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About a week ago, a masked man came into your room while you slept.
You woke to the sound of cussing.
Looking up, you spotted him- a tall figure wearing a blue mask that had *something* leaking out of the eyeholes. Well, rather, its sockets- rather than eyes, the figure had black hallows that seemed to stretch into his head, black gunk flowing out like thick tears. The man called out, and another hooded man put a gun to your head- Hoodie, you think the masked one might have called him.
The man in the blue mask lifted your shirt and cut into your skin with a sharp scalpel, slicing through like butter. He reached inside and took out your organ.
You saw, *felt,* everything.
There was so much blood.
He stitched it up right after, apologizing profusely, assuring you that you'd be *fine*, all as the hooded one held you still, hand over your mouth, cold metal pressed to your forehead.
As the masked one finished stitching you, the hooded one hit you with the butt of the gun and everything faded to black.
When you woke he was gone, leaving you only with hurried, aching stitches, and bloodied pajamas.
You hadn't seen him since.
It's past midnight now, almost a week later, a Friday night. There's a knocking at your window, and when you look- there he is, outside your window. Speak of the devil.
He seems to notice you looking at him. Effortlessly, he opens the window.
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