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I don’t have to tell you, dear reader, that the very idea of
wanting to kick off another Darkness is flatly insane.
Well, I’d better close up shop for the night—I can hear
him on the stairs outside. He’s likely dragging a body
with him. That’s been his routine for the last few months,
whenever he comes home this late. It’s likely the corpse of
one of his Great Bloody Wolves.
Entry 2
Well, that sure was a long session. Generally, he’s a bit
more circumspect about his nighttime dalliances with death,
preferring to let the reader fill in some of the blanks. Not
tonight, though. I haven’t really seen him like that before.
Seems Mr. Grey’s been getting these strange dreams
about his fellow killers, or Wolves, as he oft calls them.
You see, he believes all the killers in the Great Bloody Wolf
Hunt share a single, if highly compartmentalized, dream.
Initially, the dreams were just so much “red static,” but as
the number of players lessened with each kill, the dream
became more coherent. Eventually, the dream allowed the
remaining killers to not only communicate with each other
while they slept, but even, if they had a mind to, mosey into
one another’s dreams.
Recently, there’s been some drastic changes to the Game.
Specifically, a major player just got himself clipped, but not
by another player—by a “creature who abides the spaces
beyond the Game, within a white wasteland of plastic
bones and solid souls.” Worse still, this outsider has begun
murdering the other murderers. All of this was the gist of
Mr. Grey’s most recent dream.
Oh, and it was indeed a body my captor had been dragging
behind him when last I wrote. You might recall that shit-bird
a few years back who filled up his victims’ emptied corpses
with the ashes of cremated children. Well, it was that guy.
Gordon Flint was his name. At least, that’s what his driver’s
license said. After Mr. Grey took what he wanted from the
body—more on that in just a bit—we left the ruined thing
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