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Slender Tricks "Just run, Pewdie!" Cry screamed, hopping over the rocks in the large creek, in the middle of the woods.
Running was all they could do, but they knew the beast was faster. That thing would always win, no matter what they did. If they ran, walked, crawled, or begged, that thing would show no mercy. The two men knew what happened to the people who entered these woods, and they would try anything just to escape.
"What about T-" Pewdie tried to say, almost in tears.
"It's too late, Pewds!" Cry screamed, trying to get his friend to catch up with him.
Cry and Pewdie ran towards the other shore line of the creek, hoping over the rigged rocks, trying not to fall into the water. Unfortunately, as they reached the shore, the familiar lack of face, well suited man, appeared on the bank, those tentacles beginning to flail, ready to grab up anything that came close.
"Pewds, stop!" Cry screeched as he just about fell over
“This way, Pewdie!” I commanded, while pointing my sword to the right. I did it even though he couldn’t see me. All he could see was the small golden statue in his hand, but he heard me. That small object was the connection between his world and mine.
“Ok, Stephano.” He replied. I walked down the dark, molded hallway next to my best bro. I wore a golden long-sleeve shirt, flats, & jeans which were underneath a long skirt. My hair tied up underneath my turban.
Something was… DIFFERENT, about this custom mod. It’s so cold… It felt a bit eerie, being in the west wing. Like it usually does when the game isn’t played; when the castle is our home… when the dangers are horrifyingly real!
Do you remember Bluey? Or Sammy Sue? Probably not. To you it may just look like he just forgot about those characters. But in reality, they died. When amnesia is like that if you die, it’s for good. There are no respaw
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
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