Prologue

The night skies of London were dazzling over the airport. It was a semi-peaceful night, considering the various vehicles driving through the city and on the motorways and the business transactions of the airport itself. Lights were flashing from where planes were landing on the large, tar roads as the night sky glistened with starlight. Middle-aged looking men in fluorescent jackets were signalling towards large, open spaces for the planes to finally – after hours of being in the skies, using great amounts of fuel and carrying many people's lives within them – letting their wheels touch the ground and rest, until the next flight was scheduled to leave and they could begin the process all over again – after a couple hours of rest for the pilot of course.

Just an ordinary day at a British airport. Everything was completely in check.

One helicopter, however, stood out from the rest of the flying vehicles. There was an unusual aura about it, due to the strange way that it flew straight past the airport without pausing for a single moment – almost as if that were the normal thing for a helicopter to do. No one questioned its choice of movement because it seemed to be a private helicopter, so it was expected for it to have its own helipad to land on, most likely on top of a tall, company building; however, inside of the helicopter, things were not as normal as they should have been.

The pilot was sweating excessively and seemed to be trembling while navigating, causing a slight bump in the ride, but he was guiding the flying machine well enough that he would reach his destination safely - not that the pilot knew exactly where his destination was. A blood-stained knife was being held to his throat, just close enough to kill him if the wielder of the weapon made any kind of slight movement of his hand; the possessor of the blade happened to be a young man in a worn out, white, but now slightly grey from its age, hoody and a small, but heavy hand gun in his lap.

The teenager's hood was up, covering his wild, dark mane, but not his extremely pale face or his large, eyelid-less eyes. He was also grinning, showing off his shimmering, white teeth, but his smile was slightly nerve wrecking, which was why he hid his face when he went anywhere with his dark fringe and large hood. It was easier if no one saw his facial features for subtlety and the fact that he wanted to remain inconspicuous; he wasn't someone who wanted to be noticed by people while walking around the city, especially the police. The teen boycotted them like they were a type of plague. He had two bloody lines carved into his face into the shape of a grin - a grin that had looked to have been carved on purpose with the same kind of blade as the knife that was in his possession.

This young man was famous in the UK for his homicides in the US; the British were all scared for the American citizens, since he hadn't been caught after three years of killing random, and most importantly, innocent people, but they all had a slight flash of relief leave their body when hearing about him, due to the fact that he wasn't in their country and they were safe from his terrors. It was only human nature that they should feel some kind of sense of security that they wouldn't be killed by this adolescent, even though he was still on the loose in their fellow capitalist country.

They were all in store for a huge surprise.

He was labelled by the public as...Jeff the Killer.

No one knew what else to call him, since no one, not even his old neighbours had known his last name, only his first; he had only been residing in his previous residence for a short period of time, nowhere near long enough for the neighbours to learn his families last name. That was a positive part of his disguise, since no one could identify him, but he had to still hide from the public. His deformed appearance was one that most people around the world knew just by looking at it, so being discovered was easier than he would have liked.

The infamous killer was talking on a mobile phone that he had stolen from one of his victims a couple of years back, with a happy tone to his voice; he even laughed at certain points in the conversation. That laugh struck fear into the heart of the pilot of the plane; it sounded as if the killer were releasing total madness from his mouth alone while chuckling in that eerie voice of his.

"Yeah. I'm nearly there, BEN!" He laughed out. "That was a long-ass flight. I've never been to England before, but I didn't think it would take this long to get here."

"Yeah. Don't you wish that you could just teleport around the place like Slendy?" BEN replied back while chuckling.

His voice sounded young, almost like a child's. There was innocence seeping through the phone mixed in with menace; the pilot could just about hear the conversation over the helicopter blades fast spinning - not that he was trying to - and wondered why the famous murderer, Jeff the Killer, would be speaking with a young boy and if the one on the other side of the call was his friend - not that he would ask, of course. His gut feeling told him that if he asked the killer anything at all, even the smallest and most insignificant of questions, he would end up gutted like a pig. The news hadn't made any comments on Jeff having any accomplices in his crimes, so the thought of him actually having friendsthat would go so far as to help him get into another country undetected was frightening. There were more people like him in the world and that was a horrific thought.

"Yeah! Speaking of Slendy, has he noticed I'm gone yet?"

"Not that I know of." BEN paused for a moment and then continued. "You do realised that you're gonna be in deep shit when you get back, right?"

Jeff leaned back, pushing the knife closer to the pilot's neck so that it was gently pressing into his rough skin, startling the young boy controlling the flight and giggled as he normally did before he took part in the thrilling experience of killing someone. "Yeah, but I need this. The guys back there are driving me fucking crazy...plus, I wanna try killing some Brits. A nice change of pace is always good..."

"Well, whatever floats your boat. Just be careful about getting caught. You'd be in even deeper shit if that happened."

"I'm always careful, aren't I?" The child over the phone was silent, indicating that Jeff's previous statement was completely false in his eyes. "Have faith. I'll be back in a couple of weeks." Jeff now turned towards the pilot, causing the flyer to become extremely stiff and collect tears in his eyes without him even realising it. "Hey, how long 'till we get to a place that we can land?"

"Uh...about t-ten minutes..." The man replied nervously, picturing a large building that he would be able to stop off at and hopefully escape from this fearful torture. He had never been so frightened in all of his life and had never wondered whether he would get away from a situation alive before. He couldn't even comprehend what Jeff could potentially do to him; his teeth started to chatter as the many thoughts crossed his mind.

He could die any moment and no one would even know where he was or who he was with.

"Thanks, man." Jeff faced forwards again, glancing up at the night sky and continued his conversation with his killer-counterpart; he noticed the pilots fear, but didn't acknowledge it. He had seen worse terror in someone's eyes than the boy next to him, so he didn't take an interest. "I'm gonna go, we're landing soon."

"'Kay, I'll cover for you with Slendy. See ya."

"See ya."

"Have fun."

Jeff smirked. "Of course..."