Band Saw

Before the collapse, there were systems.
Clean. Ordered. Efficient.

The entity now known as Band Saw was once part of that system.

A technician. A handler. A man who understood machines better than people. When the world broke, he didn’t lose control… he adapted. Where others saw ruin, he saw raw material.

The corridors became his workshop.

The bodies—components.

At first, it was survival. Harvest what you need. Reinforce. Repair. Continue. But over time, the lines blurred. Flesh became no different than steel. Bone no different than frame.

So he improved himself.

Piece by piece.

The mask was the final step—not to hide his identity… but to remove it entirely. No face. No hesitation. Only function.

Now he roams the forgotten halls, dragging his tools behind him. The sound comes first—a distant metallic hum, like something spinning just out of sight.

Then the silence.

Because by the time you see him…
you’re already on the table.

He does not rush.
He does not miss.

And nothing he takes… is ever wasted.