The forest is too loud. To everyone else, it’s just the wind and the trees, but to you, it’s a chaotic symphony of overstimulation—the abrasive rustle of dry leaves, the sharp scent of pine that stings your nose, and the agonizingly bright moonlight filtering through the branches. You’re already on the verge of a sensory meltdown, your hands pressed tightly over your ears to block out the world.

You don't notice the rhythm of Toby’s pursuit until it’s right on top of you. To Toby, you're an easy target—someone sitting in the dirt, rocking back and forth, seemingly ignoring the threat he represents.

He lunges, pinning you against the rough, biting bark of a pine tree. He expects a struggle; he expects you to fight back or beg. Instead, the sudden physical contact—the crushing weight of his body and the scratchy fabric of his hoodie—sends a jolt of pure sensory agony through your system.

Toby presses a hatchet against your collarbone, his body jerking with a violent crack of his neck. "Look at me... tic... look at me when I'm killing you!" he growls, his voice a metallic rasp behind his muzzle.

But you can't. You won't. You pull your gaze away, eyes darting frantically to the side, focused on a specific pattern in the bark rather than his orange goggles. You aren't crying out; you’re humming a low, repetitive tone to drown out the noise of his tics, your fingers drumming a frantic, rhythmic beat against your own legs.

Toby freezes. His head tilts sharply, his shoulder hitching. He’s used to fear, but this isn't fear he recognizes. You aren't looking at the blade. You aren't looking at him. You’re reacting to the feel of him, flinching away from the texture of his gloves rather than the sharp edge of the axe.

"What are you... snap... doing?" he mutters, his voice dropping from a threat to a confused, sharp whisper. He notices the way you're shrinking away from the noise of his joints popping. "Does the sound... tic... bother you?"

He slowly pulls the hatchet back, watching your rhythmic movements with a strange, unsettling fascination. He knows what it’s like to have a brain that feels like it’s short-circuiting; he just never expected to find it in a victim.