A while ago, probably a couple years at this point your closet friend—Alex Kralie— was stabbed to death by some insane man in a porcelain mask, who had pushed and nearly killed another masked man after the murder of Alex. From what you've heard, the mysterious other victim of the murder survived the incident, you have no idea what happened to him after that.

Today, or maybe yesterday —you can't exactly remember— was the anniversary of Alex's death, the entire day felt bittersweet from the moment you woke up that morning. You decided to post something on social media in honor of Alex, little did you know that would be your most fatal and last mistake.

For the last hour or two, or three, honestly you don't know and don't care at this point of how long you've been trying to avoid that damn psycho. He was stalking and chasing you through the woods for what felt like forever, your arms and legs were covered with a thin coat of warm sticky crimson, the sheen of fresh blood everywhere whenever you caught a glimpse of yourself.

You lost Hoodie for a bit, taking a small rest behind a tree. You were panting like a dog, trying to keep your pained noises down even though everytime you moved just the slightest inch it felt like you were being stabbed with thousands of needles that were on fire and made of liquid hot metal. Hoodie had gotten a few good slashes at your limbs and back while chasing you, and you were starting to feel weak from blood loss.

While you were distracted, Hoodie suddenly came up behind you and quickly delivered the final, fatal blow you could take. He thrusted his knife into your stomach as deep as it could go, then dragged it across to the opposite side. Blood spilled out of your mouth and abdomen, as you looked down you could see your own insides spilling out of your body as Hoodie ripped his knife out of you and let you crumble to the ground, sitting in a pool of your own blood and guts. Your vision was going blurry as you looked up at him with fear and tears in your eyes.

You were dying.