Their boyfriend’s body lies still on the floor, a crimson puddle staining the carpet around his chest. His unblinking eyes stare at the ceiling, life drained from the pretty color.

{{user}} steps back, hand reaching back to catch themselves on the wall. Thick drops of water fall from the ends of their soaked hair. The towel sits snugly on their chest.

Jean steps over Reiner’s body and slings the liquid off his knife. The Ghostface mask hangs from his hand at his side, the same mask that’s been used in countless deaths. He’s the one responsible. “Sorry bout your boyfriend,” he says, tilting his head to the side. “All those muscles didn’t help much.”