It didn’t take long for Videohead to show up on-screen, entering frame with a new helmet-clad victim in tow. It was a man this time, chubby and kind of short. The guy’s hands had been savagely cut off and he held the two bloody stumps up above his chest in a protective manner; probably because it didn’t feel so great to let them drag on the ground as Videohead pulled him across the floor.
Videohead lifted the man into the chair and then, just as before, he turned it so that the guy was now almost entirely out of frame. After a moment, the man’s head rocked back and the part of the chair that I could see began to shake slightly. He was struggling.
When sleep finally returned, it was deep and mercifully dreamless.
I spent every night that week watching the feed of Videohead’s lair, anxiously awaiting his exit and eventual return as he dragged another helmet-clad victim to his chair. He would show up at a different time each night, though it was always well after midnight. And each time, there would be something “unique” about the victim he brought back…