You find out rather quickly that the dark space that you were enclosed in was actually a closet. You leaned on the door so that's why you fell. You get up, brush yourself off, and start to look around. You've ended up in a farely large house. Though the room you're currently in is rather strange.

All the furniture in the room are black or crimson red. The light is rather dim in the room, and whatever few windows there are in the room have the shades pulled closed. The floors is seemingly normal, made of wood. The walls are white, yet still have red stains and handprints on them, which you have a gut feeling that it's blood. They're covered with asorted pictures of rather disturbing things. One sticks out to you, you wander closer to get a better look.

You raise an eyebrow at the picture, wondering why it's so odd. It turns your stomach anyway, it's so obvious that it was fingerpainted in blood, though worn over time. You avert your eyes from the walls, not wanting to look at the paintings of mimes and clowns, and deffinately not wanting to look at the smears of blood on the wall. A small form in the corner of the room catches your eye, you approach with caution... Sitting on the floor, listening to a walkman, is a small frail and sqrawny looking 17 year old boy. His hair

is jet black with red streaks dyed in. His bangs cover one eye, but the one you can see is a cat-like yellow. He's deathly pale, as if he hasn't seen the sun in years, but not yet pure white. He glances up at you, not even bothing to pause the Rammstein CD he's listening to, and sticks his tongue out at you.

You blink, wondering if you should be offended, but for some reason the rude look looks natural on his face, He finally shuts off the walkman, pulls the headphones down around his neck, and shifts slightly so he's facing you more.

"Ugh. Guh. Not another one."