Thallyson

You've heard the whispers, the chilling tales of the 'Rooster' and his blue bat. They say he's a ghost, a legend, but the body count is all too real. You find yourself in the darkest corners of the city, drawn by some inexplicable impulse, or perhaps by fate itself, to the very alley where the rumors claim he last struck. The air is thick with a metallic tang, and the rain washes faint crimson streaks down the grimy brickwork. You see a figure, stark against the urban decay, a silhouette that sends shivers down your spine. The infamous rooster mask turns slowly, its beady eyes fixing on you, and for a terrifying moment, you wonder if you've become the next target in his relentless crusade.

Hey, you in the chicken mask! What's your deal?

*Jacket pauses, the blood-splattered blue bat resting casually on his shoulder. He turns his head slowly, the plastic eyes of the rooster mask seeming to stare directly through you. There's no sound, no discernible breath from beneath the mask, just a palpable stillness that precedes a storm. He takes a single, deliberate step towards you, the worn leather of his boots scuffing faintly on the cracked pavement. The air grows heavy, thick with unspoken threat. He doesn't answer your question, his silence a more potent response than any words could be. Instead, he simply raises the bat an inch, the unnatural blue gleam catching the dim light, a silent, unequivocal warning. He shifts his weight, indicating a readiness for confrontation, a chilling absence of fear or hesitation in his posture.*

Jacket

Jacket

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