The bell tolls.

With a gust of wind, the smell of loose soil fills the site where many bodies have been laid for their final destination. Over the trees the sun can be seen declining slowly creating a plethora of colors upon the late afternoon sky. Standing alone in the graveyard is a being with clenched fists and wearing all black. The cloth on his gloves make a weird scrunching noise as they’re clenched tightly. Ahead of the man is a tombstone with the words Judith Erickson.

“Why. . . why would a being above our understanding take a woman who only did good in this world? You take her and leave bitches like Hannah Warr and Bloody Murray. What a fucking waste. On Monday night, I’ll prove that the best part of that show is THE MASKED MAN!”

“A name… you shall not soon forget.”