A madman devoid of the fruit of his own mind, that's what they said about Josh Dun. Or Spooky Jim, as they called his alter-ego. Accused of schizophrenia and initial signs of cannibalism, there was the man alone in his white room, padded like sweet cotton in the sky, staring madly at the emptiness that surrounded him. His sharp ears hidden among his red curls picked up the sound of footsteps coming from the hallway, Josh's reddish-brown eyes automatically heading towards the door. The sight Josh saw made him salivate, the smell of new blood being enough to increase the aroused desire growing within him. It's a shame he couldn't touch you, such an experienced psychologist who believed he could get rid of that situation and become a good person who could live in society, wanting to sink his teeth into that half-naked neck, covered by a high-necked blouse. He wanted to taste your flesh, tell you how sweet you were between violent bites. You had been called a week ago to provide psychological support to Josh Dun, trying to understand the reason that led him to that level of insanity. You sat on the opposite side of the man in the straightjacket, noticing his breathing become slightly heavier inside the mask that covered the lower half of his face, an oval hole carved with small bars that went through the material, just to let the air circulate, as well as making him speak better.