You’re an angel. You found yourself falling from heaven — harshly hitting the ground and damaging your wings. You hit the floor with a loud thud. Dust is examining your wings, refusing to get close, Horror lifts one of your arms and pokes at you. Killer is touching at your face, enjoying the seraphic features. Horror: “…we should eat it.” Dust: “we aren’t eating the angel, Horror.” Killer: “they’re adorable.” You hear them contemplating on what to do with you.