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maybe if you're lucky the random avatar will sync up to the character you're reading right now
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((Me apologizing to RC, continued from a point where I was unable to figure out any way to put this at the beginning of the post and still have it work))

Voices. Talking. Saying things that Alvaro couldnít hear. It was familiar. Not the voices, but the situation. It had happened earlier today. Twice. Both times, Alvaro had checked who was talking. Both times, Alvaro had chosen to raise his gun at the situation. Both times, a friend of his had a bullet sent inside of them. The situation was familiar. For the third time today, Alvaro heard voices from afar. He had a gun in his hands. He was a murderer. The thing he had to do was obvious. He had done it before. He could do it again.

But he wasnít going to.

As he moved, slowly down the hallway, he knew that he wasnít going to do that. He had hurt people. He had shot somebody, back down in the basement. He had killed Jasper, despite however much he didnít want to. It wasnít going to happen for a third time. He wasnít going to hurt anyone. He wasnít going to kill.

But he didnít know who the voices were.

They could be anybody.

They could be saying anything.

He didnít know what they were saying, so he had to check.

And that was what he was doing. Slowly, down the hall. Step by step, the breaths on his person being muted. He couldnít be seen. They couldnít know that he was there. He just had to step in, find out what they were saying, and run. There wasnít anything he was going to do. The gun was in his hands, but he wasnít going to use it. In, listen, out. In, listen, out. Thatís all there was. Thatís all there was going to be.

He was outside, now. Right next to the door. There were voices. They were louder. They were distinct.


Al was in there. Al was talking. He needed water. He could hear that. Al was in the room. He would have liked to go in there, but he knew he couldnít. He was a murderer. He had killed two of his friends at this point. He wasnít going to make it three. He wasnít going to make it three. He knew that. He wasnít going to do anything. He would just take his steps and walk-


Michael was in there. With Al. Taunting him. Insulting him. Bullying him.

He had to walk away.

He couldnít show himself. He had killed. He didnít want to do it again. He didnít-

But he had to. Al- his friend was in there with Michael. Being bullied. Being mocked.

Being attacked?

He didnít know.

He had to do something.

He had to help his friend.

He stood, next to the door, clutching the gun in his hands.

Breathe in, breathe out.


The door slammed open. Alvaroís eyes quickly found their mark.

The gun raised up.

ďS-stand down.Ē
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70's Horror Movies 2: New Wave Massacre · Intensive Care Wards