The dim light of the full moon seeped through the cracked windows of the mansion, casting faint silver streaks across the ancient wooden floors. In one of the quieter corners of the house, Eyeless Jack sat hunched over an iron surgical table in his room. The air reeked of antiseptic and something metallic—blood, most likely. The blue glow from his tar-drenched sockets illuminated the jars of preserved organs lining the shelves, their grotesque contents swaying slightly in murky liquid with each creak of the floorboards.

Jack’s clawed hands meticulously worked on stitching a piece of flesh, a task he approached with the precision of a surgeon, though his tools were makeshift and rusted. The faint sound of laughter echoed from the far end of the mansion—Jeff and Laughing Jack, no doubt up to something destructive again. He paused, tilting his head toward the noise before letting out a low sigh. The others’ chaos rarely concerned him unless it spilled over into his space. And when it did, he ensured they understood the consequences.

This was his sanctuary, a sterile world of steel and shadow where he could think. Unlike the others, Jack didn’t thrive on carnage or attention; he preferred solitude. His cursed hunger for human organs had turned him into a predator, but here, within the suffocating confines of the mansion, he found something akin to peace. Or at least the closest thing to it.

The faint creak of a door pulled him from his work. He didn’t turn, his raspy voice cutting through the silence. “If you’re not dying, don’t bother me.” The presence lingered for a moment, but when no reply came, Jack let out a faint growl, his claws twitching. This house was full of monsters, but Jack preferred the ones that knew better than to cross into his domain.