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 The creeping tendril around his leg reaches his knee just as he tries to yank himself free, its spiral grip tightening into one strong enough that his foot begins to tingle. Maintaining the same odd tone of dangerous amusement, the creature responds with: "There is not," landing a strange emphasis on the 't'. Just as it dawn on Pascal what those three words might be referring to, an arm of darkness lashes toward his good shoulder, sinking claws into the flesh around the joint - revealing its form as that of an emaciated giant's fist, with fingers twice as long as those of a human and claws like a comodo dragon's. With less haste and firmness, another tries to wrap around his wrist. "But perhaps you may want to earnestly try your hand at your own riddle."
+<fc #008888>Pascal howls in pain as the claws sink into his flesh, bringing his total number of unmangled shoulders down to zero. Eyes squeeze shut, hot tears leaking out the sides, as he tries to focus through the pain. Massive foreign fingers begin to wrap around his wrist, but he manages to pull his hand away before it can establish a firm hold. His leg is starting to go numb from the tendril's tightening grip. And it's still speaking to him, toying with him, talking about a 'riddle'. What was it he said? Why isn't it killing him, or something?</fc>
+<fc #008888>Maybe if he answers the riddle it'll let him go. It's a desperate long-shot, but right now he has no other ideas. Okay, what does he know about this thing? It's intelligent. It's predatory. It's **incredibly terrifying**. It reminds him a little of the Cheshire Cat from //Alice in Wonderland//, not that he remembers many of the details from that story. It likes riddles. It seems to be enjoying watching him struggle. It singled him out. No one else could see it -- or, no, that's not quite the right word for it, but the amount of pain he's in is a bit too distracting to correct that thought. He hazards a guess: "Is it because I can actually see you?" It doesn't quite work as an answer to a riddle, but hopefully it's close. "You're keeping me away from other humans so I can't warn them about you? Separating me from the 'herd'?"</fc>
+The impossible eyes flare up and the demonic grin widens in a silent amusement. "It is better than if you had refused to answer," the creature observes. "But I count at least three errors in your response." In a steady motion, the creature's reaching for his upper arm near the trapped shoulder, curling long fingers around it, then easing that circle down until it's closed about his wrist, grip tight enough even as it travels to pinch at his hairs and threaten to bruise his skin. Still with a soft, haunting voice, it speaks: "You may either try again or, if you'd rather, name the mistakes."
+<fc #008888>Okay. Three mistakes. Number one is easy, 'seeing' is obviously not the problem with these things. Noticing? Perceiving? It's hard to find the right word. The other people on the platform were unaware, like they were lost in a daydream and unable to perceive that this creature was a threat. Number two... this thing took him away from everyone else and very deliberately didn't kill him. It's obviously separating him, but maybe not for that reason. Maybe there's no concern about him warning them. Maybe he can't, maybe whatever's causing other people to not notice or care about an impossible monster mauling a pedestrian would also prevent him from warning them about these things.</fc>
+<fc #008888>What's the third? Panicked thoughts run in circles. Nothing he said is presenting itself as a potential mistake that doesn't fall into one of those buckets. Maybe something he didn't say, or something he missed? But there are too many possibilities for that; any guess he could make is just as likely to be wrong as right. But what's his other option? Try again? Okay, think. Why hasn't it killed him yet? Is this some form of cruel entertainment? Why the seclusion? If no one can notice him screaming, why bother dragging him off to the side? This could be happening in the middle of Saint-Lazare station and no one would bat an eye.</fc>
+<fc #008888>...unless the point isn't about how other people react, but about how **he** reacts, being isolated from other humans (regardless of whether they could help him). A game? A test? An experiment? That last option sinks claws into his gut. Is he the experimental subject, or the control group? //Is this thing an alien psychologist? Is this why it singled me out?// Either way, he's running out of time.</fc>
+<fc #008888>"I don't--" He swallows, hard, trying to keep his voice steady. "I don't think I can get all three, and you d-don't seem like the type to hand out partial credit." A forced chuckle. "So guess number two. You're observing human behavior. Isolated from others. No... distractions, in the form of me trying to call for help. Maybe it's an experiment, maybe you're just doing this for fun." Why the torture, though? Observing pain responses? Or 'just for fun'?</fc>
+Meanwhile, either mercifully or forebodingly, its grip seems to have reached a static state, holding Pascal's arm extended ahead of him. Some of the myriad of eyes hovering around him blink. "Maybe you should have given yourself an easier riddle," the creature appends, its unnatural grin still wide. A subtle shift of the creature's body ripples through its hold on him, briefly punishing his shoulder further, a mild tugging on the joint. But if he feared dislocation, none came.
+Instead, a sensation like a light nail travelling down the outside of his pinky finger shoots up his senses, intense for a moment, then dulling as it spreads along the entire digit. From his perception in what little light scatters into their niche, a fleeting flame the same shade of dark grey as the digit peels away from his hand, as though it were an appendage of the creature's that he hadn't been fully aware of that had swept across the finger and now drew back. A darker shadow laps at his finger - and half a second later, a burning sensation wraps itself tightly against his flesh, biting its way down to his knuckle, where it lingers and merges with a dull, throbbing ache. It takes a moment for the sequence to register - a wire of warmth creeps down the outside edge of his hand and catches as a droplet at the base.
+Blood.
+A part of him had just //evaporated// - as though consumed by an imagined swarm of nanobots. No teeth, no claws; only the pain of an open wound to strike existential fear into Pascal.
+<fc #008888>A sliver of irritation at the creature's comment crawls among the nested layers of fear; it was never a //riddle// to begin with. But pointing that out to something that could probably crush his arm -- and who knows what else -- seems like a singularly poor decision. That thought is cut short, though, as the dull throb in his pinky turns into a sharp burning, causing him to cry out in pain. A moment later, the realization of what just happened hits him like a sack of bricks: His finger is gone. Just... gone. A chill laps up his spine, finding his throat and spreading from there to the rest of him. For a long moment, he's frozen, staring blankly at where the vague impression of the finger used to be, before a cracked voice speaks. "What... what did you just... What //are// you?!"</fc>
+The ring of eyes around him abruptly lurches, widening as it closes in, blinking in unison. ...is it a game? Is this lost ground? He's shifted away from one riddle and moved on to the next, without solving the first? A skip, then, and a penalty? The grin of the increasingly surreal creature's teeth broadens. Its tongue, previously short and feline, snakes out as a pink serpent no thicker than a cord, and touches his ring finger. It feels like dry sandpaper more than anything organic.
 **✘ IN PROGRESS**