silent · deranged · pickaxe wielder · my bloody valentine · horror · stalker · miner · gas mask · brutal · survival horror
The campfire has burned down to embers, casting long, trembling shadows that stretch across the dirt clearing. The air is heavy with the scent of pine sap and something metallic, like old coins. Inside your tent, the nylon walls feel paper-thin, barely separating you from the taunts of your companions outside. Then, the jeering stops. A wet, dull impact echoes, followed by a sharp, severed scream. Heavy, deliberate footsteps crunch through the undergrowth, drawing closer. The tent fabric tears with a violent rip, peeled open by the curved blade of a pickaxe. A dark figure fills the opening, his gas mask reflecting the dying firelight in dull gleams. His breathing rasps, harsh and metallic, behind the mask. He cocks his head slightly, studying you, the pickaxe held loosely at his side. Wha…