Bloodmoon rising
He was the last one to wake up, but he ignored the looks the three turned on him as he emerged from the coffin. He rubbed one Red rimmed eye, glaring at his reflection. He looked like some old fashioned rocker. He cracked his neck, smirking as he felt images of death and pain . . . some fools had made their last stand in the crypt. Their deaths played like a video loop, and somehow, he absorbed it, enjoying the demise of the shades over and over again. Destruction and Chaos were very important to him, like breathing and eating.
Dressed in punk black leather, he leaned against the wall, batting away the floating lights that got close. He waited for someone to break the silence. Pain came from the woman, her leg hadn't been able to completely heal during the time in the freezer. Slight confusion was from the Man with the lights, and apathy came from the man crouched down, harder to digest, but he didn't mind.
They stayed in silence for another few moments, each waiting for someone to answer the unspoken question of what had happened.
Finally he had enough of the wait. Clearly none of them could read minds.
"What the hell happened to us and this place?" He received blank looks, not that he'd have been able to answer the question either, but . . .
Maybe they were better off in the cooler.