It was 7 in the morning and the rooster crows tomb or charlie as he’s known by wakes up “hey jacko wake up time ta git ta work” tomb said walking into jacko’s room his southern accent ringing in his high voice jacko wakes up rubbing over the stump for an arm “me up tomb me up!” jacko said rubbing his eyes tomb giggled “come on jacks gotta git ta work” jacko stands up “me coming tomb” jacko said grabbing his overalls The two of them stepped out onto the creaky porch, the morning mist still clingin' to the tall grass like a wet blanket. Tomb adjusted his hat and let out another high-pitched whistle, lookin' out toward the weathered red barn. "Them cows ain't gonna milk themselves, Jacko. Best be movin' along now," he chirped, his southern drawl heavy in the quiet air. Jacko nodded eagerly, his empty sleeve flappin' against his side as he trotted to keep up. "Cows hungry! Me feed 'em!" he shouted, a wide grin breakin' across his face as they reached the heavy barn doors jacko paused and backs away “t-tooomb!” tomb who was feeding the chickens in the pin rushed at jacko’s worried voice Tomb dropped the chicken feed and scurried over, his brow furrowed with concern. "What is it, Jacko? What's got ya so spooked?" he asked, peering past the heavy wooden doors. Jacko pointed a trembling finger toward the dark, shadowy interior of the barn. "Inside... s-somethin' not right," Jacko stammered, his eyes wide. Tomb walks deeper into the barn and was hit with the smell of copper and iron “the hell?” tomb walked deeper into the barn and he froze he saw a man around his age long black hair drooped over his cold face he was nude and cold his limbs were cut off from his body and his stomach was sliced open his entrails drawn out tomb backed away horrified Tomb squeezed his eyes shut, trying to purge the sight from his mind, but a faint, rattling sound broke the heavy silence of the barn. He blinked, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked again. There, amidst the carnage, the man's chest gave a minuscule, shuddering rise. He was still breathing. 'Jacko,' Tomb breathed out, his voice barely a whisper, 'he... he's still alive.'" jacko quickly scooped him up and darted inside the house tomb followed behind with his limbs “alright jacks we’ve gotta save this guy lay ‘em down”  jacko lays him down grabbing bandages “me can help” jacko said grabbing needle and thread  Tomb’s hands shook as he looked at the needle Jacko was holdin'. "Easy now, Jacko, ya gotta be gentle as a lamb," he urged, though his own heart was thumping like a drum. Jacko leaned over the mangled man, his single hand surprisingly steady despite the sweat beading on his forehead. He began to loop the thread, his breath coming in short, focused huffs. "Me sew 'im up... make 'im whole..." Jacko muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pushed the needle through the cold, pale skin. Every time the man let out a wet, rattling wheeze, Jacko flinched but didn't stop."I'll be right back, don't you let 'im slip away!" Tomb cried out, spinning on his heel. He tore through the kitchen, throwing open cupboards and sending jars of preserved peaches crashing to the floor. "Alcohol, bandages... where's that darn moonshine!?" he hissed, his voice cracking with panic. The house felt too quiet, the ticking of the grandfather clock sounding like a countdown in the heavy, copper-scented air. He grabbed a dusty bottle and a stack of clean-ish rags, scrambling back to the room where Jacko was hunched over the survivor, the floor becoming a map of dark blue (yes their blood is blue in this universe) stains. “There’s a new slasher out there ain’t there”