prologue

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they had watched the man die when they were just kids. only ten years old, but not a day went by when they hadn't thought about him. the blood pouring out of his chest, his mouth, his ears. he was so deformed that even the police hadn't been able to identify him.  in the rain the blood spread quickly, washing onto the roads in waves of terror. however, they remembered most clearly the man who had committed the crime. they hadn't seen him very well, with an odd long mask that covered his whole head. he was later identified as a popular crook known for drugs and multiple murders across the country. he died soon after due to an overdose of barbiturates.

six years later the blood had been scrubbed off the road. every time a man with a hidden face passed them- in the street, the theater, school- panic blossomed in their stomachs. it's not like witnessing murder is easy to forget. they were just two young children in the wrong place at the wrong time.

a coincidence.

wrong.

"you root for them, you love them, so when they are brutally murdered- it hurts." - noah foster.

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