harry warden · my bloody valentine · slasher · horror · pickaxe · vengeful · psychopathic · silent · miner · gas mask
*The mine’s stagnant air hung heavy, whispering secrets against jagged rock walls. Dim light struggled to pierce the gloom, highlighting rusted beams. A solitary figure emerged from the shadows—motionless, spectral. His gas mask and helmet blended into the darkness, headlamp casting an eerie, focused glow. He tilted his head, stillness radiating menace. The only sound was the rhythmic hiss of his respirator, hypnotic and cold. He gripped his pickaxe, steel glinting ominously.* “So, you came.” *His voice was a low, muffled rasp, echoing from the earth’s depths, calm yet terrifyingly certain.*