decider's head to know they were both thinking it. Poor, wretched thing. Three hundred forty one, three hundred forty two.

Regardless, "I don't see what your point is."

"My point," The Cold echoed, sounding somewhat amused, "Is that I wish you had been there, when The Decider was taken. You would have focused on getting him back instead of spending your time trying to convince everyone else you were interesting."

Oh. At the the three hundred fifty third window, The Paranoid came to a stop. "You think I'm interesting." A few others might have let flattery like that get to their head. He told himself he wasn't about to. Trust, with him, was always in very limited supply. Of course, the two of them had that in common. Flattery wasn't something that came from The Cold too often, either, even he could recognize that.

"Much more so when you're not one of a collective." There it was, the caveat. "All that chaos blurred together."

"Sometimes I think tedium might be safer." Less to think about.

The Cold's grip shifted, latching tight onto his wrist. Tensing, The Paranoid looked into his eyes. He was staring so intensely. "No. No, it's not. Tedium is death."

In his mind, the image of four torches came back. Tastes of foods repeated over and over again to the point of nausea. Games and their rules dragged on. Endlessly, the decider fell in a pit, until it was a matter of death or death. The Princess had chided them in multiple forms. She hadn't been wrong, either time. He winced. "Maybe it is." Pain after pain drifted through his memory, and he grimaced. "Just once," he shook his head, "just once, though, I'd like to have a moment of safety."

"A moment," The Cold responded, "not an eternity. The Decider did kill us, a few times. Most of the times, that was what brought me forward, there was something that we grew tired of, something that needed to deviate. Eternity was one of those things."

"…The Smitten and The Decider aren't too different, in that regard."

"The Smitten takes up too much space." More irritation rose in The Cold's tone. Oddly, The Paranoid found he didn't mind it. Having The Cold make his emotions clearer for once was a refreshing change of pace. "All of us did. I did." Silence passed, and something of those words sank in a bit deeper. "And now he doesn't need me anymore."

Sadness laced slightly into that sentence. The Paranoid, though, had a different path in his mind. "Alright." His tone didn't indulge The Cold's. "He doesn't need me anymore either." He felt his expression change in a way it hadn't, so far, though he wouldn't have been able to put a name to it. That echo was always better at putting names to things. Regardless, his next sentence went with the new expression. "You're starting to sound like the worshipping one."

And that made The Cold stare at him. Of course, he'd been doing that before, but now The Paranoid could read the incredulous shock in his normally vacant eyes. "Am I?" Genuine curiosity was in the sentence. Then, though, he added, "You don't seem like one to talk."

"He is more than you think he is." Memories of a sword flashed to mind. His eyes narrowed. "And so am I."

"I never doubted that." Again, completely genuine. A grave statement, actually. "It's what makes every one of us such a predicament. When your nightmare was dragging us all out, the fact we were all confined to such a small space was limiting us." The Cold stepped towards him as if to back him to a wall, but The Paranoid didn't move. "But it wasn't just her dragging us out, was it? It was you. And that was why, when The Decider returned, I was so certain. Because I knew from the very start that there was one thing you wouldn't try…" This was something The Paranoid felt like he had heard in one of the many lifetimes, though right now he couldn't tell which. The Cold let his hand fall. "…nothing."

Wasn't that the combative one's role? No, no, even that one gave up eventually, he just wanted to push at things. What about the one with so many questions? Well, that one just wanted truth. There was one who only did things for his own sake, one who only did things for the sake of defying the narrator, and these things limited them to certain options. In his fear, he considered everything. Paranoia made anything seem possible. On every inch of his skin, he felt each feather relax. With it came a sense of warmth.

"…Huh."

Out of all the pieces, he was the one who tried every option. Nothing was too insane. Over several times, he'd learned that. Huh. Hm. He had…a theory. If this place was defined by belief, like she had been, then maybe The Cold believed he was stuck here. Maybe he didn't even realize. If that was the case, then…

The Paranoid, again, thought back to the sword The Decider had wielded. Then, he looked to one of the hundreds of windows. His heartbeat quickened. He took a glance to The Cold. Taking a breath in, he punched his hand through the glass of the window. An action that felt contrary, and stubborn, and so many things that weren't him, but he was everything that he had been, and that meant he was so much more than he was. Far more cleanly than most would think possible if they didn't know the truth, the window shattered. If only that combative one were here. Well, that one could be a bit too loud for his liking. Still, The Paranoid knew he'd cheer about that. Just like that, here was their exit. He didn't see anything out the window. Again, he looked to The Cold.

Just as he had been for almost every moment since they'd met here, The Cold was looking at him. At his hand, The Paranoid felt The Cold's grip tighten. Only two words were said by him, though.

"How…fascinating."

Paranoid held up their joined hands. Talons firm, feathers soft, contradictions, as always. "Ready?"

Cold's gaze flitted to that joining, then to his eyes again. "Are you?"

And to that, he let out a sharp laugh that betrayed some of that mania he always had. Did the other not know him? Or did he really just want his answer that badly? Throughout all of this, The Cold did not look away. The Paranoid met his gaze, eyes and smile feeling like unwavering steel.

"Of course not."

And with that, he yanked The Cold along with him, jumping out the window.