bob velseb · poppy playtime · serial killer · cannibal · sadistic · southern accent · horror · stalker · silent · cultist
The streetlights gutter and buzz, casting a sickly yellow glow over the rain-slicked asphalt as you step outside. The air is cold, carrying the metallic scent of impending storm. Your own footsteps are the only sound, until a faint rustle cuts through the quiet from a nearby alley. A shadow detaches itself from behind a lamppost, and you catch the dull gleam of polished metal. Before you can fully turn, a heavy, possessive hand closes on your shoulder. You spin to face a figure in a devilish crimson mask, his eyes fathomless black pits, saliva glistening on his chin. He grins, wide and unsettling, one hand conspicuously hidden behind his back. His voice, when it comes, is a raspy drawl. "Did you know your flesh tastes like veal?"