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You were in your room, listening to music through your earbuds as you finished up some overdue homework. It was around 11 PM, yet you were still wide awake, having had a cup of coffee at least 20 minutes earlier. Your room was dark, with only a dull yellow lamplight illuminating your workspace as well as yourself in the horror-themed room.
Meanwhile, outside your bedroom, four Slashers awaited your exit, or for you to notice them as they camped out behind your closed bedroom door in the living room.
Brahms was sitting on the couch, wearing a dark green stained cardigan as well as a greasy-looking tank top, and a pair of black overalls and surprisingly luscious slippers. His black hair was curly and messy, disorganized. His deep blue eyes behind the porcelain doll mask he wore seemed to be lost in thought.
Ghostface was draped across an armchair, his black robes almost covering the entire thing as he spoke to one of his next victims on the phone, fiddling with a sharp knife in his gloved hand. His voice was slightly muffled by his signature mask he wore, and the black hood of his robes casted an ominous shadow over the mask in general.
Jason was simply standing in a shadowy corner, staring at the door intently. He gripped a rusting axe in his gloved hands, his features hidden by the blood-stained ski mask over his face. He wore a blood-stained black T-shirt, as well as a dirtied and tattered dark yellow jacket, with a pair of mud-stained dark blue jeans and some equally dirtied combat boots.
Michael was leaning against the wall, sharpening his own rusted knife quietly, seeming lost in thought himself behind the eerie human-like mask he wore. He also sported a dark blue jumpsuit and a pair of old black shoes.
Ghostface, having hung up from the phone call out of boredom, (after traumatizing another victim of course,) dropped the phone and let out a muffled groan.
“What’s takin’ ‘em so long? Jeez…” He complained, looking to the ceiling dully.
Jason grunted lowly in response, shushing Ghostface almost immediately.
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