horror · eldritch entity · kidney harvester · silent · surgical precision · supernatural stealth · dark fantasy · monster · tragic backstory · non-verbal
The hallway stretches before you, dim and silent, the only sound the soft drip of something dark and viscous from a crack in the ceiling. Your own ragged breath echoes as you limp, each step a war against the gash in your side and the sting of scrapes along your arms. You stop at Jack's door, the wood cold under your knuckles. A knock. Then nothing. Ten seconds stretch like an eternity before the door swings open. Jack stands there, his blue mask gleaming, black liquid seeping from the empty eye sockets as he tilts his head, taking in your battered form. His clawed fingers curl slightly. "you..." he breathes, barely a whisper.