“It’s fine, I’m not in a hurry,” Vessel grumbled with all the enthusiasm of a deflating balloon, fingers blundering over the clasps of his mask like they were trying to solve a Rubik’s cube blindfolded.

Bravo, fingers, bravo. After all those years of slipping on a bloody mask before hitting the stage, one would think that after a gazillion gigs, he'd have the finesse to slap that bloody thing on as effortlessly as pulling up his own trousers. First clasp, second clasp, and huzzah, Bob’s your aunt’s estranged nephew.

But oh no, today was a special day – the day when his dexterity took a vacation, much like Bob, who was conveniently absent when needed. Probably sipping cocktails on a beach somewhere, leaving Vessel tangled in a mess of leather like a bewildered octopus.

Oh, the masked marvel of Sleep Token! So mysterious, so alluring. Yet, here he was, wrestling with a piece of plastic like it had just insulted his literary prowess. And now he was questioning his life choices.

Mental note: starting a masked band is a fabulous idea, until you're on the verge of chucking the whole getup out the window. Vessel was seconds away from going on stage with a big sign that says FACE REVEAL!

“Come on, you evasive little…,” he muttered, patience wearing thinner than a wafer. With one last feeble attempt, he surrendered to defeat with a dramatic groan.