Music blares from the headphones buried deep into his ears as Cesar jogs on the treadmill, staring at himself through the reflection of the long stretch of mirror mounted onto the wall across from him. His muscle tank top is nearly drenched in sweat and, although feeling a bit nauseous, he controls his breathing as he carries on. He's always had a tendency to take out his aggression in the gym, hence why he is in such great shape.

He peers down and pushes at buttons on the control panel to increase the speed, not noticing as a hooded figure rapidly slips past him from behind. He looks up just as it vanishes from the corner of the mirror.

On the second floor in the upscale workout room, Randy lays down on the bench as he struggles to lift the barbell up in the air. He's still determined to transform those gaunt arms into some form of muscle. He lifts up the weight and groans, struggling to push it up. A shadow suddenly casts upon him and, as he continues to face upward at the ceiling, his eyes shift to the right. "Cesar? Hey, give me a hand!"

The length of the shadow grows larger as the figure steps toward him. He suddenly picks up on the sound of the treadmill still running downstairs and his eyes widen, realizing that there's no way it could be Cesar—just as the ghostly white mask peers down at him from underneath the black hood. Standing above him, the killer tilts his head.

Randy's arms begin to tremble more so, the weights rattling against the steel bars. "Who the—"

The killer quickly reaches over to clench onto the bar with both of his gloved hands, shoving the weight downwards toward Randy's head. Grunting, Randy desperately pushes back, struggling to keep his arms straight.

"What are you doing?!" He screams, trying desperately to reach his legs over to kicked the masked man, but nearly loses his grip in the process. He glances over at the railing, hearing Cesar still jogging against the treadmill. "CESAR! CESAR!!"

Cesar continues to exercise, not hearing a thing. He reaches down to turn up the incline on the machinery and picks up his pace.

"Shit!" Randy turns back to face the killer just as his elbow bends out, his arms pulling downward under the heavy weight. The bar crashes down into his throat, splitting his neck opens as it digs through his larynx.

Blood spews out in all directions as Randy helplessly gasps for air, his faint wheezing echoing off of the walls around him. Blood splatters onto the killer's mask and, next to his boots, a thick puddle of blood seeps out from the bench and trails its way over to the railing. Randy's feet slide through the puddle as his legs fall limp and his arms drop to his sides, swaying from the bench.

Feeling the vibration of the barbell crashing down, Cesar turns down the speed of the treadmill and removes one of his headphones. Waiting a moment, he hears nothing and places it back into his ear. He reaches over to turn off the treadmill and waits for the walking belt to slow down before stepping off of it.

He walks over to adjust the weights at another workout machine. He sits down on the bench and reaches out to grab onto the cushioned hand rails, stopping as he feels a warm substance ooze down through fingers and into his palm.

Slowly, he pulls his hand back and turns it around, seeing his palms are covered in a fresh, thick coat of blood. He lets out a short scream, his headphones ripping out as he jumps out of the bench, his back slamming into the mirror. "What the fuck?!"

He gazes over to see that the wall above the machinery has a long, thin blood trail running down it. He gazes up to see it is coming from upstairs, gradually dripping down from the floor underneath the railing.

"Randy?!" He hollers, but no response. Silence fills the air, the only noise the sound of the blood dripping onto the wall in front of him.

Cesar glances at the exit door, then over at the staircase. If something is wrong, he can't just leave Randy. Especially after what happened when they left Garrett behind... He can't make that same mistake again. Hesitantly, he turns around and walks over to the stairway. He grabs onto the railing and slowly ascends, staring at the top of the stairs as he reluctantly approaches the second floor.

Feeling regret kick in with each step, he fights the urge to turn and run the opposite direction. He reaches the top step and walks forward, seeing Randy lying down on the bench. His face is blocked by a rack of weights centered behind him.

"Randy, what the hell is—" He walks a few steps forward and stops, seeing how Randy's arm limply hangs from the side of the machine. He gazes down to see Randy's fingers reaching just mere inches above the thick puddle of blood surrounding the bench.

"Randy?" He makes another step to look around the rack, seeing Randy's ripped open neck as blood continues to ooze out of it. His stomach churns vigorously and he covers his mouth, quickly backing up. "Shit!"

Cesar spins around to see the masked madman standing between him and the staircase, clenching tightly onto a thirty pound dumbbell. Before Cesar can even attempt to run, the killer swings it in the air to smash it into his temple, causing him to go soaring leftward toward the railing. He tumbles over it and falls down to the floor below, his body slamming into the tiled floor with an echoing thud as he lands on his back.

Slowly, the killer approaches the railing to peek over the ledge. Cesar coughs, sending splatters of blood, as well as some shattered teeth, across the floor. He attempts to sit up but quickly falls back down. Rolling over, he grabs the leg of the machinery to his left and uses it in a weak attempt to pull himself up.

As if taking his sweet time, the killer walks down the staircase nonchalant—his hand slowly sliding across the railing as he makes his way to the first level. His boots squeak, still wet from Randy's blood, as they land on the floor and walks toward Cesar.

"Help!" Cesar coughs, more blood spitting out from his mouth, as the killer flips his body over and climbs on top of him to pin him to the floor.

His bloodshot eyes water as he stares up into the mask. The reflection of the dumbbell being raised flashes in his dark eyes as the killer arches it high in the air.

Cesar tries again to pull himself up, begging helplessly. "Please...."

The killer tilts his head, as if considering letting him go for a brief moment, before swinging the weight downward.

Cesar's scream is short—cut off the second the metal dislocates his jaw, causing what's left of his teeth to dig through his tongue. The killer lifts the weight again to swing it down, smashing his nose inward. Blood splatters out onto the killer's jacket as he swings again, this time aiming for his forehead.

The crack of Cesar's skull is satisfying to the killer, like music to his ears. He gets carried away as he continues to bash the weight into Cesar's head, or what's left of it really, continually slamming the weight down until he hears the tile underneath the mesh of blood and torn skin crack.

The killer lets out a deep, muffled sigh under the mask as he turns to look at his reflection in the mirror, seeing that his once-white mask is almost completely coated in a thick layer of crimson red. He lifts his gloved hands to slowly wipe the blood from the mask, as if wiping at tears flooding down his cheeks.

♫ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏᴅɪʀᴛʏsᴏᴜʟ / ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ øɴᴇ ᴘɪʟøᴛs ♫