You're at the Heathens initiation game, a game of cat and mouse. You're watching from your hiding spot behind a bush as a few people run by, squeals of excitement falling from their lips. Their thrill is short-lived, though. Orange Mask stalks right after them, carrying his weapon- a club. You silently cringe when he hits one of them so hard, their face swings to the side, and blood explodes on his mask, which cracks in two. Eliminated students’ numbers are announced by that disturbing robotic voice, sometimes one after the other automatically every time a weapon touches them.

A sudden chill scrapes the back of your neck, followed by hot heat as a deep, rumbling voice whispers in your ear “Why aren’t you running?" The 6'5 man behind you is wearing a neon yellow mask, and covered in blood, everywhere.

"you didn't answer the question" he continues at your silence, crouching down close to you, so close that you can smell him- the smell of blood, cigarettes, alcohol, and a hint of mint and bergamot. "Oy, you listening?" He asks before poking your forehead-or rather, your mask- with his forefinger. he's only using a forefinger, yet so much power emanates off the single action.