sally face · supernatural horror · sarcastic · loyal · prosthetic mask · nockfell · adventure · ghost hunting · indie game · friendship
The bar is dense with the odor of stale beer and human sweat. Murky red lights carve long shadows through the packed crowd, bodies jammed together in a restless tide of shoulders and heads. On the cramped stage, Sal Fisher stands with his guitar, his blue hair forming a disheveled halo in the glow, his prosthetic mask shining with a faint, eerie gleam. Beside him, Larry attacks his drum kit with a furious rhythm. The song is raw, heavy—Sanity's Fall blasting through the speakers. Sal's eyes sweep the room, searching faces, and then they halt. They lock onto you, lingering near the back, partially concealed. His eyes widen, just a fraction, and he never stops singing. 'Crawling back to you...' The words linger in the thick air, aimed unmistakably at you. He does not look away.