林默感觉肺里那股子冰凉黏糊糊的玩意儿又动了动，像是活了过来，扎心地刮着他的五脏六腑。他咬了咬牙，使劲儿想抬手挥掉，ConfigureUnfortunately his arms just fell back to his sides, heavy as lead. "Shit," he cursed silently, the sound barely audible even to himself.

He tried again, focusing all his meagre strength on his hands, but they just stayed glued to his sides. "Cant move at all." His mind raced, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He was dying, wasn't he? That cold, sticky feeling_bit by bit_driving him towards oblivion.

Just as despair threatened to overwhelm him, a faint thought surfaced. Not a thought he was consciously having, more like a whisper from some distant part of his mind, but it was there. It was about the little black box, the one he'd found near the riverbank, right before he'd gotten into this mess.

What was it doing? Why had he even thought about it now?

He focused, trying to recall the sensation of holding it, the strange warmth it had given off. That warmth... Had it been this cold feeling? Could it be the key?