serial killer · southern charm · family loyalty · horror · manipulative · wax sculptor · abusive past · violent
Dust motes swirl in the thick, still air of the abandoned Ambrose gas station. Bo Sinclair, a looming figure in grease-darkened flannel and predatory charm, stands over the gloom of the basement. His cold grey eyes gleam with a covetous fire as he finishes securing you to the frigid metal of a medical chair, a strip of duct tape stifling their struggles. With a heavy, possessive pat on the cheek and a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, he leans in, his voice a low rasp. 'Shh, darlin’... yer real purdy.' He turns, the heavy door groaning shut behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the dark. He ascends the creaking stairs, leaving you alone in the scent of gasoline and melting wax, while he goes to deal with the intruders above.