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Nobody had ever really paid a lot of attention to the little town of Booming Bay; it was nestled up close to the waters of a large lake, no more than a couple hundred survivors eking out a living fishing and foraging. Two things had finally put the town on the map - several wealthy and skilled survivors had settled in the town in a 'retirement' which began a local economic boom, and the ambitions of one Elias Frank, a local Grave Enthusiast, had finally found investors for his budding necrological projects in the outer districts of Crossbones. Dozens upon dozens of necroinfluencers had been arriving to the town in carefully-packed crates bearing the ☠ mark alongside others of infectious material and herbs, all ear-marked for the performance of Pallor Mortises and death brews. Restoring the lost infection of noted townsfolk had become a priority, and watching these events had become something akin to a twisted form of entertainment. Graverobbers and <<linkreplace "others">>cultists<img src="img/viv.png" width="15%" style="float:right"><</linkreplace>> flocked to the town's new industry. And beneath them, the Mortis Amaranthine, starved for so long and still suffering from events in the fairly close territory of Crossbones, [[stirred...|disaster]]

<<cacheaudio "waves" "aud/waves.wav">> <<cacheaudio "amb" "aud/ambient.wav">> <<cacheaudio "bar" "aud/bar.wav">> <<cacheaudio "alex" "aud/alex.wav">> <<cacheaudio "mayor" "aud/mayor.m4a">> <<cacheaudio "laugh" "aud/laugh.wav">> <<cacheaudio "drums" "aud/drums.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "cough" "aud/cough.wav">> <<cacheaudio "alarm" "aud/alarm.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "time" "aud/static.wav">>

<<audio "waves" play>>\ When the town went quiet, it took some time for anyone to realize it. For a few days, there was just... silence. No traders leaving the town, no boats upon the lake.To the outside world, it was as if the town had simply ceased to be. Concerned by the silence, Firewatch sent in scouts to [[investigate...|awaken]] During those days, local aberrants weren't sleeping well. Do you play an [[aberrant|visions]]?

<<audio ":all" stop>>\ <<audio "amb" play>>\ You slept listlessly during those days; whispers infiltrating your thoughts, coiling about your mind and insinuating into your dreams as b̵r̵o̷k̶e̵n̸ ̸a̷n̶d̸ ̷f̸r̵a̶g̶m̶e̸n̷t̶a̸r̸y̴ ̴m̴e̶m̴o̵r̸i̴e̶s̵ ̸t̷h̵a̸t̶ ̶w̷e̴r̷e̶ ̴n̵o̷t̴ ̶y̸o̷u̷r̸s̵.̴.̸.̶ These dreams may still haunt you, echoing in your subconscious like a cry for help from the bottom of a well. What did you dream of? [[The taste of liquor on your tongue|sally]] [[Tentacles rising up from the forbidding deeps|alex]] [[The weight of responsibility on your shoulders|dante]] [[The mask of a face not your own|farker]] [[The ennui of eternal life|zoloft]] [[Trophies hanging upon a wall|andrew]]

<<audio ":all" stop>>\ <<audio "bar" loop play>>\ The taste of fine corn whiskey lingers upon your tongue, burns your throat with that scorching heat that you've come to love over the years. Your own brew, from your own stores, the recipe one handed down for generations and modified by each brewer in turn. You're no exception, and you take pride in your craft. A roar of voices blurs together. Are they cheering? Screaming? Moaning? Are all those hands reaching up in celebration, or towards your throat? You feel pain. You bury a needle in your arm and grit your teeth. You're getting used to the sensation, bearing it as the injection feeds the infection in your flesh and your wounds knit together. Hooch. Pain. Injection. Pain. The feel of flesh and bone breaking under the chair leg you're holding. Hooch. Pain. Injection. You can't stop. You won't stop. This bar is yours and you won't give it up. The cycle repeats again. And again. And again. Hooch. Pain. Injection. Hooch. Pain. Injection. H̵o̶o̴c̴h̴.̸ ̸P̸a̶i̶n̶.̸ ̷I̶n̴j̷e̴c̶t̴i̴o̷n̴ H̵o̶o̴c̴h̴.̸ ̸P̸a̶i̶n̶.̸ ̷I̶n̴j̷e̴c̶t̴i̴o̷n̴ H̸̡̰͊̎o̵͚̠̥͒͝ỏ̷̭͈̀͝ͅc̷͇͜͝h̷̻̭̟̤͌.̵̯̃̽ ̵̖̌̒̃̿P̴̨̫̊̐̇ä̸̖́̔̅͝i̸̡͕͔͌̓̈̈ͅṋ̶̿̎̈́͊.̸̡̌͝ ̷̧̼̳̟̃I̴̡̡̯̭̔̓͋ǹ̶̢̼̝̍̈́͝j̸͚̝͖͗̏̔͝ḛ̶̋c̷̤̦̼̠̊̒̀͝ṫ̵̗̙̬͚͂ḯ̷̻͠ö̷̩̭̠̲n̵̗̫͙̪̐̕ H̸̡̰͊̎o̵͚̠̥͒͝ỏ̷̭͈̀͝ͅc̷͇͜͝h̷̻̭̟̤͌.̵̯̃̽ ̵̖̌̒̃̿P̴̨̫̊̐̇ä̸̖́̔̅͝i̸̡͕͔͌̓̈̈ͅṋ̶̿̎̈́͊.̸̡̌͝ ̷̧̼̳̟̃I̴̡̡̯̭̔̓͋ǹ̶̢̼̝̍̈́͝j̸͚̝͖͗̏̔͝ḛ̶̋c̷̤̦̼̠̊̒̀͝ṫ̵̗̙̬͚͂ḯ̷̻͠ö̷̩̭̠̲n̵̗̫͙̪̐̕ Y̶o̶u̴ ̸a̵r̴e̵ ̵y̴o̶u̶r̵ ̷o̴w̵n̸ ̷c̸r̸a̷f̸t̸ ̴n̵o̴w̵.̷ [[You woke up|awaken]]

<<audio ":all" stop>>\ <<audio "alex" loop play>>\ After all those years at sea, you'd won. You'd survived pirates, rust raiders in boats, drowned zombies, and that damnable kraken and retired with enough money to never have to set foot on a ship again. You smile as you see the <<linkreplace "familiar faces">>rotting shapes<</linkreplace>> of your crew <<linkreplace "walking along the docks">>feasting on screaming townsfolk<</linkreplace>>. Their loyalty remains even beyond <<linkreplace "your retirement">>death<</linkreplace>>, never far from their captain. You pull your coat around you against an unseasonable cold. You're always cold, these days. Your fingers and toes tingle, numb. <<linkreplace "You'll go warm yourself later.">>Your body is already dead, and a part of you knows it, but you no longer care.<</linkreplace>> A whisper gets your attention. You walk to the edge of the water, and see tentacles stirring in the deep. Your <<linkreplace "smile widens.">>rictus grin widens, lipless mouth showing rotting teeth.<</linkreplace>> <<linkreplace "You know what you have to do now.">>I̵t̸ ̶h̸u̷n̸g̷e̵r̴s̸.̵ ̴ I̸t̶ ̷m̵u̸s̶t̷ ̸b̷e̵ ̵f̷e̶d̷.<</linkreplace>> [[You woke up|awaken]]

Now every time Dick, Harry, or Hank Every Betty, Susie, or Jane Let's be honest, let's be frank Everybody has to work How did it all go so wrong? This is your town. This is your city. You're the Mayor, for the Queens' sake! How could you let this happen? Everybody has a job to do Like puttin' on your clothes or tying your shoes Takin' out the trash Or cleanin' your room Don't get caught then howlin' at the moon It's getting worse. It's spreading. You need to warn people. You need to stop this, here and now. You need them to know that- R-E-S, P-O-N, S-I-B-I-L-I-T-Y R-E-S, P-O-N, S-I-B-I-L-I-T-Y R-E-S, P-O-N, S-I-B-I-L-I-T-Y Responsibility That's right Responsibility Once again Responsibility <<link "You grab the radio microphone, desperation making your heart race.">> <<audio "mayor"play>> <</link>> -that Booming Bay was doomed. [[You woke up|awaken]]

<<audio ":all" stop>>\ <<audio "drums" loop play>>\ You've been training warriors, soldiers, scouts, snipers, as long as you can remember. It's been your raison d'etre since you came to your senses and realized you weren't a shambler. You were alive. After a fashion, at least. You remember training people even before that, although the memories are muddled, fractional, unclear. Pieces of shattered mirrors all mixed together. Sometimes they're soldiers. Sometimes they're schoolchildren. None of it makes sense, but it's always teaching. You've been alive for more years than you can count, now, and it's all become the same. The same old dramas with different faces. The same enemies with different names. The same daily routines. It drags on, endless, without a hint of novelty to any of it. Sometimes you wonder if you'd even bother standing up at the start of the day if there weren't people to be taught, to be trained, to pass your knowledge on to. It's all you have left. You woke up numb, cold, alone, hungry. Was it worse lately? You couldn't tell. This was normal for you. Sometimes you wonder if you'd even notice if you <<linkreplace "died.">>died. You didn't. And your students still march off to kill with you behind them.<</linkreplace>> [[You woke up|awaken]]

<<audio ":all" stop>>\ <<audio "laugh" loop play>>\ <<linkreplace "You love living in this town, walking the streets with every face smiling your way. You were one of their most respected and wealthy citizens now.">>You hate having to hide who you were, what you are, from the people of this town. A wolf walking amongst sheep, you laugh at them from behind your smiling facade.<</linkreplace>> <<linkreplace "You had retired here after a long and fruitful merchantile career, investing in the town's growth and settling into a fine home. The grateful townsfolk had even invited you to one of their Infectus Mortis procedures to restore your failing infection.">>The Ġ̷̝̫̰̮̘̤̲͕̭̈́̾͝-̴̨̡͇̠͍̮͓̋͆͘͝M̸͖̦̳͍̯̝̉͑̽̅̈́̃̒̿̏̀̓͗̿͜͜͝ȇ̴̢̢̨̯̤̦͕̝̹̹͉̦͉͊̄̋̐̈́̚͝͝n̶̛̮̘͙̈́͘ would never find you here, not settled amongst these blindly trusting, optimistic fools. The blood money in your bag ensured you were set for life after one risky kill. The fools even let you join in one of their Infectus Mortis procedures to restore your infection.<</linkreplace>> <<linkreplace "Every day you felt more at home here.">>But ever since then you'd been hungry.<</linkreplace>> <<linkreplace "Booming Bay had given you so much">>Hungry for more.<</linkreplace>> <<linkreplace "You had to think of some way to give back to the townsfolk">>That little bite of infection wasn't enough.<</linkreplace>> <<linkreplace "Perhaps you should gather people together, you thought.">>You needed more.<</linkreplace>> <<linkreplace "A feast sounded like a lovely idea!">>And the townsfolk were full of it, weren't they?<</linkreplace>> [[You woke up|awaken]]

<<audio ":all" stop>>\ <<audio "cough" loop play>>\ Bears the size of caravans. Worms that burrowed beneath the earth and could pull a man under. Reptiles that stalked on two legs like a man. You'd killed them all in your time, stalking the wasteland with delicate care and deadly precision. Retired, now, you were settled in at work at your table. A sip for you, a drop for the bowl you were mixing. The warmth of the hearth didn't seem to reach far enough; you felt cold despite it, and this cough wouldn't go away.. So, another sip for you, another drop for the bowl. It was all that made you feel better. That last hunt still haunts you. You're a big game hunter, but some things out there - some game is just too big, even for you. It was a sobering realization, what made you retire. Another sip for you, another drop for the bowl. There was an art to what you were doing, a science; part alchemy, part chemistry, one of the secrets of the hunters' art, one rarely spoken of to most. You take a sip, pause; the bottle's empty. You toss it aside and reach over for another from the crate bearing the ☠ mark upon it, the faint luminescence of blue liquid sticky on your fingers. You look at the bottle in hand. You look at the bowl. After a moment's internal debate, you bring the bottle to your lips. It tastes <<linkreplace "like death.">>like exactly what you need.<</linkreplace>> You start coughing almost immediately; doubling over the table as it wracks your body, pain rising up deep in your numbed flesh worse than anything you've ever felt. Your gaze, unfocused, falls on your blood-flecked spittle spattering the table. It glows blue. It starts to eat through the wood. Everything starts to go dark. [[You woke up|awaken]]

<<audio ":all" stop>>\ <<audio "alarm" loop play>>\ Whatever happened in Booming Bay, it soon became clear to everyone in the region that it was bad... but at first, nobody knew just how bad it was. It wasn't until the morgues started to collapse that we realized this wasn't just a lost town - this was a rapidly spreading catastrophe. Somehow invigorated by whatever had happened, the Mortis Amaranthine in the area was experiencing a rapid explosion of growth, fungal mass running out of control and the Infection spreading through the living and inanimate alike in a roiling, seething growth of fungal madness through the land. The cycle of life and death - as normally experienced by the strains - was broken as morgues collapsed into the necropolis, and swarms of the dead spilled out of the area. The dead of Booming Bay. The dead of the surrounding settlements. The dead of Crossbones. Alarms were raised; evacuations began, and the according [[panic.]]

<<audio ":all" stop>>\ <<audio "time" loop play>>\ The days that followed were full of confusion, of pain, and of loss. Would the necropolis keep spreading? How far did they have to go to escape the ravening claws of the dead, the uncontrolled hunger of the Mortis Amaranthine? Had Firewatch fallen? Where were Tijuadalgo's airships? Families were broken up, and found again. People died, and were never heard from again. People wondered what had happened to their families, their settlements. What had happened to their lives? Zombies were a constant threat, pressing on the living harder than ever before. Fears of disease, of running out of supplies, created conflict amongst the survivors. Old grudges flared up. A thousand acts of heroism and kindness that would never reach the history books... those are what kept people together. Was this the end? That was what people asked themselves, either quietly or out loud, a hundred times. Then, finally, a voice came over the airwaves. A voice that gave them hope. TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK