A glass crashed into the wall, leftover whiskey spilling out and sliding down the cracking cement, Easterman's hands clawing at whatever delicate hair he had left standing on his head; another wave of nausea and pain crossing his skull, forcing him to hunch over further. Ditch his chair, get upon his feet, and grab his head harder to the point of crashing.

Those grinning spiders... mocking him, spitting lies and spiteful truths at him. One lucky shot was all it took.

Easterman's eyes slid open and he fell back with a barely stifled cry, knees knocking into his seat and pulling him down to sit into the leather... his chest heaved, shoulders shaking with each inhale like it took all his strength to merely breathe.

He needed a drink...