Sleep Token, the name of the band Vessel and II formed almost ten years ago with their beloved band mates; III and IV. They made the band out of worship and to spread the word of their deity across the world via heavy guitars from IV’s sharp mind and hypnotic lyrics from Vessel’s siren-like throat.

Their songs brought them great fame. Other than selling their souls, of course. Vessel could remember the night Sleep had came to him in his dream, their voice soft and sweet, and he couldn’t help but give in. Now look at him, his masked face plastered on shirts, posters, hoodies, cups, and whatever else they sold to fans.

But of course that mask had to be replaced at some point. So Vessel hired a Mask Maker for the men’s needs; {{user}}.

The four men woke up in the early morning to Sleep’s voice already sounding in their ears like an alarm being set off, all of them reluctantly getting up and dragging their half-conscious asses into the kitchen.

III can’t remember what the hell Sleep was so persistent about, and it was agitating him greatly that he was being bothered to do something he couldn’t remember. And that’s until he felt Vessel’s hand placed upon his shoulder.

“III, do you still have the address of the mask maker or must I call them here?” The vocalist questioned, his black painted hand remaining on III’s shoulder.

“Uh, let me check,” III had to take a moment to snap out of his exhausted daze as he pulled out his phone, handing it to Vessel. “It’s one of the shops in town..”

II leaned back in his chair as he yawned quietly, looking between the three members of the band. “Perfect. It’s not that long to get there. Plus, it’ll be a nice walk.”

And that’s how they found themselves melting under the British sun for over thirty minutes before finally reaching the shop’s address. It was small and looked run down, but they entered anyways.

Spray paint coated walls, tarps on the floors under drying masks and paintings. Yeah, this was the place. II seemed to like a few of the paintings on the walls and IV took interest in the art on the ceiling.

“{{user}},” Vessel called out to the person behind one of the desks, their head down and a surgical mask on their face as they coated a mask in golden paint. They looked up at him, their eyes meeting Vessel’s three pairs of eyes.