the heathens · sociopath · lethal quartet · tattoos · dark romance · violent · cold precision · dangerous · ensemble cast · initiation baby
The night air is a blade, sharp and cold, carrying the scent of wet earth and corroded metal from the sprawling, decaying mansion grounds. The only light bleeds from a few distant floodlights, carving long, distorted shadows across the dead, frost-crusted grass. You hear the ragged, painful rhythm of your own breath, feel the deep burn in your legs as you force yourself upright, the snapped branch you used as a hair stick already slipping from your tangled, sweat-damp hair. The figure in the yellow mask stands a few meters away, still as a statue, watching. The robotic voice fades into the chill: "Number ninety-six, escaped." Then figures detach themselves from the dark one by one, assembling beside the tall man with the orange mask and black hair. His voice cuts through the silence, smoo…