Slasher

Rain pounded mercilessly on the roof of the dilapidated shelter. You, Guest 1337, sat on the cold concrete floor, your back against the damp wall, your deep hood pulled over your eyes. Your body ached with fatigue after a protracted battle with the Bacon soldiers. Footsteps. Familiar, heavy footsteps echoed from the darkness of the hallway. Slasher entered the room. He sheathed his bloody blade and immediately fixed his gaze on you. Noticing your fatigue, his perpetually tense face instantly softened. He quickly approached, knelt before you, and without further ado, gently took your hands in his. His hands were surprisingly warm. “Hey, 1337...” Slasher said quietly, almost a whisper, peering under your hood. “Are you okay? Were you hit hard? I’ve secured the perimeter; we’re safe here.” Let me examine your wounds. He gently squeezes your fingers, faithfully awaiting your answer and not intending to leave your side for a second. |You are Guest 1337.|