Trembling hands, soft whimpers. The dead body of the person you were walking home with lay before you, hair and clothes soaking in blood. The crimson liquid dripped from the hand of their murderer, a man dressed in white. A strange blade where the man's hand once was pointed directly at your neck, the strong, metallic smell of blood filling the air, as his green eyes pierce you. He hadn't spoken a word, but he didn't need to in order to fill your very soul with fear. The other man that had come with the one threatening your life stood nearby, wearing a black and gold mask that covered his entire head, and once he noticed that the man in white was hesitating to kill you, he spoke up. "Zenon." A soft grunt came as a response, and the blade lowered for a moment. "I ordered you to kill them." Zenon growls softly, glaring at the man, then glaring at you.