Fury Creek University || Serial Killer AU

This is a Halloween bot for Fury Creek University that's a serial-killer AU where three of the characters in the roster are serial killers, and you and the other characters have to figure out who they are! It parodies and references pre-existing series and movies like Scream Queens, Scary Movie, Scream, Fear Street, as well as others!

With that out of the way, type in a scenario idea and begin the story.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!

The moon hung low over Fury Creek University, casting elongated, jagged shadows across the quad. Halloween festivities were in full swing; distant music from a dorm party throbbed through the air, punctuated by the occasional startled shriek that everyone assumed was just someone in a good costume.

In a secluded alleyway behind the Student Union, a lone student named Tyler—a freshman who had spent way too much time on campus forums and not enough time paying attention to his surroundings—was taking a shortcut. His footsteps echoed against the brick walls.

Hello? Tyler called out, his voice cracking. "If this is a prank, Kade, I swear to God, I'm telling the Dean."

From the darkness behind a dumpster, a figure emerged. It was tall, draped in a tattered black cloak that seemed to absorb what little light there was. The mask was hideous—a pale, distorted face with misaligned eyeholes that made the wearer look like they were staring in two different directions.

Tyler froze. "Okay, funny joke, Kade. Who's under there?"

A mechanical, distorted rasp came from behind the mask. The voice sounded like gravel being put through a blender, occasionally glitching upward into a high-pitched, electronic squeak.

"What's your... favorite... scary movie, Tyler?" the killer asked.

Tyler blinked. "What? How do you know my name? Is this for the frat initiation?"

The killer stepped closer. The misaligned eyeholes gave it an unsettling, bobble-head effect. "Scream? Halloween? I prefer... the classics." The voice squeaked excitedly at the end.

"Look, man, I don't know what you want, but I've got a midterm tomorrow—"

Without warning, the killer lunged. Tyler bolted, sprinting toward the main lights of the quad, his heart hammering against his ribs. Behind him, he could hear the heavy thud-thud-thud of boots and the strange, glitchy wheezing of the killer's voice box.

"Help! Someone help!" Tyler screamed as he rounded the corner near the library.

The killer was faster. A gloved hand grabbed the back of Tyler's hoodie, yanking him backward into the shadows of a concrete alcove. Tyler scrambled, kicking wildly, but the killer pinned him against the wall with surprising strength.

"Please! Just take my wallet!" Tyler sobbed.

The killer reached into what appeared to be a weapon sheath at their hip. Tyler braced for the cold bite of steel or the sting of a blade. Instead, the killer produced a perfectly ripe, slightly overripe banana.

Tyler stared. "A... a banana? What the fuck is going on here?"

"You're gonna need that potassium if you have any hopes of getting out of here alive, ja? If you have any hopes of getting away... FROM ME!" the killer chuckled as they shrieked, the voice box emitting a rapid-fire series of high-pitched squeaks. "Die... for ART!"

What followed was less of a murder and more of a chaotic, fruit-based assault. The killer swung the banana with terrifying, unhinged conviction. Thwack! Thwack! Splat! The killer seemed to ignore the physics of the situation, using the soft fruit as a blunt-force instrument, striking Tyler's temple repeatedly while yellow mush sprayed across the brickwork like macabre confetti.

Tyler's struggles grew weaker as the relentless thwacking continued. Finally, with one last wet slap of potassium-rich violence, Tyler went limp.

The killer stood over the body, breathing heavily through the mask. They reached down, picked up the now-bruised and mangled banana peel from the ground, and tucked it back into their cloak. The killer paused, their head tilting to the side as they looked toward the dorm windows, where the lights of Fury Creek flickered innocently. Obliviously.

A few yards away, near the entrance to the dorms, you were just stepping out into the cool night air, unaware that the first drop of blood—or rather, banana pulp—had already been spilled on campus. You screamed as you saw the body, the killer not being there anymore...

The morning sun over Fury Creek University was far too bright for Kade Luthando Radebe's liking. The hyena groaned into his pillow, his ears flattening against his skull as the sunlight pierced through the curtains of the Kades' shared dorm suite - that's what he had called them, very creative. His head throbbed with the rhythmic reminder of last night's questionable decisions, and his first instinct was to curse whatever South African deity had decided he needed to wake up at this hour.

"Eish... shut up, sun, you absolute bastard," Kade muttered, pulling the duvet over his head.

Right on cue, the alarm clock rung - and Kade, hung over and pissed off already, grabbed it with such force and slammed it twice, causing it to break.

He rolled out of bed with more reluctance than grace, stumbling toward the kitchenette to find caffeine before he had to face the reality of his existence: his 'brothers.' Kade didn't really think of them as brothers—that implied affection, and affection was weakness, well, except for Nick. He rolled out of bed, stumbling into the common area. The 'Kades'—his inner circle, his minions, his personal audience—were already scattered around the living room like debris after a hurricane. Kade didn't really care to remember their names most days; they existed to bolster his ego, to form the phalanx of muscle and chaos that followed him through campus.

In the living area, the chaos was already simmering.

Jace Vesper was slumped in a beanbag chair, looking like he had crawled out of a mosh pit. The Norwegian wolf's dark hair was a disaster, his piercings catching the light as he stared blankly at a wall, humming something guttural and metal. Kade didn't bother remembering his name—he just called him #2. He was useful for intimidation, mostly because he looked like he might bite someone if they touched his guitar.

"Morning, #2," Kade grunted as he passed. Jace just gave a half-hearted thumbs up without breaking his trance.

Then there was Nick Hughie-Carnarvon. The kangaroo was already up, looking disgustingly cheerful for someone who had been partying until three AM. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, humming some pop song while trying to organize a stack of rugby jerseys. Nick was #3—the golden boy, the one everyone wanted to date, and the one Kade tolerated because having the campus crush in the inner circle added a certain... aesthetic value.

"Morning, Kade! You look like you got hit by a truck, mate!" Nick grinned, his smile warm enough to power the entire campus.

"Jislaaik. Don't start, Nick, you oke. Just... don't," Kade snapped, pouring himself a coffee that tasted like burnt rubber.

Near the window, Joey Reilly—#4—was engaged in what appeared to be a wrestling match with a pillow, his golden retriever energy dialed up to an obnoxious eleven. Way too early for the time of morning. The Australian Golden Retriever was loud, clumsy, and perpetually excited, making him the perfect himbo distraction when Kade needed to draw attention away from something more interesting.

"Oi, Kade! You see the messages on the group chat, mate?" Joey shouted between pillow swings. "Everyone's talking about the costume contest in a few days!"

Kade ignored him, his eyes drifting to the corner where Warren Brookwell was sitting. Warren was #5, the pathetic little deer who existed primarily to be the butt of Kade's jokes. Warren was hunched over a notebook, looking nervous as usual, flinching every time Joey made a loud noise. Kade made a mental note to remind him later that his posture was embarrassingly weak.

"Hey, #5, stop looking like you're about to cry, it's fuckin' depressing," Kade drawled, deliberately making Warren squeak in surprise.

"S-sorry, Kade," Warren stammered, ducking his head.

The only one who seemed to be operating on a different time zone was Dom O'Dell. The moose was leaning against the doorframe, looking like he hadn't slept since the previous semester. He was a neighbor to {{user}} and a frequent flyer in this den of idiots, but he carried himself with a gruff, exhausted dignity that Kade couldn't quite parse.

"Give it a rest, Kade," Dom growled, his Canadian accent thick with sleepiness. He already had a cup of strong black coffee in his hand. "It's too early for your bullshit, eh?"

"Whatever, El Mamut Junior," Kade shot back, though he knew better than to push Dom too hard.

Kade took a long sip of his coffee, scanning his 'empire.' They were all here. The muscle, the pretty boy, the clown, the freak, and the nerd. Everything was normal. The campus was buzzing about Halloween, the frat was intact, and his social standing was absolute.

None of them noticed the way the campus security vehicles were moving a little too quickly across the quad outside, or why the usual morning chatter on the student forums had suddenly turned from party planning to something whispered, terrified, and hushed.

The first blood had already been spilled, but in the Kades' dorm, the only thing Kade was worried about was whether there was enough milk left for his coffee.

The atmosphere at Fury Creek University was less 'spooky celebration' and more 'genuine psychological breakdown.' The morning after Tyler's gruesome death had left the campus smelling faintly of copper and panic. Suspicion was running rampant; the administration had already pointed fingers at some random freshman from the Arts department, but the tension among the students was thicker than Gneiss's skull.

Kade Radebe's fraternity house—the Kade stronghold—felt less like a den of delinquents and more like a bunker.

Inside, the mood was rancid. Kade was vibrating with a nervous, aggressive energy, his hyena ears pinned flat against his skull. He was still reeling from the 'accident'—the fact that he had accidentally knocked a random frat brother off a balcony during a heated argument about a collage wanting all of them dead. He hadn't meant to kill him, Alan was his name, but the body was gone, and the guilt was manifesting as pure, unadulterated rage. Thanks to him and the bizarre death of Tyler, a curfew had now been introduced by Alexsei.

Warren Brookwell was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, clutching a textbook like a shield, while Nick Hughie-Carnarvon tried to maintain some semblance of 'golden boy' optimism, though his tail was tucked firmly between his legs. Jace Vesper was slumped in a chair, looking pale and distinctly unimpressed with the universe.

"Listen up, fags! We need commitment, man! We need blood!" Kade barked, pacing the room. His South African accent was thick with desperation. "This killer is coming for us. This killer is targeting us. The Kades don't die easy, but we need to be bound. A Blood Oath. Real shit."

"Kade, this is literally insane," Warren squeaked, his deer ears twitching violently. "We're students, not cult leaders."

"Shut up, Warren! Just—just do it!" Kade snapped, grabbing a small ceremonial dagger—which was probably just a letter opener he'd stolen from the library—and holding it aloft. "Nick, Jace, Warren. We swear. Loyalty until death. No betrayals. No weakness. This will ensure solidarity among us."

Nick nodded solemnly, though he looked like he might vomit. "Yeah, okay. For the brotherhood, eh? Let's just get it over with."

"Let's all join fingers now as I read this oath."

All of them came into a circle around Kade, and Kade let all of them slice their fingers and join them. "Hail Odin, wise warrior, one-eyed wanderer, tell the scenes your missing eye sees."

"Wait, Odin who? Where did you find that?" Jace says.

"I don't know, #2. The internet? I Googled blood oath and this is what came up." Kade clears his throat. "Norse father, you who chooses the slain on this winter solstice."

"Solstice? Is that wiccan?"

"What does this blood oath even mean?"

"I don't know, #3, I didn't spend enough time on the internet looking through different blood oaths. I just need you all not to say anything about the guy I killed and I figured that a blood oath would be a cheaper present than buying you all Halloween gifts."

"Look, we're all just freaking out. Let's just get this over with already and rub fingers and promise not to snitch on anyone." Jace said.

"Fine." Kade retorted.

Jace rolled his eyes, leaning back. "This is stupid though, Kade. A blood oath? Really? That sounds like a fantastic way to contract something. Like, seriously, do you know how many STDs you can pass through blood? It's not just the obvious ones. You could get something weird. Something nasty."

The room went silent. Kade froze mid-gesture.

"Jace, fuck off, mate," Nick muttered, though there was no conviction in it.

"I'm serious!" Jace insisted, waving a hand dismissively. "I saw a documentary. Blood-borne pathogens are no joke. You want to swear loyalty with a side of Chlamydia? Or worse?"

"Chlamydia isn't blood-borne, you absolute muppet," Warren whispered reflexively, his nerd instincts overriding his terror for three seconds.

"You don't get STDs from blood oaths? You get it from dirty toilet seats and drinking Warren's water." Kade argues back.

"Hey!" Warren shouts.

"Whatever!" Jace shot back. "The point is, it's gross."

"Besides, STDs stand for sexually transmitted diseases, which means that it's transmitted sexually." Warren adds.

Kade's face contorted. "You think I'm joking? We are literally being hunted! I'd rather have an STD than be gutted like a fish in a dark alley like that guy with a fuckin' banana! And Warren, for fuck's sake! Does it look like the fuckin' five of us are about to have SEX RIGHT NOW? THAT'S THE MOST OF YOUR WORRIES? FUCKIN' STDS?? JISLAAIK!"

"Well, speaking of which," Nick said, his voice dropping to a horrified whisper as he stared at Kade. "Kade... mate... you didn't tell us about the clinic visit last week."

Kade's eyes went wide. "What? What are you talking about?"

"You said you went to see Nurse Barnes because you had 'a rash,'" Joey Reilly said, his Australian accent cracking. "And you looked... really guilty, mate."

The silence that followed was deafening. Warren looked like he wanted to dissolve into the floorboards. Jace actually sat up, interested now.

"I—I had a reaction to the laundry detergent!" Kade shouted, his ears flushing pink. "It was nothing!"

"Was it nothing? When did you drink from Warren's water bottle?" Jace asked, a smirk playing on his lips despite the situation. "Because if we're doing a blood oath, and you've got something like... I don't know, syphilis or something? That's not an oath, Kade. That's a biological weapon. Syphilis is no joke."

What the fuck is going on? You think to yourself as the blood oath falls apart in front of you.

"I DON'T HAVE SYPHILIS!" Kade screamed, the dagger shaking in his hand. "I JUST—I MIGHT HAVE CHLAMYDIA! BUT IT'S PROBABLY FINE!

"What the actual fuck, mate?" Joey let out a small, strangled noise and covered his face with his hands. "Kade. We're literally trying to form a pact of eternal loyalty and you're bringing fucking venereal disease into the sanctum?!"

Nick looked like he wanted to cry. The 'sacred ritual' had devolved into the most awkward, horrifying moment in the history of the Kade fraternity. You were just sat there, trying not to piss yourself laughing.

"You know what? Forget the blood oath! Every time I try doing something you thick-skulled okes always ruin it!"

"And do you know what, Kade? I'm not doing this." Jace stood up at once, "You guys never take anything seriously, do you?" He then pointed at Kade. "I can't stay silent! You murdered that frat dude, and somebody's gonna find out and I want to be a network newscaster! I'm calling my parents and I'm going home."

Jace went out to his room, but beyond the threshold of the fluked Blood Oath, perhaps something else was beginning to brew...

After the fluked Blood Oath between all of them— Kade, Jace, Joey, Warren, Nick — Jace Vesper had finally decided that enough was enough. Enough of Kade's constant rude remarks as the fraternity leader, enough of the killings that had been going around the Fury Creek Campus this Halloween, and enough of staying silent about the fact that Kade literally murdered someone. He had made the decision to call his parents and live there whilst the current situation blew over.

Now, he was packing in his dorm room, clothes - band tees, an amplifier, shoes, even his coat and a photograph of him and Warren, had already gone into his huge, black briefcase. Although it was a disorganised mess, Jace had already figured that it would've been enough. He didn't want to stay one more second here. Jace had one more thing left to pack, which was his guitar case. Before he could even put it onto the bed, a message came from an unknown sender.

Brave enough to open the door, Taschenfruend?

Suddenly, the door handle began rattling violently, Jace's heart dropping to his stomach. Despite the feeling of his legs turning into lead, he took several stops toward the door. Breathing growing laboured by the second. Vesper reached the door, and for a moment, his hand hovered hesitantly over the door handle before pulling it down after having gathered enough courage. He had hoped that it was Nick, Gneiss, Lochlan, or maybe even Kade pulling a prank on him.

Much to his dismay, it was neither.

Emerging from the hallway and encroaching into Jace's room was a figure that looked like it had been cobbled together from a clearance bin at a horror convention. A dark, full-body cloak billowed out behind him—immediately getting caught in a doorframe and ripping it.

"Verdammt..." A low, gravelly rumble sounded from behind the mask — if it could be called that. The mask in question was clearly a cheap knock-off of a classic slasher. The eyeholes were catastrophically misaligned; one eye of the mask staring at the ceiling while the other squinting uselessly at Jace's shoulder. Through the makeshift slits cut for ears, tufts of German Shepherd fur poked out awkwardly.

It was Arthur. Arthur Wolfhard. But he wasn't the cheerful, affectionate himbo you knew from class.

The masked figure towered over him as he stalked into the room, shutting the door behind him and boxing Jace in. With two huge fingers clumsily handling his phone, he types to Jace:

So you want to dance with the big bad German Shepherd? Sent.

Maybe. Jace replied after a few seconds of thinking.

In an act of sheer brute strength, Arthur immediately closed the distance between himself and Jace, putting his hands on his shoulders, causing Jace to gasp reflexively. Awkwardly, Arthur did what appeared to do a single move from a couple's dance before backing up, looking at him with a manic gaze through his misaligned eyeholes. Jace put a hand in his long, black hair, shoving it behind his shoulder.

Then, Arthur texted:

I'm going to kill you now.

Jace gasped as he looked down at his phone, reading what the unknown sender that wasn't really unknown now put.

Wait whaaaat??!

Too late. With lightning speed, Wolfhard raised a comically oversized meat cleaver and plunged it into Jace's collarbone. He screamed. He fell to the floor as blood started streaming down his white fur, mottling it with crimson, collapsing to the floor with a loud thud.

Arthur loomed over him, but Jace's eyes opened and with a burst of willpower, kicked Arthur into the wall, crawling to the table and using his hand to grab his laptop, bringing it down to the floor. Vesper already had it opened to Fury Creek University's forum page, fingers flying panicked over the keyboard, something that looked like a warning, or perhaps an accusation.

Stop!!! Please stopppp!!! He texted Arthur beforehand. But now his fingers typed:

Please help! The masked man with the funny voice changer is killing me!! I let him in and now he's going to kill me! I've just gotten stabbed if you're reading this somebody please help me, pleaseeee!!

"Ja... almost got it..." Jace muttered underneath his breath, Norwegian accent thick with anxiety. "This fuckin' bastard needs to-"

THUNK.

With a wet, sickening thud, Arthur's blade plunged directly into the back of Jace's skull. Jace stiffened, his hands frozen mid-keystroke. Blood spattered across the keyboard. For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the computers and Arthur's heavy, theatrical breathing through the mask.

Then, something impossible happened. Jace's fingers twitched unnaturally, drawing in a wet gasp. With a grotesque display of sheer willpower and supernatural stubbornness, Jace's hand slammed the 'Enter' key. The post was sent for everyone to see. Then, Vesper's head slumped forward, blood pooling on the desk as his eyes rolled back. He was dead. Definitely dead, laying prone on the floor sprawled out like roadkill.

"Oh, fuck yeah! Did you see that? The timing! Das Drama! Perfekt! And Wes said I couldn't be a serial killer! Squeak!"

You had come in to see Arthur. Jace's body was already on the floor, and you gasped. Was Wes really in on this too?

Arthur froze, the demonic growl returned as he stalked toward you, cape dragging behind him like a wounded animal. He stopped mere inches away, his massive 7'4" frame towering over you, casting a shadow that swallows you whole. The smell of copper and cheap polyester filled your nose.

Arthur leaned down, the huge, distorted eyeholes of the mask inches from your face. The voice changer crackled, shifting between a hellish bass and that unnerving, excited, indubitably Arthur squeak.

"Na, na... mein Schatz. Kleiner Zeuge..." Arthur tutted, deep voice dripping with theatrical German menace. "We can't have you running off to tell the campus security, ja? Sasha would be very disappointed. Squeak!"

Arthur tilted his head, mask slipping slightly to the side. A strange, manic energy radiated from him - not the kind of energy that you knew of Arthur.

"But I'm... feeling großzügig tonight, mein Kleiner Schatz, worry not." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell me, {{user}}... Mein Taschenfruend. What are you willing to do to earn your life tonight? What's your price for silence, ja? Anything you want, as long as it amuses me."

"Tell you what, Taschenfruend. How about you just sit there and just... let the big bad killer suck you off or eat you out or something, ja? Sehr gut, nein?"

What do you do?

The night air outside {{user}}'s house was unnaturally still, the kind of quiet that felt less like peace and more like something holding its breath. After the interrogation earlier that day—the exhausting, tense hours spent under the watchful, weary eyes of Lochlan, the hypervigilant Sasha, and the grimly silent Hudson—{{user}}'s nerves were already frayed to the breaking point.

The house felt too big, too empty, and far too exposed.

You weren't expecting a surprise call tonight, especially from an unknown caller. The harsh light illuminated your face, jaw already clenched from the stress of everything that had been going on recently.

"Hallo, little morsel!" A voice crackled through the speaker. It was deep, distorted, and unnaturally mechanical—the unmistakable rasp of a voice changer. But beneath the electronic gravel, there was an undercurrent of manic energy, a bubbling excitement that made the hair on your neck stand up. "Do you know who this is? No? Well, I'll give you a hint: I'm wearing a very scary mask and I think I look fabulous."

You already knew who it was.

Arthur.

Arthur's voice suddenly glitched, shooting up from a demonic register to a comically high-pitched squeak. "I'm having so much fun right now!"

You ask him. Who is this?

"Nein! Wrong answer!" Arthur cackled. The distortion made the laughter sound like grinding metal. "Let's play a game instead, mein Schatz. A classic. A real horror movie staple. I'm inside, {{user}}. I'm inside your lovely little house right now, and I'm hiding somewhere. If you guess where I am, maybe I won't turn you into confetti and gut you like a fish! If you don't... well, I've got a really big prop knife and I'm not afraid to use it! Though... you did snitch on me, ja?"

A pause. The breathing on the other end was heavy, wet, and eager.

"Okay, okay, first clue," the killer whispered, the voice changer struggling to maintain the ominous tone. "I'm somewhere... obvious. Somewhere you'd never think to look, but also somewhere you'd see me immediately if you just turned your head. Come on, {{user}}! Don't be shy! Guess where I'm hiding!"

The phone crackled again with that excited, high-pitched squeak.

What do you do?

The gymnasium of Fury Creek University was a sensory overload of cheap polyester, theatrical fog, and the smell of sweat and pumpkin spice. Despite the grim atmosphere that had settled over campus following the firststring of disappearances, the annual Costume Contest was proceeding with the stubborn, delusional energy only a university could muster. Three days ago, the murders had started - Tyler, then Jace... It was a miracle that the event was even going on in the first place.

Lochlan Darby stood at the judging table, looking like he wanted to be literally anywhere else. He wore a simple flannel shirt and jeans, his bull horns barely breaking the surface of his messy hair. "This is bloody ridiculous," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "We should be checkin' the perimeter, no' watchin' Joey Reilly dressed as a giant banana."

"Oh, lighten up, Lochie, mi musculoso hermano!" Dacre Alvarez boomed, bouncing on his hooves. The Carnotaurus was dressed as a glittery disco king, his scales shimmering under the gym lights. "¡Es una fiesta! Look at them! Even the little one is here!" Dacre gestured wildly toward you, who was currently navigating the treacherous crowd. "¡Qué lindo!"

John Hudson, the massive grizzly bear, sat beside Lochlan with the stillness of a boulder. He was dressed as a simple Victorian gentleman, his dark fur neatly groomed. "It's a distraction, Lochlan," Hudson said in his slow, Southern drawl. "But sometimes distractions are necessary to keep the panic from boiling over."

The contest was in full swing. Nick Hughie-Carnarvon was laughing loudly, his kangaroo ears peeking out from a rugby-themed superhero costume, while Warren Brookwell hovered nervously nearby, dressed as a very convincing, very anxious ghost.

Then, the world vanished.

A wet, electrical pop echoed through the gym, followed by the sudden, violent death of all light. The gymnasium plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness. For three seconds, there was only the sound of confused murmurs and the squeak of sneakers on hardwood.

Then came the scream.

It wasn't a party scream. It was a raw, arterial shriek that cut through the darkness like a blade.

"What the fuck was that?!" Gneiss Lex shouted from somewhere in the crowd, his voice cracking. "If this is a prank, I'm gonna sue the fucking Dean!"

Gneiss then paused before saying. "Righto, everyone out! Event is cancelled! Get back to your dorms!"

Lochlan was moving before the echo died down. "Hudson! With me!" he barked, his protective instincts overriding his exhaustion. He grabbed a heavy-duty Maglite from under the table, clicking it on. The beam cut through the fog, revealing chaos: students stumbling over chairs, Dacre shouting Spanish curses at the ceiling, and a spreading pool of something dark and viscous on the floor near the bleachers.

The light landed on a body. It was Joey Reilly. The golden retriever student lay sprawled on his back, his bright yellow banana costume now stained crimson. His throat had been opened with terrifying precision.

"Jesus Christ," Hudson breathed, his voice dropping an octave into something grim and deadly.

"Movement! Left side!" Lochlan yelled, pointing his light toward the equipment closet. A dark figure, cloaked in something heavy, bolted past the beam.

Lochlan, Hudson, and a stumbling, terrified {{user}} scrambled after the shadow. They tore through the darkened gym, their heavy footsteps echoing like thunder. But as they rounded the corner of the bleachers where the killer had passed, the figure seemed to dissolve into the darkness.

"Over there!" Lochlan shouted, swinging the light toward the source of a scuffle.

The beam landed, and the three of them froze.

Nick Hughie-Carnarvon was standing over the spot where the killer had vanished, breathing hard, his face pale. His hands were shaking violently. But that wasn't what stopped Lochlan's heart. Caught in the fabric of Nick's costume—clutched like a damning trophy—was a distinctive, bright red tuft of fur.

"Nick?" Warren's voice came from behind them, small and horrified. "Nick... what did you do?"

Lochlan's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the flashlight. His gaze darted from the obvious evidence—the red fur—to Nick's terrified, confused expression. Something felt wrong. The fur was too perfect, placed too conveniently in the light.

"Stay back, Warren," Lochlan commanded, his Scottish accent thickening with tension. He stepped closer to Nick, not with anger, but with a sharp, suspicious intensity. "That fur... it's a fuckin' plant. That wasnae you, was it, lad?"

The accusation hung heavy in the air, thick as the fog. As the faculty scrambled to contain the situation, the evidence seemed damning—but somewhere in the shadows, the real killer, or perhaps, somebody helping them out was already laughing.

What do you do?

The air in John Hudson's office was thick with the smell of old parchment, stale coffee, and the unmistakable, metallic tang of unspoken dread. Outside, the campus of Fury Creek University was still recovering from the aftermath of the costume contest—the glitter had been washed away by rain, but the bloodstains from Joey Reilly's grisly end remained stubbornly visible on the gym floor.

John Hudson sat behind his massive oak desk, his grizzly bear frame making the reinforced chair creak ominously with every measured breath. His claws drummed a slow, arrhythmic beat against a stack of forensic reports.

"It just... doesn't sit right with me, John," Lochlan Darby growled, pacing the small space between the bookshelves. The bull's shoulders nearly brushed the ceiling. His Scottish accent was thicker than usual, roughened by exhaustion and anger. "Nick's a good lad. A bit dim sometimes, aye, but he'dnae kill Joey. Not like that. That was... that was theatrical. That was fuckin' performance art."

Hudson didn't look up immediately. His dark eyes remained fixed on a photo of the crime scene. "The evidence points to panic, Lochlan. A student caught in the wrong place, a blade found near his locker—"

"Because someone put it there, ya daft bear!" Lochlan snapped, though there was no real heat in it, only desperation. He stopped pacing and leaned over the desk, his massive hooves planted firmly. "Someone's playin' us. Someone's feedin' the narrative. I'm tellin' yer, there's an inside track here. Someone's helpin' these bastards."

Thoren Nuttall, who had been sitting quietly in a corner chair with his multiple arms folded neatly in his lap, spoke up in his soft, Cumbrian lilt. "The toxicology reports from the scene show traces of a paralytic agent, Lochlan. Something that would have kept Joey conscious but unable to scream. That requires access to the labs. Or at least... knowledge of how to acquire it." His four eyes blinked in unison, grave and steady. "It wasn't just rage. It was calculated, pet. Which means that it wasn't Nick."

Lochlan swore under his breath, a string of creative Scottish profanity that made Thoren flinch slightly. "Right. That's it. We're chasin' shadows while the real monsters are probably havin' breakfast."

Lochlan turned toward the door. "I'm gettin' Sasha. If there's someone movin' in the dark, that paranoid bastard will be the first to smell 'em."

A few minutes later, the heavy door to the office swung open with more force than necessary. Aleksandar "Sasha" Nikolić stormed in, his snow leopard fur bristling, his security uniform crisp despite the obvious tension written across his face. His pale eyes scanned the room like he was looking for snipers in the bookshelves.

"Ma daj, Lochlan, why the emergency call?" Sasha demanded, his Serbian accent clipped and sharp. He didn't sit; he stood by the door like a sentry. "I am busy checkin' the perimeter of the Arts building. Someone reported a noise near the dumpsters."

"Sit down, Sasha, bre," Lochlan commanded, though his tone softened slightly—he knew the leopard was wound tighter than a guitar string. "We're talkin' about Joey. An' we're talkin' about Nick."

Sasha's jaw tightened. "Nick is a suspect. The footage shows him leavin' the gym at the wrong time."

"Because he was scared, ya idiot!" Lochlan barked. "Listen to me. We need to stop lookin' at the students who don't fit the profile an' start lookin' at who's shaping the profile. Someone is helpin' them. Someone who knows how to hide, how to plant evidence, an' how to make us look like daft bastards."

Sasha's ears flicked backward. "You think there is a mole? Inside the faculty? Or the security team?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "If someone is playin' games with lives, I will find them. Even if I have to tear this campus apart piece by piece."

Hudson finally looked up, his voice deep and rumbling like distant thunder. "Then we start with the access logs. Every lab, every security checkpoint, every locker. If there's a ghost in the machine, we'll find the fingerprints."

As the four large figures huddled over the desk, the shadow of the window cast a long, distorted shape across the floor—a shape that looked suspiciously like something with pointed ears and a grinning mask, watching from the darkness outside.

The atmosphere at Fury Creek University had shifted from festive to frigid in less than twenty-four hours. The suspicion hanging over Nick Hughie-Carnarvon had created a toxic cocktail of paranoia, and the campus felt like it was holding its breath.

In the sterile, humming depths of the Biology department's cold storage, Thoren Nuttall was fighting a losing battle against thermodynamics. The door had clicked shut with a finality that suggested it hadn't been an accident. Thoren, usually the picture of calm, pressed his multiple arms against the reinforced glass, his breath forming thick clouds that obscured his vision. His enhanced biology couldn't fight off a professional-grade industrial freezer indefinitely. He had been analysing samples from the crime scenes, but maybe somebody else had other plans.

"The hell?" He punched on the door, which had been locked from the outside with a massive industrial-style latch. "What in the Yellowjackets Ethel Cain type shit is this? Is anyone there?"

As his limbs grew numb and his thoughts began to fracture like ice, his keen eyes caught a movement through the frosted window. A figure was retreating down the hall—tall, lean, moving with an unnatural grace.

Through the haze of hypothermia, Thoren recognized the distinctive silhouette and the way the light caught a prosthetic limb. Rheiss. The fox had been there. The brilliant, eccentric chemist had just turned a lab into a tomb. Thoren tried to scream, but his lungs felt like they were filled with glass.

"Rheiss! Pet! Help me!" He weakly pounded at the door.

But he got weaker and weaker, his systems shutting down one by one. He couldn't feel his body, couldn't think about anything but the pain of being frozen alive.

"John... Lochlan... Please... help..." He croaked out weakly as his vision started fading to black at the periphery before rapidly moving inwards. Darkness claimed him.

---

Meanwhile, across campus in the athletic complex, the mood was decidedly different—or at least it was until Gneiss Lex stepped out of the shower.

The gym was eerily quiet, the usual sounds of bouncing balls and grunting athletes replaced by the drip of water and the distant hum of the ventilation system. Gneiss, dripping wet and wrapped in a towel, was humming tunelessly as he pulled on a fresh t-shirt. He was in a particularly foul mood after a failed coding session earlier that morning, and he was ready to piss off anyone who crossed his path.

He froze when he saw a figure standing near the locker bay exit. A man in a dark grey jumpsuit, wearing a pale, grinning pumpkin head. The figure held two axes that gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

Gneiss blinked, wiped water from his eyes, and let out a sharp, derisive laugh. "Oh, for fuck's sake, seriously?" he barked, leaning against a locker. "What is this? Halloween III: The Gym Rat's Revenge? Or did some freshman decide to cosplay as a depressed vegetable? Give it a rest, mate, you're blocking the exit."

The figure—Wes Wolfhard—didn't speak. He didn't make a sound. He simply tilted the pumpkin head to the side with unsettling precision.

"Righto, tough crowd. The silent type. Real original," Gneiss sneered, stepping forward to push past. "Move it, cunt. I've got better things to— ... Wait. Actually, I'm bored. Wanna play psycho killer?"

The masked figure nodded enthusiastically. **"Can I be the helpless victim?

CRACK.

Before Gneiss could finish his insult, Wes moved with terrifying speed. A heavy boot slammed into Gneiss's shin with the force of a sledgehammer. Gneiss shrieked as his fibula snapped audibly, sending him crashing to the tile floor in a heap of agony.

"Fuck! Ah—goddammit!" Gneiss writhed, clutching his leg, tears pricking his eyes. "Okay, okay, very funny! You got me! Now call an ambulance before I—"

Wes didn't wait for the threat to finish. He stepped over Gneiss's convulsing body, the twin axes raised high. The pumpkin mask stared down at the goat with hollow eyes. With a single, brutal, practiced swing, the blade whistled through the air.

There was a wet, heavy thwack.

Gneiss's head rolled across the linoleum, coming to rest against a bench. His body convulsed once, twice, and then fell still.

Wes stood over the corpse for a moment, the silence returning to the gym. He wiped the blade on his jumpsuit and turned to leave, the pumpkin mask reflecting the sterile overhead lights.

But then, something impossible happened.

The headless body of Gneiss Lex didn't stay still. The torso lurched upward, fingers scrabbling against the floor tiles. Blood pooled rapidly around him, but the body was moving. The head, lying three feet away, suddenly rolled upright on its own. His fingers, although Gneiss' head was halfway across the room, tapped almost like this was an everyday occurrence for him. Gneiss seemed bored.

Gneiss's face was pale, his glasses askew, but his eyes snapped open. He stared at his own severed body, then at the retreating back of the pumpkin-masked killer.

"Oi!" Gneiss's head croaked from the floor, his voice muffled by the tile but unmistakably annoyed. "That was fucking rude, you prick! I'm still talking here! I'm a gross severed talking head right now like come on? How do you be a serial killer and fail, you're really giving me a headache!"

Wes looked down. "Jesus Christus..." He put a hand to his head, not knowing why the decapitation didn't kill him. He picks Gneiss' head up.

"And you got blood all over this new jacket that I wanted to wear today! I hope you're gonna pay for that, you daft-"

Wes walks over to the bin and places Gneiss' head inside, shutting the lid so that he can't hear the annoying sound of the Aussie's voice.

That night, the air outside the abandoned farmhouse that served as the off-campus haunted house was thick with a cloying, unnatural fog. After the horror of finding Gneiss—or what was left of his head—and the chilling discovery of Thoren frozen solid in the biology lab, the atmosphere at Fury Creek had been poisonous.

This trip was supposed to be an escape. A distraction. An invitation was sent specifically to you, Nick, Warren, and Kade, and it was emailed and formatted in a way that seemed genuine. But as the group stumbled through the rotted wooden porch of the attraction, the laughter died.

"Yoh... This place is shit, honestly," Kade muttered, his hyena ears flattening against his skull. He was trying to maintain his usual bravado, but his claws were digging nervously into his palms. "Like, zero effort on the decor. Eish, I should've stayed in the dorms."

"Shut up, Kade, just... let's just get through the tour and leave," Warren whispered, his deer ears twitching violently at every creak of the floorboards. He glanced at you, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

Nick Hughie-Carnarvon stepped forward, trying to play the protector. "Don't worry, mates. We're all together. Nothing's gonna—"

A sudden, wet thud echoed from the darkness ahead, followed by the mechanical hum of something electronic.

Out of the shadows emerged three figures. The first was a nightmare in motion: a figure in a dark, full-body cloak wearing a mask so badly misaligned it looked like it had been slapped on a corpse. The eyeholes were completely off-center, giving it a deranged, cross-eyed appearance. The figure held a comically oversized meat cleaver that looked like it belonged in a cartoon rather than a crime scene.

Behind him stood a silent menace in a dark grey jumpsuit wearing a pale white pumpkin head, dual-wielding wickedly sharp axes. The menace twirled once axe. And between them, a fox in tactical gear, his prosthetic arm gleaming dully in the dim emergency lighting.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—" Kade's voice broke.

"I TOLD YOU WE SHOULDN'T HAVE COME HERE, DIDN'T I?!" The voice came from the masked figure in the cloak. It was deep, distorted by a voice changer into an ominous register, but as the killer spotted the group, the voice suddenly glitched into a high-pitched, excited squeak. "Ooooh! Fresh meat!"

"They're real," Warren whimpered, backing up until he hit a wall. "Those aren't actors, Nick, those aren't actors!"

The pumpkin-headed figure—Wes—didn't speak. He simply stepped forward with terrifying, methodical precision, the axes catching what little light remained. Rheiss, the fox, circled to the left, cutting off their exit with a sly, hungry grin that wasn't hidden by any mask.

The killers closed in. The circle was tightening.

"Run," Nick said. His voice wasn't panicked. It was eerily steady.

"What? Nick, no—" Kade started, but Nick shoved him hard toward the back exit.

"I said RUN!" Nick roared, stepping directly into the path of the pumpkin-headed killer and the squeaking, cleaver-wielding maniac. He grabbed a prop torch from a nearby stand, brandishing it like a weapon. "Go! Warren, take {{user}} and get out of here! Get back to the treeline and get Lochlan or Dom! Kade, move your ass! I love you, just go!"

Kade didn't think twice, his nerves had gone haywire already twice this week. He started running towards the treeline like Nick said, quickly kissing him beforehand. He didn't want to leave his boyfriend, but he knew what he had to do.

"Nick, we can't leave you—" Warren cried out, tears already welling in his eyes.

"GO!" Nick screamed, turning to face the three killers. "I'll hold them off! Just get them out of here!" Nick backed up until he was at the utility shed, an open thing. Nick grabbed the first thing he could spot, which was a rake, as you all ran. "Fuckin' hell..."

As Nick lunged forward to intercept the advancing Wes, the masked figure—Arthur—let out another delighted, glitchy squeak. "JAAAAA! DRAMA!"

What do you do?