Blacklist

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You keep running down the hallway Preston stomped away down this morning, the smell of stale energy drinks and greasy fast food burning your lungs more with every step. You can see the nexus of the convention hall up ahead and you muster up your last ounce of courage and push your quickly numbing legs to their limit.

You didn't expect the shattering pain in your lower back. Your knees disappear from underneath you and you tumble face-first down on the shiny black tile floor. Loud echoes bounce off of the walls all around you, but they have no meaning anymore.

Hundreds of pairs of terrified eyes watch you under tables, from balconies, behind doors, and you watch them back. You hear dark laughter right above you and you watch your audience close their eyes.

You don't blame them; you wouldn't have wanted to watch, either.

You died.

Respawn?

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