4

This one is from Michael. It goes as follows:

If you all are safe, and everything is nice, don’t let it turn into fighting. There must be a thousand people here, but we’re all scattered. There are factions, criminals, and a couple of Them still running around.

Mostly it’s servants. This place is getting too old and tired to bite. But I was on the run from one of them that still exists.

The name they gave it is stupid, and I’m not going to use it. But it’s been after me for a year. I had heard of Jack, and I’d been looking for him for months, and now I can finally talk to him.

And he’s useless. He’s changed his name, too, but it’s also stupid.

All of this is stupid. We have people who want to die in a frenzied orgy, ones who want to kill everyone, and ones who think that we could actually live here. Worse, we have people who want to bring Them BACK, and people who want to kill everyone.

Barely anyone cares that some of Them are still out there, and that some of us are still in danger. I’m still Running.

The world’s ended, everything’s dead, no one I know will ever be able to reach me and I’m STILL RUNNING. I’m writing this for all the people who are like me. Don’t ignore them, and don’t start killing each other.

I’m going insane over here. I’m going to hold onto this and write some more later.

Alright, it’s later. I don’t know if it’s nighttime or not because I’m in an underground section. It doesn’t matter. I can’t sleep any more, and neither can anyone else. Maybe someone else has written that down, but I bet they’ve hardly noticed. And they’re probably trying to sugar coat all of this so you don’t kill yourselves when it happens to you.

No one can sleep because some of Them are dead. I don’t know how it works, and I don’t want to.

I don’t think I’m going to live long enough to get this letter to another person. I just feel like it’s all over. The game’s played out. I know that it’s coming for me for the last time.

I can feel it on the surface, waiting for me. There are some stairs nearby that should bring me up there.

We all have to face death. Sooner or later.

[Note: This is Carol. This letter was left on my doorstep. None of us have seen its writer in days. We fear he didn’t make it.]