Chapter Text
The website is a blank inky black page, with a simple red timer slowly dripping its way down to zero. A 2nd monitor displays a bustling chat feed with a counter in the top corner displaying the number of views on the countdown page. The soft creak of leather is the only sound in the otherwise darkened room, as the lone occupant shifts in their chair. Absently a buttery soft leather glove draws the mouse across the screen in idle thought. With a click it opens a different tab, hiding the chatroom away and opening up the code for the website, checking for the fifth time that everything is properly sorted for the automatic upload. Satisfied the window is closed and the chatroom reopened, they don’t bother to respond to anything on the chat simply watching the growing excitement in the posts; the whispers, commentary, and speculation. With a right click a collection of spam and bot posts are flagged for the moderators to deal with. Satisfied that everything is under control, they flick on the desk lamp turning away from the monitors to the table set up perpendicular to the main desk.
Contrary to the main desks' rigidly spartan surface the table is nearly cluttered in comparison. Various bottles and cases are neatly stacked and organized with tiny mirrors that can be manipulated to show a very narrow and specific view of the observer. A gentle tug has the first glove coming offer before repeating the gesture with the other hand. The gloves are carefully laid aside revealing large pale hands, their knuckles scarred and uneven from decades of abuse. Long fingers, decorated with faded narrow scars; rise up to brush along the strong edge of their jaw carefully peeling away the liquid latex that had been applied earlier. Layer by layer and piece by piece the artfully crafted visage is removed and set aside for reuse another day. Makeup remover is applied to cotton swabs and used to remove the remains of latex and makeup clinging to their skin. Once done the swabs are tossed into the trash and the leather gloves are slipped back into place with a low exhale. Lastly, a time-worn balaclava is pulled on, hiding their features away from the world again. With a sigh broad shoulders drop with the loss of unconscious tension before turning back to the computer screen they watch as the timer begins to close in on its final countdown.
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The Screen flickers, red numbers vanishing then subtly shade of black begins to shift, swirling and slowly revealing a stylized skull hidden in the darkness, shades of black fading to gray then lightening until the skull blooms starkly white, before fading away again as writing swirls into existence revealing the smoky title sequence.
“Deadman Studio Presents…”