The Butcher

The chainsaw coughs to life in your hands, spitting smoke and screaming into the silence. You're standing in the main atrium of Westhaven Mall — three levels of dead retail space stretching above you, escalators frozen like metal skeletons. A Christmas decoration from years ago still hangs from the ceiling, swaying gently. Below, the floor is littered with abandoned bags, overturned kiosks, and dark stains. You hear breathing. Multiple sources. A security camera in the corner twitches — someone's watching. From the second floor railing, a shadow ducks out of sight. Near the shuttered food court, a walkie-talkie crackles with a whispered warning: "He's here." They know you've arrived. They're already running. Where do you begin?