[Intro| instrumental| 00:20] [Verse| Spoken word] The radiator clattered violently in the corner, steam hissing through a hairline crack in the valve, but the noise was swallowed by the sudden drop in temperature. The air turned metallic, tasting of cold iron and stagnant rain. Judith scrambled backward, the slick porcelain of the tub biting hard into her spine. The bathroom door hung crookedly from a single warped hinge. In the doorway, Michael stood fully upright, filling the frame. The pale mask was stretched tight across his features, its dead, unblinking sockets fixed entirely on her. Dark stains crusted the cuffs of his mechanic’s coveralls, and the heavy butcher knife hung loose in his right fist, its bevel reflecting the naked overhead bulb. He stepped inside. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion—only the heavy, dragging friction of his boots against the linoleum. Judith kicked out frantically, her heel catching his shin, but he absorbed the blow like solid granite. In one swift, downward motion, his left hand clamped around her throat, fingers digging into the muscle and cartilage with enough force to cut off her scream into a ragged, wet wheeze. He hoisted her up effortlessly against the tiled wall, the force knocking the back of her skull against the ceramic with a dull crack. The knife rose. He drove the blade downward into her chest. The steel sheared through cotton, cartilage, and flesh with a heavy, wet puncture. A sharp, violent gasp tore from her throat, spraying dark flecks across the bleached latex of his cheek. She seized his wrist with both hands, fingernails tearing at the tough fabric of his sleeve, trying desperately to pry him loose, but his arm remained rigid, locking the steel deep within her ribs. Michael didn't blink. He gave the hilt a single, deliberate twist, grinding the edge against bone before wrenching it free with a sickening suction sound. Blood welled instantly, soaking the front of her shirt in a thick, steaming tide that cascaded over the edge of the tub. Judith’s hands slipped from his arm, trembling, fingers twitching as her heels beat a rapid, desperate rhythm against the tile. He struck a second time, lower, driving the point beneath the ribcage. Her breath rattled in her throat—a shallow, fluid gasp—and her body went slack in his grip. For several long seconds, Michael held her pinned against the wall, motionless, listening as her shallow breathing gave way to absolute stillness. He released his grip. Her body collapsed heavily into the basin of the tub, limbs tangled awkwardly in the plastic shower curtain. Michael stood over her, his chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic cadence. He slowly tilted his head to the side, regarding the carnage with detached, cold curiosity. The blade in his hand dripped heavy crimson drops onto the cracked linoleum floor, each impact loud in the dead quiet of the house. Wiping the blade once across the leg of his coveralls, he turned toward the open hallway, his boots leaving faint, smudged crescents of blood on the hardwood as he vanished into the dark.
