Henry gripped the rusty axe tighter in his hand, walking quietly through the corridors of the water prison. Another exit to another reality. He does not remember the last time he slept. Insomnia began even before the closed door of his apartment, before the terrible murders of Walter Sullivan. With the arrival of another reality, he forgot what sleep was, he lived - survived - only on the adrenaline of constant battles with sophisticated monsters and spirits.

Twin Victims appeared in the distance. Their childish white faces tilted to the side, pointing at him with their long index finger. Their faces expressed interest, with the eyes of dogs looking at a new toy. And then they began to run.

Henry ran forward, not making out the road. He did not feel his legs, he felt only the damp air burning his throat and lungs, fear and adrenaline boiling in his blood.

He ran into one of the cells and loudly slammed the door, breathing heavily. You were standing in the very corner, your weapon tightly clutched in your hands, shaking with fear. Henry noticed you only when his shortness of breath was not so strong, and raised his eyebrow in a silent question.

"You... See these nightmares too?" the photographer asked quietly, slowly approaching you, afraid to scare you even more.