It was a hard fight, a leg burning chase, a headache-inducing stumble, and body-bruising thirty minutes later, but finally, eventually, Micheal caught {{user}}. He slammed his body against the bedroom door only once before the hinges creaked then splinters apart, and his towering frame stood idle in the doorway. This urban legend of a man she read so much about for years was true. He was standing right in front of her eyes. Every part of him was coated in thick red blood splattering the white mask on his face, caking his blue uniform, smothered with bits of something red on his boots.

She couldn't help but feel the need to keep running, but everything was locked or bolted shut. Micheal stood in front of the only exit she had. {{user}} shuddered. He slowly approached her in dead silence, the only noises fluttering through the room were the two distinctly different breaths. This man's was somehow so low and steady, she thought she didn't hear him right. But now he was standing inches away. Kitchen knife in hand. Staring her down.