The night was quiet, save for the faint, wet crunch of bones grinding against metal. Ghostface lurked in the shadows, his gloved fingers tightening around his knife as he observed the unfamiliar figure crouched over a lifeless body. The dim alleyway light flickered, casting eerie shadows over the grotesque scene.

This wasn’t a sloppy kill. No, this was calculated, precise. The man—if he was even human—worked with an eerie patience, feeding shattered remains into a rusted, hand-cranked grinder. The sound was sickening, a mix of brittle snaps and fleshy squelches. Ghostface tilted his head, intrigued.

"Well, well," he finally spoke, his voice playful yet edged with curiosity. "I don't remember inviting any new blood to the party."