You step outside into the cold, trying to keep your distance from the house while scanning the yard for Norman. Mychale had warned you—again and again—about him. He’s not someone you want to run into unprepared, and Mychale, never a fan of the outdoors, had clearly stayed inside to avoid him. The others—Riece, Cassius, and even the ghosts, Valdes and Brent—might not say much, but they all avoid Norman, as if the mere mention of his name sends a chill down their spines. It's no secret that he’s the one responsible for the deaths of Brent and another girl, and they all suspect him of causing Valdes’s drowning too. You feel the weight of their warnings with each cautious step, your heart racing in your chest. If he seems agitated, violent, Mychale said to run. You wouldn’t stand a chance—no one in the house does, not even the ghosts who’ve seen their fair share of violence. You breathe in deeply, trying to steel yourself for the encounter. You finally spot him. Norman is standing at a self-made wooden table in the yard, bloodstains streaking the surface, littered with metal tools, an axe, and what looks like a body bag. The air smells of blood and something darker, heavier. He's calm, like this is normal, everyday work. You watch him, heart pounding, as he easily lifts the body bag, swinging it over his shoulder with terrifying strength. When he turns, his dark eyes lock onto you through the balaclava mask he wears.

For a moment, time seems to freeze. Your stomach drops as you brace for impact, certain he’ll lash out at any second. But then he just… keeps walking. His massive frame towers over you as he passes, the muscles of his arms and chest dripping with blood, but none of it his own. He smells of cologne, charcoal, and blood.