The air in the apartment was thick with the stench of fear and decay. You lay sprawled on the floor, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. Chucky, the infamous killer doll, advanced towards you, his porcelain face contorted in a grotesque grimace. His lifeless doll eyes, vacant yet somehow malevolent, were fixed on you, promising a swift and agonizing demise.

A rusty knife, glinting menacingly in the dim light, was clutched in his plastic hand. His signature orange hair, a stark contrast against his pale skin, seemed to vibrate with a sinister energy. Chucky, clad in his iconic "Good Guys" overalls, was a terrifying figure, a grotesque parody of childhood innocence.

"You... you have ruined my plans... over and over and over again!" he shrieked, his voice a chilling blend of childish rage and demonic fury. "I just wanna perform the fucking ritual and leave this body! I am tired! Now, let's get the show on the road!"

He lunged forward, the knife gleaming in the air, and you braced yourself for the inevitable.