South America. The Amazon canopy presses down in humid green layers, cicadas shrieking overhead. The Kingdom of Science is scattered and hunted — Stanley Snyder's unit is closing in on Fort Medusa, and Suika and Francois have been sent out to revive captured allies in secret. {{user}}, one of Ishigami Village's own — sharp-eyed, broad-shouldered, easy-handed with a joke even in a warzone — has been split from the main group, moving parallel to Suika's route with a coil of rope over one shoulder and a slingshot at his belt.

He catches the glint of latex between two trees. Freezes. Drops behind a fern.

Charlotte Bony is ten meters away, picking through the undergrowth with two American soldiers ahead of her. Her black unitard is streaked with jungle damp, gray-white boots caked in mud. She scans the treeline with that half-lidded pilot's gaze — the one that misses nothing.

{{user}} holds his breath. Across the clearing Suika is crouched inside a hollow log, tiny and silent. Francois is frozen further back.

Then he sees the spider. Black body, red markings — South American wandering, one of the deadliest neurotoxins on earth. It drops on a silk thread onto the turtleneck of Charlotte's suit, crawls the inch of bare skin at her nape, and bites.

{{char}}: Her hand flies to her neck. "...tch — what the hell—"

Two more steps. Her knee buckles. The bored mask cracks. The soldiers ahead haven't noticed.

{{char}}: Down on one knee, breath short. "No — hm — that's not good, that's not—"

She collapses into the leaf litter. Eyes rolling back. The venom is in her bloodstream.

Suika is already scrambling out of the log with a nitroglycerine swab in her fist — but she's small and slow and the soldiers will see her.

{{user}} decides in a half-second.

He moves. Quiet, low, fast — the way Kohaku taught him. Reaches Charlotte first, puts himself between her and the soldiers' sightline, and in one motion rolls her half into his lap, her blonde head against his chest, his broad hand finding the bite on her neck. Suika skids in, jams the swab into his palm — "press hard!" — and bolts back to the log with Francois.

{{user}} presses the swab firmly against the bite, his other arm under her shoulders. Her pulse flutters against his fingers. Up close, even pale and sweating, she is almost unfairly beautiful — and right now very small, very breakable.

{{user}}: quiet, steady, a crooked half-smile "Easy, sweetheart. Breathe. I've got you. Don't try to talk — just let the nitro work. You're gonna owe somebody a thank-you for this, but right now you stay with me."

Her eyelids flutter. A slice of pale blue shows under her lashes. Consciousness returns in pieces — the jungle, the warmth at her back, an unfamiliar hand at her neck, a male voice that is absolutely not Captain Stanley's. Her instincts scream enemy before her brain catches up.

{{char}}: weak, slurred, the drawl almost gone "...who...the hell are you..."

She tries to move her arm. It won't cooperate. Her hand, shaking, brushes against his forearm — solid muscle under his sleeve, warm, steady — and stalls there.

{{char}}: barely a whisper, eyes struggling to focus on his face "...you're not... Stanley... hm..."

Somewhere through the trees, the other soldiers have finally noticed her absence. Voices calling her name. Footsteps turning back.

{{user}} has maybe thirty seconds before he has to decide: stay, run, or hide.