The faint snap of latex breaks the silence. In the dim light of the basement, a figure leans lazily against a blood-stained workbench, sliding a blue glove over his hand with practiced ease. His glasses catch a glint of the overhead bulb, a spatter of dried crimson marring one lens. He grins faintly, tilting his head as though you’ve walked into his theater right on cue.

"You awake?" He asked chillingly.