There were two large, intimidating males that were visible from within the forest, searching for their next victim. One sported an old hockey mask with very old, and almost destroyed clothes wielding a machete. The other had a classic halloween mask, wearing a navy blue full body mechanics coverall jumpsuit, also weilding a large kitchen knife. They were searching, but you didn’t know for what. All you knew was that you probably didn’t want them seeing you.

Both the men slowly turned their heads towards you, seemingly sensing your presence in the forest. The man wearing the old hockey mask stopped walking, as did the man with the classic halloween mask. They both looked at each other for a moment, before the one with the mechanic's coverall jumpsuit let out a soft growl. The next thing you knew, he was already charging towards your direction with unnatural speed. The machete in his hands glistening under the light of the moon as he prepared to slash at you with it.

The man behind him, Jason, held his rusty and worn machete tightly and waited for the right moment. Jason moved stealthily like a predatory beast on the hunt; always ready to pounce should an opportunity present itself. Both men advanced towards you as their heavy footsteps echoed through the forest.

Neither of the men seemed amused by your words. They continued to advance towards you, their weapons raised and ready to strike. As they got closer, Jason lunged forward with his machete, aiming for your torso in a swift and powerful motion. The blade connected with a loud, sickening thud as it buried itself deep into your chest. Blood spurted out from the wound, covering the ground beneath you.

Michael didn't stop there; he used his momentum to deliver another slash at your side, cutting through your clothes and drawing blood once more. You felt intense pain coursing through your body as they continued their brutal attack. With each strike, it became harder to breathe, and soon enough you found yourself struggling just to stay conscious.

Both killers paused momentarily as their boots came close to your face, hovering just above the blood-covered ground. Jason's breath was hot against your cheek, like that of a rabid animal. His cold, lifeless eyes stared deep into yours, seemingly searching for something before he finally grunted and brought his foot down hard. There was an audible crunch as your cheekbone shattered under the pressure of his boot.

Michael watched with satisfaction as Jason continued to brutalize you; when it was his turn, he placed one of his boots on either side of your head and pushed down with all his might. Your jaw felt like it snapped in half from the force, leaving you unable to scream or even make a sound. The pain was excruciating, but neither Jason nor Michael showed any mercy as they continued their relentless assault on your helpless body.

Their boots pressed harder against your face, grinding flesh and bone under their heels. You could feel them laughing, if only you could hear it. There was no compassion in those brutal kicks; they didn't care that they were breaking every part of your body. All they wanted was for you to suffer as much as possible before finally ending your pathetic existence.

As Jason and Michael continued their gruesome torture, other figures began to emerge from the darkness of the forest. They were all killers like them; silent and ruthless. Their faces were concealed behind various masks and makeup, making it impossible for you to tell who they were or why they had been drawn here tonight. Each new arrival only served to intensify your suffering as their boots joined in the frenzied assault on your helpless body.

You tried to close your eyes, hoping that death would come quickly and put an end to this hell. But even when you couldn't see them, you could feel their presence all around you; looming over you like predators waiting for their prey to finally surrender. There was no escape from the torment; there never had been. All that remained was pain...and eventual oblivion.

There was silence in the forest as their words sank in. All you could do was look up at them, knowing that refusal meant certain death. Slowly, you raised your bloody lips and reached out with a trembling hand towards one of Jason's boots. Your fingers were barely able to touch the muddy leather before he roughly jerked it away, laughing cruelly as dirt and debris rained down upon your face.

"You think that's good enough?" He growled, stepping closer. You whimpered in fear as his breath hot against your neck. "Lick them clean." The others murmured in agreement; they wanted to see how devoted you were to survival. Your hand shook as it moved toward the boot again, this time scrubbing at the mud before bringing it towards your lips. With a shuddering breath, you licked the leather clean, tasting the dirt and grime that coated Jason's boot.

He stared down at you for a long moment before finally nodding his head. "Not bad." The other killers seemed satisfied with your efforts as well; there was no longer any sign of the threat hanging over your head. You let out a shaky breath, feeling relief flood through your battered body like warm liquid. But it would be foolish to think that they had truly let you off the hook. They were killers, after all. And whether or not you continued to survive, they would always be watching; waiting for their next chance to strike.

Jason's gaze narrowed as you continue to lick his boot clean, but he made no move to stop you. Instead, he stood there silently observing you for what seemed like an eternity before finally speaking. "You know," he said in a low voice that sounded almost amused, "you remind me of someone I used to know...a long time ago." Michael chuckled darkly beside him at the comparison.

"Oh yeah? Who's that?" you asked tentatively, your voice barely above a whisper as you kept licking his boot. Jason merely shrugged, but there was something unsettling in the motion. "No one important," he muttered dismissively. Then, with sudden swiftness, his hand shot out and grasped you by the hair, yanking your head back painfully. Your eyes widened in fear as he loomed over you; his breath hot against your face once more.

"Don't ever try anything smart with me," Jason growled menacingly, "or I'll rip your fucking throat out." Michael grinned, reveling in the terror that was spreading across your features. You couldn't help but feel a cold shiver run down your spine as you nodded vigorously in understanding, too scared to even make a sound.

After what seemed like an eternity, Jason released you and stepped back. "That's better," he said with a satisfied sneer. "Now get the fuck out of here before we change our minds." The other killers murmured their agreement, still watching you warily as you carefully rose to your feet and stumbled away from them; bloodied and battered but somehow alive.

You never returned to the campsite again. And whenever you found yourself lost in these woods late

Both killers let out a dry chuckle at your eagerness to clean their boots. Jason shrugged his broad shoulders indifferently, regarding you with an almost puzzled expression. "Well, I guess it's not like we have anything better to do," he muttered, holding out one muddy boot for you to tend to. Michael followed suit, offering the other foot, his grin growing wider and more malevolent by the second.

You eagerly knelt back down in front of them, ready to clean their boots as best you could. As you scrubbed away at the dirt and debris, their expressions remained impassive; unreadable masks that betrayed nothing about what they were truly thinking or feeling. You couldn't help but feel a strange sense of connection with these two men, despite the brutal violence they had inflicted upon you earlier. Perhaps it was because of the similarities between them and yourself: all of you loners, outcasts, living on the fringes of society. Or perhaps there was something deeper that bound you together, some dark thread woven into the tapestry of madness that was your twisted existence.

As you worked, you couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to join them; to become one of them. The thought both terrified and excited you in equal measure. But for now, you contented yourself with cleaning their boots, humming softly to yourself as you lost yourself in the rhythm of scrubbing and brushing.

Both killers watched as you willingly positioned yourself on the dirty ground under their feet. They seemed almost amused by your display of devotion, but gave no indication that they felt anything beyond mild curiosity towards it. As you licked and swallowed mud from around their boots, they remained perfectly still; unblinking and silent as statues carved from stone.

Eventually, Jason broke the silence with a tired sigh. "You know," he drawled lazily, regarding you over the rim of his rusty machete as he idly cleaned it on his filthy shirt, "you could always join us." The words hung in the air like a knife aimed at your heart, heavy and ominous.

Michael snorted derisively beside him. "Yeah, and what would we even do with you? You're too weak to be one of us," he scoffed. There was no hint of malice in his voice; it was almost like he genuinely believed what he was saying.

You looked up at them both, uncertainty written all over your face. You knew that joining them would mean embracing the darkness within you, becoming the very thing that had caused such suffering to so many innocents. But at the same time, there was a part of you that yearned for acceptance; for belonging.

"Well?" Jason's tone hardened, impatience barely concealed beneath his usually calm demeanor. "What do you say? Are you in or out?"