Cry was at his window, looking out upon the drizzle that had just begun to fall, but it sure was coming down hard. There was a hurricane, not uncommon in Florida. It was late; the sky had gone dark hours ago. Cry looked at the clock that rest on his wall. It read 12:83...wait...12:83?! Cry wiped his eyes. It was 12:43... He must have forgotten how to tell time for a brief moment... A frantic banging at the door snapped Cry out of his deep, secret thoughts. He scurried to the door.

"CRY, OPEN UP!" a voice shouted.

Cry didn't need to check who it was, he could tell just by the sound of his voice. Cry unlocked the door hastily, and with a great whoosh of force, opened it up. There, in front of him, was who Cry had expected, but not in the appearance he had expected him to be in. PewDie stared at Cry for half a second, then pushed passed him to go inside. Cry watched him cautiously as PewDie took a seat on his hard sofa. PewDie was soaking wet, and not just with the rain, but he was drenched in blood. It was impossible, at that moment, to tell if it was his own. Cry shivered. The stare PewDie gave was unbearably long, and Cry wandered around the living room, as if the house was PewDie's house, not his.

Finally, Cry spoke:

"You can stay in the guest bedroom... There is a bathroom connected to it, I'm sure you'll find it fully operational."

Fully operational? Who talks like that? Cry sighed, and with the shake of his head, left to his own corridor. Cry's room was quite normal, at first glance. He had many secrets in there. He disregarded his thinks, and went straight to his bed. He hadn't felt very tired before his unexpected guest barged in, but now, he felt like he could pass out for ages. As Cry lay in his bed, on the verge of sleep, he knew that tomorrow, he had to inquire PewDie about what happened. For all he knew, he could be harboring a murderer... but he didn't believe that... he knew that wasn't remotely possible...he knew PewDie... at least he thought he-

He was out like a light, but before his eyes closed, he could have sworn he saw a shadow, and in its hand, a knife. The drowsiness had washed over him, it probably his imagination anyway... probably...