But We All Know The Hat Is Wearing Me

[Guest]

(Note, this is the first time I have written in a very, very long time, and I will be fleshing this out as I go along. I've only really been developing this character for two days.)

We remember the way it felt, laying in a pool of our own blood. The hole in our throat letting out the red. The way the light shined off of our lifeblood. The metallic taste on what was left of our tongue. All that was left of our face was raw flesh and burn. We remember every bloody moment. It's is actually remarkable how much we can recall, considering.

We'd be dead if it weren't for the Nightmare.

He came to us. He offered us power. He offered us life. All we had to offer was our soul. Seeing the circumstances we were in, that seemed a fair price.

He turned his hellish shape into a mask. He gave the bloody mess that was our face form. He gave us power, and with he it we sought bloody revenge on every fucking bastard that harmed us. We ripped limbs from sockets and we tore skin from flesh, and we did it every step of the way with a bloody smile on our face.

The demon enjoyed our sadism, our violence. He enjoyed the elation we had at murdering them as brutally as possible. He almost regretted having to take our soul. Almost.

But we didn't let him, did we?

No, no we didn't. We created the Nightmare Box, didn't we? We trapped him within us, we did. We made him become one of us. We became we.

Of course, there are certain penalties for this. We do not always have control. Sometimes, the Box takes over, and the leathery remains of our wings burst out of our back, and we kill. And kill. And kill. And eat. Kill. Eat. Kill. Eat. Kill. Eat. Kill. Eat.

But we are alive. And now, we are many. The Nightmare Box demands the price. We denied it one soul, so now there many of us in here. We are many and we are one. We have many faces and we have none.

We are Faceless Jack. And we have so many stories to tell you.