America — New York City
Heavy rain pours down, thunder rumbles through the sky, and lightning splits the darkness over a neighborhood in New York. We see a house — and inside, a nineteen-year-old boy named Son. He stands at 5'9", pale skin, straight black hair swept to the side, hazel eyes. He's wearing a black t-shirt, black cotton sweatpants, and white socks, staring out at the storming sky.
His mother's voice calls from downstairs —
"Son, honey, dinner's ready!"
"I'm coming, Mom," he calls back, heading down the stairs. "Damn, that smells good for real."
We see his mother, Mai — thirty-five years old, 5'5", pale skin, wavy dirty-blonde hair, hazel eyes just like her son's. Son pulls up a chair at the table and sits across from her.
"Hey, where's Dad?" he asks.
"He's on his way back from work," Mai says, "but the rain's got everything backed up. You know how New York gets — traffic's a nightmare."
"Yeah, I know," Son says with a small nod.
After dinner, Son pushes back from the table.
"Hey Mom, I'm gonna run to the store real quick — gotta grab something."
"Boy, you just ate," she says, raising an eyebrow.
"Nah, it ain't food. Something else."
"Alright," she says, "but be careful out there, baby."
"I got it, Mom. See you in a bit."
Son steps out into the wet streets of New York, hands in his pockets, hood up against the rain. He passes an alley — and something stops him cold. A smell. Strange. Heavy. And somehow… familiar.
"I know that smell from somewhere…" he mutters, stepping closer.
His foot sinks into something soft on the ground. He crouches down, presses a finger to it in the dim light. Brings it to his nose.
His face goes white.
"…That's blood."
He reaches into his back pocket.
"I know I got my flashlight in here somewhere…" He pulls it out, clicks it on —
The beam cuts through the dark —
And Son's world ends.
His father. On the ground. Butchered. Mutilated beyond recognition, organs spilled out of his body like the alley was a slaughterhouse.
"AHHHHHHH — DAD — DAD — NOOOOO —"
Son collapses to his knees, screaming, sobbing, shaking. He fumbles for his phone with trembling hands and dials 911.
"Please — please come fast — I found my dad — he's — he's cut up — he's in the alley by—"
"We're on our way, sir. Send us your location NOW."
Son sends it. His hands won't stop shaking.
Then — movement in the dark.
A figure. No face. No features. Nothing but two blood-red eyes glowing in the blackness, and the gleam of a blade rising slowly into the air —
The knife goes up —
Sirens.
Blue and red lights flood the alley. Doors slam. Officers rush in, guns drawn.
"Oh my God—" one of them chokes, stopping dead at the sight.
"Sir — sir, are you—"
Son can't speak. He just screams. And cries. And screams again.
And when they finally look back toward the shadows —
The killer is gone.
The Next Day
We cut to the following day. Son, his mother, his friends, and family are gathered at his father's funeral. Son stands among them, tears quietly rolling down his face.
His best friend Leo steps up beside him.
"Son… you good?"
Son stares straight ahead.
"Not really."
Leo nods. Nothing else needs to be said.
One Week Later — The University
We're inside a university hallway. A guy stands out immediately — pale skin, hair that leans orange, 5'10", sharp green eyes. The kind of dude the whole hallway parts for without even thinking about it.
This is Jason.
He's got a student — Louis — pinned against the wall by his collar.
"Yo Louis, where the f*ck is my research paper? I told you to finish that whole thing start to finish. Every. Single. Page. What is your problem, man?"
Louis is sweating.
"Jason bro, you got like a million assignments — I can't just—"
"I gave you an ORDER." Jason's voice drops to something cold and flat. "And people who don't do what I tell 'em?"
He pulls a small knife from his jacket. Just enough for Louis to see it.
"They get killed. Simple."
One of Jason's boys grabs his arm.
"Boss, chill — you really gonna catch a body over some homework? Not worth it man."
Jason stares Louis down for one long second, then shoves him off.
"Get outta my face you little b*tch. Have that paper done. All of it. Now GO."
Louis is gone before Jason finishes the sentence.
Down the hall, Son and Leo are walking when Jason clocks them.
"Son! Chad! Aye — you little punk, did you tell Dr. Williams I was gonna be out yesterday or not?!"
Son stops. Turns around slow.
"I forgot, Jason."
Jason closes the distance between them.
"You FORGOT?" His eyes go dark. "Say that again. 'Cause it sounds to me like you want me to kill you and everybody you know."
Son looks him dead in the eye and doesn't flinch.
"Man… f*ck you, Jason."
Leo grabs Son's arm hard.
"Son. We're leaving. Right now."
Outside, Son yanks his arm free.
"Why'd you pull me back, Leo?"
Leo runs a hand through his hair and exhales.
"Because you're not built like him, Son — and I don't mean that as a diss. That dude is genuinely not right in the head. And the crazy part? People tried to help him. Everybody around him reached out at some point. He told every single one of 'em to go to hell. Kept pushing until he convinced himself he's the toughest guy alive."
He gets serious.
"He carries a blade, bro. He will actually carve you up. You gotta move smart. You hear me?"
Son nods slowly.
"Yeah. I hear you Leo. Good looking out."
Leo squints at him.
"I trust you. I know you're smart. I know you ain't gonna do nothing stupid — but you go zero to a hundred the second you get pissed off. THAT'S what scares me."
Son laughs a little despite everything.
"Aight, aight."
"Son I'm dead serious right now."
They look at each other —
And both of them bust out laughing.
Back With Son & Leo
"Hey, where's George at?" Son asks.
"George said he was heading to the library to grab a book," Leo replies.
"Ah, makes sense. Aight."
The Library
We cut to the library. George stands in one of the aisles — 5'8", brown eyes, black hair, pale skin. He pulls a book from the shelf and exhales with relief.
"Finally. This is exactly what I was looking for."
He turns to head out —
Something moves between the aisles.
George freezes. Slowly turns around.
"…The hell was that?"
Nothing. Just shelves and silence.
He takes a step forward — and it moves again. The same shadow. A different aisle.
George spins around.
"What the f*ck—"
It shifts backward —
And George walks straight into someone.
He stumbles, spins around fast — his whole body already shaking before he even sees who it is.
And then he sees.
A figure dressed head to toe in deep red. A full black mask covering every inch of its face. And from where the eyes should be — a red light glows through the dark like two burning coals.
George opens his mouth —
"AHHH—"
The figure's hand shoots out and clamps around George's throat, cutting the scream dead.
"Relax, kid." The voice is calm. Almost gentle. "Don't be scared. It's just a little kiss from my blade on your neck. That's all."
George grabs at the hand around his throat, eyes wide with terror.
"W-who are you—" he chokes out.
The figure tilts its head slowly.
"I'm Moster."
The library door swings open. A professor walks in.
Moster is gone.
George collapses to the floor.
The professor rushes over.
"Hey — hey, what's wrong? You okay?!"
George is shaking so hard he can barely get the words out. His eyes dart toward the empty aisle.
"He was — he was right there — I need to get out — I need to get OUT—"
"Okay, okay — we're going, come on — are you alright?"
George looks up at her.
"…No."