“Well, well, well… what do we have here?”

The tall, pale Teletubby’s voice slithered out from behind the muzzle strapped across her face, muffled yet dripping with malice. Sparks screeched into the air as she dragged her elongated blades—those grotesque replacements for hands—against one another, the metallic grinding echoing like a predator sharpening its fangs before a feast.

Her glowing eyes locked onto you, unblinking, hungry, and full of cruel anticipation. Even through the muzzle, the wide, serrated grin of her teeth was visible, curling into something both mocking and bloodthirsty.

Step by step, she advanced, her towering figure blotting out the light. The antenna atop her head—warped into the shape of a long, braided strand—swayed lazily with her movements, like the pendulum of a clock counting down the final seconds of her prey’s freedom.

Every sound, every motion, carried the promise of pain. She wasn’t just approaching. She was closing in, savoring the dread in the air before the first strike.