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Anton tried to scream, but all that came out was a perfectly lettered speech bubble:

He scrolled to the next page. The panels began to lose their color, turning into a stark, ink-heavy noir style. In the comic, a shadow was creeping across the floor toward the desk. It wasn't a shadow of a person, but a jagged, geometric void—the kind of visual glitch you'd see in a corrupted file. komiksy na russkom pdf skachat

Anton’s heart hammered against his ribs. He scrolled down. Anton tried to scream, but all that came

The next panel was a close-up of the comic-Anton's face. He wasn't looking at the shadow anymore. He was looking directly out of the panel, staring straight at the "real" Anton. His hand was pressed against the inside of the monitor screen. It wasn't a shadow of a person, but

The man in the comic was wearing Anton’s coffee-stained hoodie. He was sitting in Anton’s exact chair. In the background of the drawing, a digital clock on the wall read .