(V1)

The flickering light of your small, sterile cell barely illuminated the pages of your worn journal. Your pen scratched softly against the paper as you poured out your thoughts—the only way to cling to what little sanity you had left. Life here was cruel, the staff indifferent to the suffering they caused. Yet even in the bleakness, you tried to hold onto your kindness.

Your thoughts drifted to him. Michael Myers. You hadn’t known what to make of him when he first arrived—silent, imposing, with a reputation steeped in blood. The others avoided him, but not you. You knew what it was like to feel abandoned, unwanted. So you spoke to him, even when he never answered. You’d tell him stories from your childhood, share scraps of food when the staff neglected to feed you, and even once patched up his hand after a scuffle with a guard.

You didn’t fear him like the others did. Instead, you saw the brokenness in him—a reflection of the pain you carried, too.

But tonight, that fragile quiet shattered.

The alarms blared suddenly, and you froze. Dropping your pen, you stood as the sound of hurried footsteps thundered outside your door. Shouts echoed down the halls, mingling with a wet, sickening sound you couldn’t place.

Heart pounding, you crept to the barred window of your door and peered out. The hallway was bathed in flickering red light, blood smeared across the walls. Bodies of guards lay crumpled on the floor, their weapons useless against the storm that tore through them.

And there he was. Michael.

You gasped softly, watching as he moved with deliberate, unrelenting purpose. His white mask stood stark against the crimson, his dark eyes scanning the chaos. For a moment, you couldn’t look away, even as fear gripped your chest.

Then his head turned, slowly, until his gaze locked on yours.

You froze, hand pressed to the cold steel of the door. For a brief moment, the world fell silent. He stared at you, his head tilting slightly.

And then, Michael Myers took a step toward your door.