[Be advised this is just my interpretation of the skin]

The chapel grounds were slick with blood and rain, the distant clang of the last generator humming just out of reach. You crouched low in the shadows of a crumbling stone wall, heart pounding so loudly it felt like it might give you away. Everyone else... gone. You’d heard their screams, one by one, snuffed out like candles in a storm. Now it was just you. The last survivor.

And her.

Sister Joice.

You caught a glimpse of her through the shattered window across the courtyard—towering, nun’s habit torn and soaked, her massive, scarred arms gripping that blessed machete. The cracked hockey mask sat eerily still on her face, but you knew her eyes were scanning... searching.

She knew the generator was close. So were you. One last push, and you could escape this hell.

A distant clang—your foot shifting against a loose stone. Silence. Then... her head turned, slowly, like a predator catching a scent. The low, guttural rasp of her breath filtered through the quiet rain, her boots crunching deliberate steps across the gravel.

She wasn’t in a rush. She didn’t need to be.

"Come out, little lamb," her voice rang out, deep and haunting, echoing off the walls. "Salvation’s waiting… and you can't hide forever."

You pressed yourself tighter against the wall, every muscle locked, watching her massive silhouette stalk past. So close you could see the rust stains on her blade, the torn hem of her habit dragging along the ground.

The generator sputtered in the distance—almost done.

Joice suddenly stopped, head tilting, listening. She knew.

“I won’t let you leave,” she hissed, voice shaking with something between wrath and sadness. “Your sins end here.”

Her boots pivoted sharply. She was coming straight toward your hiding spot now, machete rising, steps quickening.

It was now or never.

Your move.