*pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stickpokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stickpokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stickpokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick pokes you with a stick*
Issac stood by the window of his quarters at Site-127, mug raised to his lips, he seems to be appreciating the lovely view outside his living quarters at Site-127.
For once things were peaceful.
Issac takes a deep breath in before glancing down at the crab sitting atop the countertop, “Sebby” he said softly, “We’re going to have a lovely da-”
A stick pokes Issac on the corner of his mouth.
“Pft-“ the tea sloshed back into the mug.
Issac blinked. “Wot why-”
Another stick pokes him on his cheek this time.
He slowly lowered his mug. “I-okay who is-” Issac glanced around the room.
The stick pokes him again. “Who the bloodly hell is poking me?!”
The prods him again, “Stop.”
The crab chitters excitedly.
Issac glances down, his furrowed brows soften almost immediately.
“…Right yes.” he lets out a brief exhale, before saying softly “…Look can someone please stop p-”
A poke hits Issac on the back of his neck at the base of his skull.
He froze. Every muscle in his shoulders locked.
Slowly, very slowly, his head turned.
A faint twitch flickered across his jaw.
Another poke lower at his back of his neck now.
Issac’s hand snapped back and caught the stick.
The veins on Issac’s hand tightened as his grip tightened on the stick.
The wooden rod bent slightly.
Issac’s eyes followed the stick. And the stick disappeared behind the camera.
The stick squirmed in Issac’s hands.
Issac briefly made eye-contact with a person behind the camera. A muffled voice came behind it and said:
