The Plague. I know she looks like something to pity… but don’t let her diseased appearance fool you. Whatever circumstances lead to her coming to this forsaken state of existence, she is no longer a victim in the least; She carries herself with the haughty grandeur of a self-proclaimed goddess. Sauntering through the trials with her head held high, clearly proud of what once must’ve been considered a disastrous curse.When I’m in a trial with her... when I look upon her towering form in the distance, the connection is made between us. And I can feel a powerful love for the Entity. She is devoted to its cause, utterly swayed by its whim and sees its sacrificial demands as a justification for her mutilation of us survivors.She doesn’t necessarily pity us the way The Nurse does. She is filled with absolute lust for the Entity’s good graces, and will appease it whatever way she can; spreading her contagion to us, weakening us with never ending bile, stomach spasms and unbearable heat. In comparison, The Nurse simply tries to put an end to us as soon as possible.The way she kills us too… she doesn’t do it quickly. She aims to cause us severe distress. She always makes sure to force us to ingest her disgusting, vile, spew; forcing it down our throats until our lungs grow heavy and we drown in her illness. She isn’t “putting us out of our misery” nor is she simply doing the Entity’s work… she is punishing us for whatever reason. She is making sure that we are terrified, that we feel powerless in her hands.The sickness I feel from her is not just the plague she carries. She isn’t something to be pitied. She may have been a human, she may have been tricked or forced into work for the godawful black spider that rules this place, but she has fully embraced it and makes sure that we feel like worms beneath her feet.At times, when a trial is nearing close, and no one has died… I sense great fear in her heart. And I am glad. Because she torments and hurts us with no pity, no remorse, and above all, she does it with arrogance. She believes herself to be a chosen one, and us to be the heathens she must punish.The only times I sense anything more than Arrogance, and the aforementioned fear, is when she sees me.The Obsession has once again successfully wormed its way in… perverting some aspect of the Beast’s brain. She sees me and I can sense a sort of necessitous hesitation.Anytime she touches or injures me with that heavy burner, I immediately become a presence of fear, the others have said so. They say they can sense her malicious aura coming off me in waves.Her rotted heart follows me for sometime before finally returning to her… waiting to haunt me again.During that time, I feel this horrible, all-consuming heat coiling inside my chest and wrapping around my thoughts…And it’s then… that I see her intentions towards me… I can sense that she sees me as a messenger for her “God”; a voice to announce salvation and fear. But not only that… it feels like she sees me as a possible Neophyte. Like she perhaps wants to take me under her wing.I don’t know what could’ve lead her to view me in such a way, other than The Obsession forcing it in.She still kills me. Treads over me like the others and watches me squirm as I am forced to inhale her terminal kiss. But she always speaks. She always whispers or shouts in an ancient language, one that I cannot possibly understand literally, but there is a passion in her words. And when she speaks to me, I almost feel… an eager sort of expectation. Like she is just biding her time for the moment she can share the truth of her unknowable words to me.Sometimes, while I’m stuck bleeding out on the hook, waiting for the abomination to take me away to the hellish sky… she stays.She stands before me, studying my face with her one good eye.And I stare back at the two-sided face she wears; it almost seems like The Entity granted her back some of her former beauty. The way her flesh droops, balloons out and weeps with rot on one side, while the other shows what once must have been a truly beautiful young woman. A perfect representation of what the monster has done to these… these people.She will sometimes cup my head with her gigantic, rotted hands... I try to fight her away, but it’s no use when the grind of the hook’s jagged metal on my raw flesh damn near paralyzes my body.She’ll hold my face, and for a moment, she’ll speak, she’ll say something that almost sounds like a stern parent, or maybe like an authority figure telling you what’s good for you.And then she’ll kiss me. Sometimes on the cheek, sometimes on the forehead and disgustingly sometimes on my mouth.Perhaps she sees it as a blessing. As a way of showing me some form of lenience… trying to get me to acknowledge a path she foresees…I’m scared… What if there IS something inside waiting to be awoken? Just behind my eyes, waiting to see an escape? The others said it themselves… I carry her heartbeat.

The “Legion…” They are… definitely unique in a lot of ways… For instance, during matches, The Obsession gives me more than just the insight of whichever member of their gang is killing us; It feels like their personalities and thoughts are all crammed together into one body, sometimes surging up during a direct confrontation as though to help their comrade appear more intimidating… it can be very disorientating… and it usually distracts me and makes it easier for them to get the drop on me even with the aid of my “perks.”The Legion are also more human… like The Pig. They aren’t unnaturally tall, or particularly supernatural… except for when they start sprinting. Somehow they know where everyone is hiding the second they attack one of us… so we’re forced to spread out. Personality-wise… its hard to fully understand and discern what emotions belong to who… it doesn’t really matter… they all are united in their cause. They all do the Entity’s dirty work. I call them they… because it honestly feels like they are always in a group, even when only one is actually present… the other survivors have even felt it. A sort of pack-mentality coming from the masked gang members.It’s almost disarming in a way, just seeing these people, barely different from the rest of us, but so willing to carry the orders of the monstrous entity…I’ve also seen their faces. Both in-trial on the off chance they want to show off a “game-face”, as well as that Photo that sometimes gets conjured from our Bloodwebs… it’s easy to recognize their hoodies; they look barely older than Me… they might even be a little younger given their overall demeanor. I think that’s what makes them even worse than some of the really monstrous killers… they really are the same as the rest of us survivors… they’ve just chosen to take darker path.But… It seems like there is four different people… somehow occupying the same space yet able to interchange? I don’t know what the Entity did to make them like that, but I do know they seem to be four people all in one body.My first Trial with them, they were walking around as “Joey.” I was caught off guard completely because, I saw their Aura and I swore it was a survivor… but the color was pink, not yellow. And They had a predatory gait to their walk.They had stabbed Jake, and immediately turned and ran to me, even though I was well out of sight. I was able to outrun them for a bit, but… sooner or later they caught up.Soon, “Joey,” As he later identified himself as, caught up to me, and I was running around, trying to keep my insides from being “outsides.”Before I knew it… The gates were powered, and I was the last one in the Trial. Joey was still hunting me down. The others had escaped… but I was barely able to keep myself together… I couldn’t run any longer. I felt numb all over……I collapsed. The dull throb of my leaking intestines and sliced flesh finally cementing me to the ground.He made a big show of it… it was honestly infuriating, having to just sit there as he sauntered over. His horribly bright eyes, gleaming with pride behind that dirty rag painted with that crude death’s face.I remember him kneeling down, mocking me as I tried desperately to keep his hands from probing my entrails like a child poking at garbage with a stick…’Hey lil’ blue bird, c’mon why don’t ya give me a song, uh?’I could feel outrage as well as thick bile rising in my throat as the pain and nausea of it all became overwhelming… worse yet was the sensation of all the others... all the jeering, cajoling personalities of his Fellow Legion pressing in at all sides, trying to worm their way in for front row seats.‘Make her squeal, Joey!’‘Wish I could do it myself, keep your hands nice and steady, savor it!’‘First kill, Joe, do us proud!’I don’t know if it was the pressure… but ‘Joey’ seemed to actually be hesitant despite his previous smugness… I was the last one… And I was now certain he had brought in one of those Skull necklaces… just to kill me personally. He wasn;t talking anymore… but his friends were like a buzz of angry hornets.‘What are you waiting for? Stick that fucking bitch!’‘Helllooooo…. geez…do you need me to step in? ‘Fuckin’ rest it Sooz…Don’t puss out, man…’‘…’I could almost hear their voices… almost like the how the Entity whispers just out of audible range… they were a presence… encompassing ‘Joey’ with their maddening shroud. He was breathing harder and harder…He was scared.Maybe he was Uncomfortable with killing? Kind of bizarre… but The Obsession does effect each Killer differently. Maiming me was fine, but actually killing was apparently where he drew the line I guess.I wasn’t going to make it no matter what. But I refused to back down, I looked him in the eyes, and with what strength I could muster, I slowly stood, my hands slick with the pulsing heat of blood and my own raw organs.I didn’t say anything… but I stared at him. His eyes looking into mine. All the confidence, the bravado earlier… it was withering away as I nearly matched him in height. ‘…’I almost felt like I could see another pair of hands taking his own, sternly guiding his strange, curved Blade towards my throat and slicing the artery in one clear motion.((Also @shadowhero93))

…He seems kinda drunk.

“…I… I don’t think we should eat here…”

The Obsession opens me up to her anger, her pain and fury. It is so volatile, so acidic and poisonous, it almost chokes me just seeing her aura.I feel an intense sorrow, a feeling of utter betrayal, but also, that very betrayal stokes a hatred that boils in her bloodless limbs. To feel that festering inferno, jabbing into my body like the glass that pierces her own.She’s literally chaos incarnate. Her emotions, her body… a jumbled cacophony of madness and rage.Mr. Francis… he actually recognized her as one of his students. He taught at her university.He had no idea what had happened to her, he said she had been fine the last time he saw her. But she was plagued with family troubles and financial instability. Long nights of tutoring, when she would attend, often lead to moments of opening up. Seeing her like this, it breaks him up, he almost seems frozen when he sees her in trials. Similarly, she recognizes Mr. Francis, she treats him with some form of acknowledgement; her constant, manic expressions flitting like a broken TV as she spots his retreating form.We don’t know what happened to her. But whatever it was, she’s become a juggernaut hell-bent on our deaths. Not even her former teacher is exempt from her wrath.The Obsession seems to agitate her. Despite never meeting her, she seems to hurl all her anger and misery onto me… hunting me down with feverish abandon. It’s absolutely horrifying. It feels like she is blaming me for her suffering, or maybe that she’s taking it all out on me…I don’t know why the Obsession does this… it makes me a pariah among the others at the worst of times, it draws the killers’ intentions… they become obsessed with me. The Spirit, she can kill whoever she’s chosen to blame for her suffering. Each trial, she always chooses one person… similar to The Nightmare and Michael.That person becomes some kind of linchpin for their powers…When I’m in the trial. She always waits… she injures and mutilates me, draining me of my blood but never sacrificing me. She wants to do it. She wants the personal experience of taking my life with that shattered sword.

As I’ve said time and time again… these things exist only to cause our suffering. They were once human… but not anymore. They worship the darkness that has consumed our lives, and nothing will change that.It’s sad… but I can’t let myself feel too bad for them. That will let them have more control than they already have. Even the smallest opening… and they’ll tear you apart and feed what is left to their god.((Adam will be in the next one))

“A-gh-hwugh- *hack* *cough* hrugh…”“For my next act~ I’ll need a lovely little assistant!” *wheeze* “Haa-haa ha haaa..”He’s a disgusting, foul, perverse behemoth of a man.I feel like I repeat myself constantly… all the are monsters… but this man is a low-life… a parasite. He’s like The Nightmare… Freddy; driven by a loathsome need to snuff out purity.Every time its someone’s first time in a trial with him, he makes sure to bring a mori so he can “have a taste” and collect one of their fingers as a memento…He’s a sick, twisted monster.I remember the first time I was in a match with him… I tried so hard to avoid him… I had been warned by the others about his collection. But he found me… everyone else made it out alive. He made sure to torture me a while before I finally awoke at the campfire again… He wouldn’t stop laughing and going on and on about the honor of being part of his collection. Of being a part of “The Amazing Jeffrey Hawk’s Life’s work.”…Those grotesque, dirty fingers pawing at me… his awful rancid breath washing over my face… and those thick blubbery lips closing around each of my fingers… trying each one out.…I don’t know what to do… each killer seems to get worse and worse… and the dread of each impending trial squirms like a cancer within me.

Mr. Sandman bring me a dream,Make him the cutest that I’ve ever seenGive him two lips like roses and cloverThen tell him that his lonesome nights are overSandman, I’m so aloneDon’t have nobody to call my ownPlease turn on your magic beamMr. Sandman, bring me a dreamMr. Sandman, bring me a dreamMake him the cutest that I’ve ever seenGive him the word that I’m not a roverThen tell him that his lonesome nights are overSandman, I’m so aloneDon’t have nobody to call my ownPlease turn on your magic beamMr. Sandman, bring me a dreamBung, bung, bung, bungMr. Sandman (Yes?) bring us a dreamGive him a pair of eyes with a come-hither gleamGive him a lonely heart like PagliacciAnd lots of wavy hair like LiberaceMr Sandman, someone to hold(Someone to hold)Would be so peachy before we’re too oldSo please turn on your magic beamMr Sandman, bring us, please, please, pleaseMr Sandman, bring us a dream

n̴̨̎̓̐̐ͩ̑ͪ̓͑ͤͤ̆ͬ̑́͏̩̥͔̝͖̪̘̙͍̲̗͕͍̫̯͓ǒ̢͈̭̫̩̥̬͍̖̹̺͍ͪ̾̒̇̆̄͋̈́ͥͥͭ͜t̴͖͖͇̳̼̬ͩ̐̿̍̑ͪ̊͒͗͊̋̂̽̊ͥͦ͢ ̇̌̈̽ͮ͘҉͙̟̱̰͈͈̝͕̲͖̞̟̺͜m̴͈̘̮̺̟̮̱ͬ̄ͧ̓̃ͯͤ̂͂ͯ́͊̔͆ͮ̌̃̂̊͜ë̶͂̑͐̆ͥ́̃̊̚͜͠͏̹̼̞̺̥͓̻͎̦͇͖͟ ́͗͌̇̉͋ͨ̚͠͏̴̤̟̬̥̻̠̩̟̩̩̤̯̠̠̰ͅͅn̡͍͈͖̗̘͉͖̞̥̙̦̣̲̱̭͕̽ͣ̓̈̑̉͒͢͞ǫ̢̻͈̻̖̰͉͎̰͓͙̹̟̩̙̔̽͗̄̀̓̒̅̍͋̎̇ͬ̐͂̋͑ͫ̕͟͝ͅt̷̵̺͓̲̥̼͕̺͖͚̱̮̰̲̣͉̹̋ͤ̎̊̔ͪ͘͝m̔ͩ̽ͯ͛̔̉̽̃̀ͬ̋̒͋̒̌̚͡͏͈̪͇̩̘̖̫̘̫͈͘͜ȩ̢͓̱̦̦̣̻͓̣̪̼͕͚̯̯̰̗̼͔͖ͣ̈ͤ̏͌͗̈ͯ̑ͮ̋ͧ̏͟͢͡ ̨͚̬̯̯̱͕̦̥̯͙͓̜͕̥͑̐̿̍̓̔̍ͨ͑n̸̘͍̻̩̤͙̼̺̘͍̳̱̝̦̼̗̠͍̫ͭͦ͋ͥͬ̈́͆͐̓̀͋͋̄̓͘͝o̵͍͉̭̭̮̙̣̖̲̹͋ͭ̍̓͆͒ẗ̡ͫ̄̋͏̨̬̰̭̥̯̝̰̣̹͝ ̴̢̦̞̞̳̞̟͈̠̺̤̤͓̺̞̜͔̉͌̋̿̐ͨm̵ͨ̀ͮ̓̂̄̑̈́҉͙̼̺̹̹͢e̸̡̛͈͖̣͙͈͍͑ͩ̋̀ͩ̀ ̴͍̞̖͔̲̯͔̬̭̤̬̳͈̬̭̖̩̝̄̆̄̑͌̈̃̾̄́̀̚͘͡ͅn̴̢̺̟͙̬̞ͮ̈́͒ͧͭ̏ͪ͌̏̆͐̍̃̋ͨ͘o͋͐̇̉̍ͧͤ̓ͯ̏ͥͯ͜҉͓̝̮̺̹ţ̧͉̣̮̖̘̼̟̠̬̲̣͍͇̞͊̍ͭͨͤ̃̾ͣ́̆̒̚͟͞ ̀ͨ̓ͭ͌ͩ҉͖̹̖̺̕ͅm̡̻̞͓̰̼̘͍̬̟͖̝̹̾̋̃͊̎́ͪ̾̚͝eͬͥ̑̾ͦ̈͆̍ͦͨ͑͑̅ͣ̅̄̊ͤ҉̷̷͎̤͈̗͕͚͙͙̬ ̷̛͕̬͓̜͔̗̑̾ͪ̾̈̉ͭ͛̓̂͆̂i̷̴̵̫̠̤̦̪̊ͮ͂̎͂̄͒͊͝t̴̸̝̱̼̠̯͓̼ͯ̏͛͒͗̿ͩ͆̅̀ͅs̵̛̗̫̯͍̰̰̱̰̹͍̙͓̰͔͙͎̄ͮ̄̈́̇ͥͪ͊̽̇̈͊̃ͣ͟͝ ͉̲͙̫͈͓͙̼̳̜̭̼͚̺͖̼͉̺̦̔̃̇ͫͤ̍͑ͫ͂ͨͬ̋̋̀́̕͢͞ḩ̵̛͎̩̯̜̺̼̼̗̫̹̞͈̫̈́̽̐̀̕i̷̴̷̢̟͔̩̙̤ͦ̄̂͌̆͛̅͆̈́̂̑ͣ̈́̒̿̑̓́m̶̷͉̠̩̦̪̹̈̍͗͗͋ͥ̇͊ ̢ͮ̽̍͑̽̾ͫ̌̀̏̈́̽̈́͑̉̊ͮ́͘҉҉̮̘̯̖̜̥̝͈̣̮͉͈̝͕̫͕̗ͅt̴͖͖͈̩͔̼̺͚͙̩̳̪̻͍͍͎͔̲̖ͥ́ͧͪ̌̎̑̊̓͝h̸̏͋̅ͧ̔̌̿̌͋ͦ̈́̈́̾͒̈́ͭ̾͆҉͙̥͇͖͚̺͍̫͓̠͝ͅë̢́͋ͯ̀҉̻̖͇͔̱̯̱̀ͅ ̵̨̡̢̻̭̺̜̘͖̺͈̰̣̣̭̗̻̼͙̯͌̎̒̈́̈̃͊̉̍̐͒ͫ͋ͪ̽̔͆b̷̨̡̜͍̫̥̭̪͎̺͎̙̹͔͓̊̿̈͐͑̔̀̇̈́͊ͯ̀̑̿ͣ̏ͧ̔̈́ͅo̢̪͙̰̯̪͔̩͙͇̬͙͍̦͕̳͌ͯ̾̆̏ͬ̋̈̔̄̾͟͞͝oͧͯ̃ͮ̾͛̾̊ͮ̽҉̟̺̤̻̼͕̩̬͍g̢̻͚̘̮̮̘̤̹̙̺̰̪̩̩̯̠͈̋̏̃̓ͣͫͨ̀͢e̢̳̥̥̝͉̞͖̫̝̪̞̳̮̰̿ͦ͌̆̐͛ͤ̑͆ͪ̾̕ỳ̸̶͔̻̬͉̦̻̬͓̟̘̮̰̰̣̓̓ͤͧͣͮͫ̃̈́͗͐̽̆ͩͯ̀̚ͅm̷̧̡͐ͫ̂͊̔͐ͬ͢҉̼̘͍̗a̢͙͙̣͇̮͉̍̄̒͋̈́̌ͣ̓̉̈ͪ̽ͨͮ̆ͮ́͟͢ǹ̵̢̞̮̳̭͓͈̰̜̥ͮͫ̇͑͑ͅ ̶̛̥̣̻̘̖̺̦̯̘ͨͧͭͩ̆ͬͤ̐ͮ̎̋ͨͨͣͬͧ̇͘͢͠ỳ̨̹̰̥̫̟̫̞͎̪̱̐͒̕͟͜͠o̷ͬ̈ͤ̓͏̥̦ͅȗ̴̅̅͒̈ͦͤͮͦͣͮ͛͑ͫ̊̄̂҉̢͍̘̯̣̯̬͍̹̠ ̵̛͍̩̼͚̺̳͖̉͑̈ͪ͆͘͠w̧ͥ͌͋̑̚͘͠҉̢͙̦̦͉͓i̵̧̲͇̫̙̫͍̅ͥͥ͗͗̕͜l̶̡̢̞͎͚̻͙̤͓̘̭̫͙̦̃̔͂̇ͫͭ̿̔̂ͥ̈́ͮͭͥͦ́l̢̧ͬ̑̍̉̈́̆̏͒ͦ̒̒̈͂̕҉̵̜̫͇͚͕͔͔̪̲͉̤͇̻̪̭̩ ̵̧̼̟͇̜̦̻̺̤͔̰͓̼̘̖̞̼̟̘̑̇̃ͯ͋͗͊ͪ͂͆ͤ͂̇͌̚͝͠ͅk̖̤͕̠̤̜͓̝͖̜͉̣̱̰̬̯̀͆̊̔̆̓ͦ̒̓ͧͣ̈́ͯ̄̀̚n͚̟̖̝̟͈̤̩͉̙̩̣̪͇̭͓̣̍̏ͣ͒́͗̃ͮͭ̐̆͋ͭ̉ͭ̍̚͝ȯ̴̸̀͌̓̓ͬ̋ͫ̄͐̽̊̄̃҉̭̫͉̫͈̝̟͕͇̭̠͉͓̗͙͡͝w͍͖̰̟̙̳͓̝͕̺̭̐ͥ̽̋ͣ͡͞ͅ ̶̢͇̗̱̜̘͋̏͐͂̂̑ͮ͗̓͋͒̓ͬ́ͅf̡̛̰̮͙͖̦̠̥̝͇̙̙̫̍̆ͥ̊͋̕͝e̵̵͚͖̫̣͉̤͓͇͚̺̰͎̳̩̦̹͕͆̊ͪͪ́͠ͅͅa̢̗͖̯̜̪̼͚̠̮̦̦̩͎̹̎͌͌̽ͬ͋͛͗ͪ̉͊̾ͨͣ̽͝r̵ͧ͂̀͑̈́ͩ̿̀̀̕҉̨͙͔̣̤͈̙͔̪̮͉̰ͩ̌ͧ̋ͩͭ̿̍ͧ̌̍͆̀ͣͭ̓̚̚͏̙͈͙̬͖̪̙̣̞̥̙̟͉̙̩̟̻̬k̶̛̛̺̯͚̪̩̬̦̦͂͐͒̊̒̈̎i̵̦̭̝͇̯̫͔̤̻̓̿̓ͧ̆͊́́̑̕l̴̻̩̤̙͈͖͕̐͆̄ͩ͂ͮ̃̍͘͠l̵͑ͣͪͮ͟҉̹͉̬̤̼̜̬̮̤ ̀̇ͯͮ̈́̓̌͋̒̋̀ͬ̐͏̸͈̬͓̟͕̜̘̥̺̝͜h̸̷̨̯̩̗͔̣͓͍̏͊̽̿̑́̌ͦͫͥ̌̆̈́͆̿ͯ̚͡į̸̴̛̫͔̯̻̣̹̳̘̘̜͎̣͎̻̓ͤ́̿̂͗̉̈́ͯ̽̊̚̚͡m̵̴͖̠͖͓̼̲̝͕̣̥̗̱̮̬͙ͮ̐ͥ̒̌ͣ̌̎̐́ͧ̌̾̎̂̓͞ͅ ̤̣͕͉͇͈̲̺̞̠̻̬̻͓̥͚̟̗͖ͥ̍̉͑̓̓ͦ̄͝ỉ̮̹̗̗͎̺̮̾ͭͯ̂ͣ̚͞ͅ ̴̶̵̬͙̱̹̦͑̉ͩ̾̎͆̋͑̿̿̚ͅw̧̜̣̹̻̜̠̫̪̦̼̠ͫ̄̔͊͗̓ͥͩ̌̑ͪ̽͋ͪ̉̽̇̓̿͝ḯ̛̗̞̱̙̭͖̘͓͋̽̿͋͊ͥl̉ͬ̎̄ͣ̔͂̎̚͡͏̨̱̜̳͈͚̩͘͜ļͨ̃ͭ̅̇ͧ͊͒ͩ̾҉̦̞̻̗̤k̶̢̡̺̗͖͈͉̪̳͊̓̔̽̕i̽̋̈́ͦ̊͐ͩͬ̑ͪ̓̓͑͒̄̍̾̑҉̸̡̮̗̘̮͘l̡̛̗͚͙͚̜̥̯̩̠̺ͧͥ̽̃̋̀͞͝ͅl̛͚͎̲͕̜̪̂ͯ̄̈̓ͭͭͭ͑́̚͘̕͞ḧ́͌͐ͤ̈́̀ͯ̀͒̆ͣ͋ͩ̂ͤ҉̸̷̢̞̪̹̗̪̟̰̣̥͖̙͔͓̝̫͙̦į̸̷̡͈̬̯̬͈͈̤̜͍̣̎ͤ̓̋ͯ͑ͤ̓ͨ̇͜ͅm̢̡̡̦͙̼̳͉͍̺̭͋͋͐̌͟͜f̶̧̩̜̭̯̗͇̞̋ͤ̊̅̅ͮ̆ͣͨͪ̽̈́͒͠o̴̭̩͕͚̱̙̳̮̰͕̥̣̪͉̐͆̔͊͐͌̄̅ͨ̈́̃̐̐̑̇̀͜͠͞ͅr̢̨̢̛̃̓̆ͮ̂̿̓̈́ͦ̽҉̤̘̼̖͙̱̩ͅÿ̨̞̮̫͈͙̹̂̆̇̔̓̏̏̋ͭ̒͑̽̅ͨ́͟ǫ̸̶̶̜̭̩͓̩̮̜̤̮͎̻̹̜̪̰̹̰ͪͩͫ̒ͩͨ̒́ͭ̃͐́ų̨̤̦̠̥̝̑ͦ̒́ͧ̄̐̐̍̎͡͞ ̸̢̢̠̺̬͓̲̮̺̣̗͍̥ͩ̓ͭ̐ͪͩ̋ͤ̾̂̃̾͆̂̚͠͞ͅa̢͖̜̞̟̪͑̽̎ͩ̇́ͪ̍̆́̽͛́͟͟͡n̡̛̹͍͔͍̗̄͋ͣ̽̆̈́͒̍ͤnͤ͂͗͑ͥͫ̂͒͆̐̄̑̂͏҉̧̮̳̦͚̗̟̻͕̳̳̤̞́ͅȋ͓̼͔̠͎̠̪̲͔͕͇͑̆̆̿ͦ͌̾ͬ͆̀͢ͅe̸̡̠̝͚̼͑͑ͣͮ̎͐̍ͭ̔ͫ̽͢͞ ̡̛͔̩͉̙͙̳̱̹͇̯̙̥̺͛ͦͥ̅̓̂͐͛ͩ͢͝p̷͒̋̃ͫ͏̷̩͙̖͚̙̬͓͎̠̲̯͎͢l̷̦̱̗͚̫̣̥̭̯̭̣̱͖̦͍͍̩̱̂ͧ͐ͦ́̕͡͠e̸̹͍̹̬͓̞̞͓̦ͥͪͯ̅͌͗͜å̛̙͕͉̻̺̥͈̝̪̫̫͍̫̝̭̼͙̪͒ͩ͝͝ş̶̸̴̘͉͉̬͎͇̹̬̘̌̀̓͗ͣ̓̆͝e̵̛̥̫͖͔̞̱͕ͥ̽̏̀̂̊ͮ͗̓́͞ͅ ̵̸̯͔̤̞̟̦̜͓̙̍̓̿͌̃̏ͤͮ̄̈̆ͤ̊ͭͨ͘i̸̪̯͙̥͉̗͇͖̙̹͚̖̺͙ͥ̊ͦ̊͘͘ ̛̩̮̤͔͓̮̔̾ͮ̐͊͛̐̚͢͜lͣ́ͫ̐͑̔̎ͤ̍҉̶̪̻̳̰͓̱͈͈͜o̴͉̹͇̳͍̙̩̤͉̦͙̬̟̱͛͒ͣ͛̏̏͘͜͟͠ͅv͇̬̣̹̦̊͗̎͊͒ͬ̾ͩͭ̅͢ḛ̡̜͓̟͚͔̤̠͎̩̮̫̭͔͉̻̳͖̔ͭ̾ͯ̊̕ ̡̨̮̦̣̪̺̘̳̳͉̍̍̊͊̽́͝y̢̘̱̮̖̲̝̬̮̦̦̘̱̠͕̹̺ͧ̽ͮ́̅̂̏̏ͩ̒̔̾̉ͬ̂̃̽͞ͅǫ̡̨̝͚͈̞̘̹̻̲ͣͩ͒̒̂̈̉ͬ̏ͩͫ͆͟u̴̧̠͚̰͔̖͒ͧͩ̍̋̚̚͟͠ ̴̬̠̳̱͖̪̅͛̒͌́͒ͪ́̚̕h̷̨̛͇̜̭̤̣̎̽̃͒ͬͦͥ̊̀͟ͅa̱̞̠̜͍͙̜̫̲̱̲͍̝̮̫͍̟͓͒̑͂͒͋̊͂̀͜͝͡ͅt̊́̔̾͑̽͏̻̫̭͍ḛ̴͇̼͖̭̠͇̖̠͇͓̟͙̝̞̐ͬ͋ͩ̄̈́ͩͩ̐͊ͪ́̓͞ͅy̷̆̋ͪ̓̊̑̂̇̍ͫ̉ͮͮͬ̀͏̜̪̣̩̬͔͚̼͔o͗̅͌͂͏͈͇̱̯̻̥͉̤̦̯̖̫͇̻̫͎͖͕͜ͅŭ̢̞͓̝̮̬̹̙̼͓̯̗̱̭͓͕͚̉͛ͧ͌ͬͯ͋̀͘͜͡l̏͂ͥ͐̌̈ͭ̅̃̓̾͂͗ͦ̏̚̚͠͏͇͎͎̺̪͕̟̲͎̜͙͓͍̻̺͍͕̦͔o̶̢̮͓̙͖̼̺̱̻̥̹̊ͩ͒ͨ̈́͐ͫͮ̐̓̍̔̅̈̋͆ͬ̽͘͜͜ͅͅv̵̤̖͕̗̘͚͓͗̋̽͋̋̃̄ͤͦ̓̈ͤ͌̃ͯ͂͋͝͞͝ͅȩ̝͕̮̗̪̳͉̘̼͈̙̠̭̮̰ͮ̉̅͌͋ͪͤ̇͐͑̚͢h̝͓̣̻̖̹̼̺͑̃ͫͮ̏̽̎̐ͮͨ̋ͥ̔̿ͬ͒͟a̷̴̸̩̳̦̞̟̭͙͔̘̭ͧ͐̐̓͐̅̈͡ț̰͙̙͈̣̍́ͮ̆̽̑ͤ̐̂̈́ͬ̀͑͗͒ͦͩͬ̕͢ͅe̷̪͚͓͚͈̠͖̪̺̰̹̻̺͈̩͚̺͔̐͛́ͣͦ̾ͨ͗͊ͪ̑͑͜ͅh̷̴̛̝̣̗͙̤͖͓̻͔̬͍͓̥̫͍̪͑ͤ̂ͤ͡͞ͅͅy̨̢͍̰̠̠ͭ̀ͤ͛ͧ͊͌̍͢͠͡ö̴̢̢͖̼̮̤̘͇̮̪̫̳͎̯͓̖̩̻̝̻́̓̐̾ͫ̈̑̚͜ư̸̧̨̛͔̝̭͉̟̘̤̻̭̝̩̲̞͖̹̞̱͓̬̥̮̜͚̗̱̱̗̦͕̲̮̫͉ͪ̆̔̒ͫ̐̇ͣ̋̂̀̏̌͂͛̃͗̎̓͐̏͊̋ͮͣ̽ͥ̍ͅl̶̷̴̞̖͚̫̤̯̹̯̠̲̞̦̙̬͍̜̬͍͑ͥ̽͗͌͋͠a̴̎͗̈̿̉̅ͣͯ̎ͭͬ͐͂ͯ̆ͧ͛̀̚҉͍̞̮̫̠̳͉̼̤̬̖̺̱̬͇̙̣ͅy̶͉̖̫̠̯̩̭̮̤̬̅̓̇̊ͨ̽̑̇͘͟ũ̄̓͐ͧ͛̊̉̀͏̛̮̻͕͕̖̩͕̙̥̤͟ͅͅr̸̺̘͔̟͌͋͂͊ͪͤ̉͌ͦ̂̀͘͠ȋͧ͗ͪ̽̈ͪ̍ͧ͡҉̭̞̹͚͎̙̲͉̝̤̳͉͍̀e̸̝͓̜͙̔̓ͪ͐ͧͤ̈́ͦ̽͐̕͟͞l̛̜̼̤̤͔͉̅͐̈̌͗͆ͧ͒͐̆ͅa̷̙͓͍̰ͯͫͭ̓ͤ̇̽̑ͯ̋̾̊ͧ̃ͤ͒͑͋́͝ư̵̧̘̭͙͈͔͔̻̠̤͓͇̟̓̌̾̾̈͞ͅr͒̇ͧ̎͆̑͏̨̝̳͙̻̣̬̣̬ͅi̷̡͙̪̫̱̭̘̼͈͍̟ͩ̀̉̋̿͊̀̚͞e̵̯̼̬̟͈̳̳̗̿ͣ͊͋ͫͨͮͯ͌̈͑̑̅ͤ̀̚͘͡ͅl͓͚̤͖̯̣̣͇̺͍͕̭͚͕͈͐ͪ̃ͩͣ̚̚͟i̶ͣ̌͊ͩ̀͌̅͌̔͡҉̩̗̮̭̪̱̗͈̙̻͇ͅů̪̯̳̤̩̹͚͔̠͖̮̳̞̳̥̝̂͂̇̑͐ͦ͛̎ͮ̓́͞͡ͅa̸̛̛͚̰͔̳̖͉̮͔̯̬̞͈̐̓̽̆͑̉͆ͣ̕ī̈̽ͯͧ̉ͩͩͧ̔͑̿̍̀̚͟҉̤͖̻̪̦r̩̮͖̟̺͉̮͍͈͚̱̲͈̫͍̀ͬ̐ͧ̇͋͊͘͠ͅḷ̵̡̨̞̱̹̱͚͓͔̭̻͇ͪͯ̃̓̐͛̈̃͗̚͡a̲̳̹̹̥̱͂̏͂̃̋ͭͭ̒̊̂ͭ͂̄̏͒ͣ̇̊̚͘͘u̱̼̮̅͂̒̀͢͜ͅr̻̣̠̦͑ͬ̆ͥ͐̄͊̆ͥ́͞ͅǐ̶̴̧̼̙̥̯̤̊͆̾̉ͭͦ̋̒̽ͫ̔ê̡̤̞̯͉͈̥͖͚̳̜͖͍ͥ̌͌͗͊ͫ͒̽͌͒̀͘͡͠ͅͅl̡̧̫̰̗͖͇ͨ̓ͤ̍̀̂̃ͬ̅̅͂̏̾̏̂ͫ̀͝͡į̶̡̛̖̼̬̖͙͖͕̘̋ͭ̅͂ͤ̅͌ͨ͆͑̂͟ͅͅe͎̙̩̺̱͓͓͔̯͑͛̐̈̂͒̌́̓͒̍͌ͪ̀͡u̷͔͙͚̤̭͇̾̊ͣ͐͊ͫ̈́̎ͩͥͮ͑̚̕͜a̶̛͓͖̣̣̮̻̥͇̰̦̫̎̿̈́͐̓ͮͥ̌ͨͤͯ̿ͭͨ̏ͣ̐̚͝e̵̢̟̫͇̲̺͚̋̂̄͒̑ͨͭ̿ͮ̀͢͡l̵͆̉̂̐̅̃̂ͦ̑̂ͧ̆̉͂̾͌̿̕͏̧̹̖̤͙̤̙̖̻̟̺̟͍̳̮̦̜͚̟e̬̗̪͐̒̂̒ͦͣ̒́͟ͅi̐͒͂ͥ́̂͗̿̄͊̉ͨ̉̚҉̵̧͎͓̬̭̙̱͈͕͔̠̖u̵̢̨̗͕͖̞̩̬̘ͤ̾̐ͩ͐͐͗ͧ͊̐́a̶̷̩̣̻̘̪̬͉̪̥̞̜͍̜̪̲̤͆̋ͪ̒ͣ̆͒̀̈̓̅͘̕̕i̴̶͚͙͉̰ͬ̍ͫͦ͂̌ͪ͊͌ͭ̓̾ͅs̴̨̡̱̩̙̰̯͇͓̬͖̟̣̦̜̮͗̃̅̀͆į͛ͬ̉̀ͦ̑ͥͯ̈͘҉̗̤͓͔̮̩͙̺̘͉̲̮̜̫̖̼̻͍̫i̷͔͉̯̜̬̝̹͔ͤ̎ͩͣ̉ͥ̅ͣ͐͌̿ͪ͟͜i͈͟h͠a̮̺̩̳̪̩͝ͅȩ͚͓̮͙ ͇̭̼s͖͖̪͢s̴̢̙̻͉͔̠̣͞ e͍͔̣̯̕͠e͏̪̹̪̫͖̜̲̞ͅ  ̶̛͈͕̲̠̬ m̷͚̼̫̳͇̥̟é͏̥   ?̮́ Something bad crossed her mind. .̻̻̭̮̲̪͢ ̠̜͍͓̤̞̀. ͔̗͈̫̝͉͠.͓̗̙̟ But it’s okay. Because it doesn’t exist anymore.. .      .

I don’t really know…Yeah… it’s good they are sort of… trapped. But there’s something inherently worse about being here. I don’t really know how I can explain it properly… but… It’s almost like they’re meant to be here. Almost like they were all lost and this place was… was the home they were always meant to live in.They’ve all been… twisted up in some way or another… I have a feeling some of them are the way they are for involuntary reasons. Like they had to be broken in order to work for the Entity.The Obsession has always given me intuitions… and it tells me that these… monsters… are victims as well. At least to a degree.I don’t know what changed my mind about some of them… I used to hate and loathe them all the same. But…only a few of them seem like they were always bad… like not all of them had been monsters before coming here.…Also…worse yet… I get this weird feeling… that sensation like spiders nesting just behind my eyes, like the entity is incubating in the back of my mind… And I wonder… what if that’s what made them ‘marked’ to come here? What if the entity had done something to them to make them act out? To make them commit murders… That guy, Baker, his writings… especially the ones about Weeks. They imply that the Entity has some sort of yoke over certain places in the real world… it makes me wonder… can they be truly hold accountable for their actions?

The only one that I can say was a monster all on his own for sure… is Michael… He wanted to come. He chose. He wasn’t forced. He is and always will be a killing machine.

…Yeah, Dwight and a few of the others recognized him. I remember hearing about it when I was maybe eleven or twelve… maybe thirteen.I can’t remember much details about them to be honest… I just know that they were responsible for a lot of… of really horrific things…Like…burial desecration… and of course cannibalism.My mom and dad didn’t want me hearing about violent stuff… “improper” they called it. But I remember Annie would go on and on about the gory details.Nubbins, The man who was hitchhiking, he was no more than a gory smear left on the road. They never caught the older man, “Drayton”;and of course we get the “pleasure” of being tormented by “Bubba”Those people… they were sick. They were preying on visitors…lost travelers and people who didn’t know better… like Sally and her friends. They had somehow built themselves into a small corner… where their monstrous acts could continue with their victims as their only audience.Apparently they may have been doing it out of starvation. But they sold human meat in their gas station…It honestly makes me wonder… the Obsession… it gives me insight on the Killers. I feel a connection to them. One I can’t exactly put to words. But I feel it, and I can sort of sense their ambitions, their drive and hunger.The Cannibal… Bubba, he’s always been so scared, I can feel it just being near. He’s terrified of failing his duties. Not necessarily a hunger, or a feeling of sadism towards his actions.Given his past… it’s kind of hard not to see why he is the way he is. I still don’t really know what to think about it all though. He still hunts us, occasionally wearing our own dried-out and stitched faces. But… even than. He’s scared… like us. And he is doing what he has to in order… in order to survive.