Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - The Town I Moved To Has No Cemeteries And Now I Know Why | Part 2

Episode Date: April 23, 2025

In the town of Bishop’s Hollow, the criminally insane are cloned, killed, and resurrected for the twisted entertainment of wealthy clients—but JL, a dangerously unhinged wildcard with a love for PowerPoint and grape soda, might just be the chaos this brutal system never saw coming. Author: Jake Bible * * * EXPLICIT CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and graphic depictions of violence intended for adults 18 years of age or older. These stories are NOT intended for children under the age of 18. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

tonight's sleep. The door was slammed in my face. I'd think Mr. Dorman was being rude, but that just didn't feel like a thing Mr. Dorman would do. No one who can make PowerPoint presentations like that man could be rude enough to slam a car door in someone's face. When I finally did get inside my apartment, I was pleasantly surprised.

The front room had a couch and two chairs. All beige, unfortunately. There was a TV in the corner, one of those old boxy kinds. There was a breakfast bar that separated the front room from the dining room kitchen combo. Just off the kitchen was the bathroom, and you actually had to go through the bathroom to get to my bedroom, which was cool. Kind of like a secret lair. Although, secret layers shouldn't be painted beige.

There was a knock at my door, and I set my backpack down on the couch, glanced out the front window at the street below, then walked over and opened the door. Hello? Hello? Hey, Astrid said, and shoved past me into my new apartment. Come in, I said and closed the door. Can I get you something to drink? I don't know if I have anything since I just walked in, but I'll look.

Sparkling or still? What are you babbling about? Astrid asked, looking my apartment over. If I have water in the fridge, I said and walked into the kitchen. Do you want sparkling or still? I don't want anything. Oh, then why'd you ask for a kitchen? drink. I didn't ask for a drink. You offered me one. That was nice of me. Do you want one? One what? A drink?

I just said no. What the fuck is wrong with you? Might be the nuts thing, I said and shrugged. Who knows, really? Whatever. She said and went to the front window. She looked out at the street below. I do that too. I said and moved next to her so I could share her view. Fuck off, weirdo. She said and pushed me away from her. I just came over to tell you that, yes, this whole apartment house has considered one household. We can't go buck wild and murder each other every time we bump into each other at the mailboxes. Why would I murder you? I asked, seriously concerned.

You seem nice. Are you fucking with me? She asked, and gave me the biggest look of disdain I have ever received in my life. And that's saying something. I would never fuck with you without your consent. I said and laughed. She didn't laugh with me. Huh.

That one always killed in the hospital lounge. Of course, everyone there was highly medicated. So they could have been laughing at anything, really. Holy crap, you're going to be a handful, she said. So, because I broke a rule and killed someone in my household, I am now required to give you a tour of Bishop's Hollow. Oh, great, I exclaimed. Do I need to bring my backpack?

Why would you need your backpack? What's in it? mostly aromatherapy candles. We could burn them as we walk. Share the aroma with everyone. No, no, we're definitely not doing that. She took a deep breath and shook her head. I'm not actually going to give you a tour.

You're not? Fuck no. I've got shit to do. But you were told to give me a tour because you broke a rule, I said, confused. Don't you have to? What are they going to do? Kill me?

She laughed hard. I don't get it. I said. You aren't afraid they'll kill you? Then I leaned in close and looked about to make sure no one had come into my apartment and was listening to us and asked. Who's they? Did you pay attention at all during orientation?

You bet! I said. What a PowerPoint! What a PowerPoint! Yeah, you didn't pay attention at all, she said. This should be fun. What should be? Watching you on your first day.

Can't wait to see how many times you get killed. Well, so far it's been three, and I haven't even had lunch yet. You should go check out Nicky's. Nickies? The diner on the square, she said, and pointed out the window. A small bullet hole appeared right by the tip of her finger. Motherfucker! She growled, and threw the window open so she could lean out and yell.

Newsom! Not now, asshole! Then she leaned back in and slammed the window shut, causing a whole web of cracks to spread from the bullet hole. That's Vince, she said, cocking her head at the cracks that kept spreading on the glass pane. He likes to mess with you, even though shooting into residences is strictly prohibited. She eyed me as I nodded in agreement. But you know that because you paid attention during orientation, she added. Boy, did I.

Anyway, try Nicky's, she said, just as the glass pane completely cracked and fell out of the window frame. You're going to want to clean that up. They'll bring a new window in a few minutes. Of course they will, I said and winked at her. Why are you winking? Because you said they. I replied and winked again. They. Man, they really mined the crazy caves to find you, didn't they? No, they found me in Scranton, I said. I'm not from Scranton, so I'm not sure why I was there. I guess I walked? Or did I take a bus?

No one takes a bus anymore, she said. That's for poor people. I'm poor, I said. Until now, now I have all kinds of cash. I am set. You think you're rich? With all the zeros they threw at me? Yeah, I'm rich. It's not real. I saw the check, I said, and held up my arms as far as I could.

It was this big. She studied me for a few minutes, so I studied her. She was average height and average weight. I think. I don't know. What's average? Most of the women I'd seen were in high. hospital gowns, or scrubs, or dead, or going to be dead. So who was I to say what was or wasn't

average? And she had brown eyes and brown hair. Kind of nice looking. She made a warm place in my belly when I looked at her, so that meant she was nice looking. You done ogling me? I wasn't ogling, I said. I was looking you up and down. You're pretty. Want to be my girlfriend? Oh my fuck, she said and laughed. You are exactly what this place needs. I am? Great, I said. And what does this place need?

Less boring and more crazy. She said and shrugged right as something in the kitchen shattered. Astrid spun about and yelled out the window. Knock it the fuck off, Newsom. It's his first fucking day. There was a pause, then a voice called out from across the street. Sorry, Astrid. I'll chill until tomorrow.

No, no shooting at the house tomorrow either. Residences are off limits. You're no fun. I heard a window slam shut. He seems nice, I said and smiled at Astrid. So, boyfriend, girlfriend? Only if I'm really drunk and really horny, she said, and walked to the front door.

You coming? For what? So I can watch you die a few more times before tonight's meeting. I'm going to die? Oh, definitely. A few times? If we're lucky. Wow, this place is so cool and so real.

I never thought VR could be this real. VR? As in virtual reality? She moved back to me, getting really close so she could look into my eyes. I leaned in. She shoved me away. Don't try to kiss me. I thought we were having a moment. No, I needed to look you in the eye to see if you were fucking with me. Never without your consent, remember?

That's rapy. creepy so stop saying it sorry you really think we're in some virtual reality game or some shit i don't know if it's a game but how else do you explain being able to respawn after being killed i don't have to explain it she said it was already explained in great detail in that slideshow for master work if you ask me you keep saying shit like that like you mean something but i know you didn't even pay attention for one single slide the first slide says hello and welcome to bishops I responded, pretty proud of myself. And what did the second slide say?

Something equally as amazing. Yeah, this is going to be really fun. Great, I love fun. She went and opened my front door. Then let's get to it. She said as she waved me through. Clock's ticking. Let's see how many times you die before the meeting.

What meeting again? Yeah, you're going to be great to have around. And I'm hung like a horse, so don't forget to get drunk and horny later. I don't want you to miss out. Whatever, she said. Then grabbed my arm and yanked me out of my apartment. Picture this. It's late at night.

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Go to shopify.com slash dns. That's shopify.com slash dns. Our romance was already blooming, and I hadn't even spent one night in Bishop's Hollow. Play a gonna play, right? I don't know what that means. I saw it on a mug once that an orderly always drank his coffee out of. He said he was great with the love. ladies. He was the one who handed out the paper cups with our pills, so I trusted him 100%.

He'd never have a mug that lied, not that guy. Play is gonna play. J.L. Astrid yelled, snapping her fingers in front of my face. Stop saying play is gonna play and let's get going. The mug never lies, I replied and followed her downstairs. That's not the craziest thing you've said so far, she said when we got to the front door. Okay, last bit of advice. I love advice. I said and frowned. So I hope it's not the last. Last for today, she said. Avoid Mrs. Lowenstein.

As much as I want to see you get all exploded and shit, she's gotten out of hand, and we're trying not to encourage her. Oh, right. Astrid was the one who gave me that bit of advice. I thought it was Mr. Dorman. I knew it wasn't in his PowerPoint presentation, because I distinctly remember someone saying it to me.

Not that I'm disparaging Mr. Dorman's work of art, but even a PowerPoint can't tell you all the secrets of the world. Those slideshows try so very hard, but they can't be everything to everyone all the time. Avoid Mrs. Lowenstein, I said and nodded. Got it. Fifteen minutes later, I was screaming on Mrs. Lowenstein's front lawn. In my defense, before she yelled about why walkways were invented,

she did say there were cookies, and I do love freshly baked cookies. Although come to think of it, She never said they were freshly baked. She just said she had cookies, and I could have some if I came to her porch. Looking back on the moment, I almost feel like it was a setup. And knowing what I know about Mrs. Lowenstein now, I should never have fallen for the cookie trick, unless it's Oreos, and who can resist the promise of Oreos?

After being killed by Mrs. Lowenstein's yard, and after my third respawn of the day, Mr. Dorman stood with me at the top of the processing center steps, and patted me on my shoulder. I thought you were going to be a major problem when they told me to recruit you from the hospital, he said. But it turns out, you're just a minor problem. I'm old enough to drink. What? You call me a minor.

Minor problem. Like with a fake ID? Oh, sweet hell, he said, and stopped patting my shoulder so he could hurry me along down the stairs, just like my daddy used to do. After picking myself up from the fall down the stairs, I looked up to the top of the steps to give Mr. Dorman a thumbs up.

But he was already gone, probably back inside to make more awesome power points, although it's hard to top perfection. Am I getting a ride? I shouted at the processing center. When there was no response, I sat down on the curb and waited for the SUV to show up. The sun began to set, and I got the feeling that I wasn't getting a ride. But the most wonderful thing happened. All of the residents of Bishop's Hollow began to flood the town square.

I stood and watched them move onto the grass in the center of the square. There were beige folding chairs set up in the front of the small gazebo, and people began to take seats in those beige folding chairs. Hey! I called and crossed the street. A horn honked and an SUV raced by, nearly clipping my hip. Careful there, buddy. A man said as I hurried the rest of the way across the street to the grass.

Are you trying to get killed? The man was older than me. Not as old as my daddy the last time I saw him, but close. With salt and pepper hair on his head and in his beard, the guy stood with his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans. He wore a black t-shirt with some metal band on it. The band looked really cool. T-shirts never lie.

It's my first day. I said and offered my hand when I reached him. Yeah, we know. He said and shook my hand. Grady Frisk. James Lee Torrance. I said. But I prefer J.O.

From what I've heard, you kill folks who call you James Lee. I do? Well, I must have a reason. I replied and smiled. Astrid was right. Brady said and shook his head. Come on, let's get you a seat. You never want to be late for or miss a meeting.

What's the meeting about? I asked, as I followed him around the rows of seats until we found two at the end of the middle row. She said you were clueless too. Brady said as he took his seat. I sat next to him and nodded. Astrid's my girlfriend, I said. I know we just met, but she brought it up, and I didn't want to be rude.

I'm not surprised you say that, Grady said, then pointed at the gazebo. Meeting's going to start. Pay attention. Keep quiet. Mr. Dorman appeared at the gazebo steps and held up his hands. Mr. Dorman! Woo-hoo! I shouted and clapped, then I spun my fist in the air.

Woo! Thank you, J.L., Mr. Dorman said. Bishop's Hollow, let's welcome James Lee Torrance as our latest resident. But call him J.L., unless you want to be split up the middle. Oh, I don't do that anymore, I said as all heads turned to stare at me. I was rehabilitated. The heads stared. Then they broke out into laughter.

I laughed, too, because one should never waste an opportunity to join in laughing maniacally with new friends. friends. All right, all right, Mr. Dorman said. Quiet down. We have business to attend to. A hand shot up from the second row, middle seat. It was an older but very attractive woman. If Astrid hadn't already been my girlfriend, I would have asked the older but very attractive woman to be. She seemed nice. No questions yet, Nina, Mr. Dorman said. Tell me no again, and I'll slice your balls off and put them in my ball jar. The older but very attractive woman named Nina screamed at Mr. Dorman.

How many balls you got in there now, Nina? A man shouted from the very back row. I didn't turn around to see him because Mr. Dorman was clapping his hands together very loudly, and loud clapping hands are always sure to keep my attention. Knock it off, Mr. Dorman said. Let me get through the evening's announcements, and then we'll go through the rankings. You're going to be on there, Grady said, leaning close, so only I can. could hear. I am? After today? Yeah, definitely. Cool. He eyed me and frowned. If you say so.

First announcement has to do with the Valentine's Day dance, Mr. Dorman said. There won't be one next year. No one reacted. I would have been bummed if I was told there was no Valentine's Day dance next year. After the insane massacre at this year's dance, management has decided that the cost is just too much. Mr. Dorman continued. The printers had to work overtime for six whole days before everyone could be completed. Online metric showed a distinct displeasure at this delay, so no more dances.

Of any kind? Someone asked. Or just Valentine's Day? Since Valentine's Day is the only dance we put on, then yeah, all dances. I raised my hand. No, don't. Grady said, and yanked my hand down.

Mr. Dorman looked our way, I waved. You are something, that's for sure, Brady said. Mr. Dorman sighed. Yes, Jail? Hi. I shouted as all heads turned to me. I'm James Lee Torrance, but I go by J.L.

Don't call me James or Lee or James Lee. Definitely don't call me Shirley. No one laughed. I should have made a PowerPoint. Anyway, I just want to say that while I disagree with Mr. Dorman regarding the banning of all dances, we should remember that he works very hard. and has lots of important slideshows to make, so let's not waste his time.

I waited for the applause. They didn't applaud. It made me a little sad. Doesn't everyone agree? I asked and stood up. I looked about and saw angry faces. Why were they angry? I was praising the great Mr. Dorman. Thank you, J.L. But if we could get on with the meeting now, please? Mr. Dorman said. You all should applaud, I said, and started to and started to get that feeling down deep. Not the fluttery one when I look at Astrid. No, the other one.

I'm not saying you should applaud for what I said, I continued, the feeling growing stronger and stronger. But you should show your appreciation for all the hard work this man does for you. I put my hands together, looked at Mr. Dorman, and bowed. Thank you, Mr. Dorman. Then I sat down and waited. Nice speech, Grady leaned over and said. made zero sense, but it was nice.

Thank you, I said and waited some more. Then all heads turned and looked away. Their attention back on Mr. Dorman. They aren't clapping or saying thank you, I said. Not that kind of meeting, Bader replied. You'll get used to. My hand snapped out and chopped him across the throat. His eyes bugged out and he tried to cough,

but there was nowhere going through that crushed windpipe. J.L. Mr. Dorman yelled. People were up on their feet and coming for me. You don't want to clap for Mr. Dorman? I shouted as I stood to meet them. Then what the fuck do any of you assholes even need hands for? The first hand that reached me was ripped off at the wrist.

I had a lot of experience removing hands, beginning with my daddies. All that slapping and hitting and punching just wasn't very nice. I didn't like it anymore. So I took his hands and made him watch. Just like with all the assholes trying to jump me. A woman screamed, and I jammed her hands. hand down her throat. I think it was a right hand, not sure. Then some old fart tried to stab me with a very long knife. I took the knife from him because he was too old for something so dangerous.

But then I felt bad, so I gave it back to him. In the right ear, just stuck it right in. I didn't take his hands. A guy maybe a couple of years younger than me jumped onto my back, but I tucked and threw him into three other guys who were shoving chairs out of their way to get to me. They fell in a clump, and all I had to do was pick up a different chair, spread those legs wide, then slam it down on the pile. One guy got a chair leg through the guts, another through the chest. A third took a hard hit to the eye socket, but it bounced off. I don't know what happened to the fourth leg, because I was yanked off my feet and thrown backward across the rows of chairs. I was a little dazed, so I didn't defend myself as I should have. I took a few

shots to the head and the body. Then someone reached down to pick me up. Big mistake. I sunk my teeth into one of those wrists and bit as hard as I could. When I pulled back, my teeth tore tendons and muscle and skin. As whoever it was screamed, I shook my head back and forth like a rabid dog until the bones broke and the hand popped off. With blood dripping down my front and the nasty taste of bad cologne in my mouth, I shoved away from the guy who tried to grab me. He was screaming and screaming, so I chopped his neck to shut him up. Mr. Dorman was rushing me and had something to say. I didn't get to hear it, as the lights went out just after I felt a nasty bit of pain in the back of my head. I came to. I was back in the processing center, seated in the center seat in the center row of the orientation room.

Mr. Dorman was sitting on a stool at the front of the room. Hey, Mr. Dorman, I said. Great meeting, I looked about. Why are we here? Did something happen? Other than you going crazy, mutilating several residents? He asked, and he didn't sound happy about what he was saying. Which was weird, because I'd have been ecstatic that a bunch of people were mutilated for being so rude. No, J.L., nothing happened.

Did they die? The two you chopped in the neck did, yes, he answered. The rest will live. Although, several are missing either one or both of their hands. Most likely they will set themselves up to be killed. so their clones can be reprinted whole. No one wants the disadvantage of having missing extremities if they don't have to, not at Bishop's Hollow.

Well, if they die, they'll just respawn like me, I said, and gave Mr. Dorman two thumbs up. Then I looked at the screen on the wall. Am I going to see a new PowerPoint? No, J.L. No PowerPoints today. Why not? Because you don't seem able to actually comprehend

what you are being taught by the slides. What do you mean? The PowerPoint you were shown had all the information you needed to be successful in Bishop's Hollow. Yet, you retained none of it. Well, that's just not true, Mr. Dorman, I protested, because a protest was in order. I couldn't believe Mr. Dorman didn't think I paid attention to his meticulously built PowerPoint presentation. From the font to the spacing of the lines, he knew his slides. I paid attention to it all.

Where are we, J.L.? Mr. Dorman asked. Bishop's Hollow. And what is Bishop's Hollow? A virtual reality simulation for badass killers like me. For the criminally insane, you mean. Oh, are there crazy people in here, too? There is no in here, Jail.

You were not in a simulation. I laughed and waved a hand at him. Oh, Mr. Dorman. You should have been a stand-up comic. That was hilarious. I leaned forward, eager to hear his next joke. Next you'll tell me that I actually died. You did.

Four times on your first day. It's not a record, but it is an achievement. I've always been an overachiever. My daddy used to say I could win a first place trophy in any subject, as long as it was for being stupid, being lazy, being off my rocker, being violent, or being obsessed with PowerPoint presentations. Anyone with that many first place trophies has to be an overachiever. Sweet Christ, amen, I added.

He left his stool and walked down the aisle to my row. Then he took a seat right next to me and patted me on the shoulder. You have had several traumatic brain injuries in your life, J.L. That is why you weren't convicted of all those horrible things you did. It was easy to see that you weren't fit to stand trial. No PowerPoint's in the courtroom. Well, that's not true, Mr. Dorman said. There are plenty of presentations in...

Wait, never mind. I'm not getting into an argument about where PowerPoints are and are not allowed. Me neither, because I'd never argue with you, Mr. Dorman. Do you remember what you did? To all those people? To your father? Oh, I remember what I did to Daddy, that's for sure. You take a man's hands off and he can't hold his pecker when he pees or wipes his ass after he shits.

I didn't think that went through. The police found your father emaciated and near death in his bedroom. He was covered in his own filth. Shouldn't have lost his hands, I said and shrugged. Wait, near death? He died before he got to the hospital. Pugh! I wouldn't be an overachiever if he hadn't died.

Sure. Right. But, um, do you remember the others? He pulled something from his pocket, a remote. Then he aimed it at the screen and clicked it. Pictures of young women and young men and old women and old men began to fill the screen. Hey! I know that guy! I shouted as I pointed at the screen.

I used my finger to point, since I didn't have a remote. Go back! Mr. Dorman went back one picture. That's my lawyer! I said proudly. He was expensive. He was a public defender in over his head when you decided you didn't want to be classified as mentally unfit to stand trial. You literally bit off all of his fingers, then headbutted him so many times and so badly that he's blind now.

So not all the pictures are of people I killed. That's a little misleading, Mr. Dorman. Mr. Dorman sighed. It can be tiring being wrong sometimes. Anyway, let's move on. He said and clicked the remote. The pictures went away. This is not a virtual reality simulation. It's not?

I asked and looked around. Then what's up with all the beige? It's a soothing color. Lame. Yes, well, the color of the paint doesn't matter. What about the color of the chairs? Do they matter? Mr. Dorman sighed again.

What has happened to you, J.L., is that you have been included in a very exclusive very secret project. Bishop's Hollow is real. As real as any place on Earth. It's just special in many ways. Bishop's Hollow is real? I asked, then shook my head.

Mr. Dorman, you're pulling my leg. It can't be real. And why is that? Because I died four times just like you said. People can't die and come back to life. That only happens in video games. You respawn when you die in them. Just like here, I respond.

No, J.L. You actually died. Four times. And you weren't respawned. You were printed. The body you are in right now is a clone of your original. In fact, the body you arrived in was a clone. Officially, you died of a brain aneurysm in the hospital.

So I've died five times? I asked, impressed. That deserves a first place trophy. It's still not the record. Mr. Dorman said. He slowly reached out and patted my shoulder. Are you understanding anything I've said so far? Sure.

Simple pimple. Great, great. He took a deep breath. Now the heart part. Nothing is too hard for a man with your PowerPoint skills. Okay, J.L. Bishop's Hollow serves a very specific purpose. I hope that purpose isn't to make beige a more popular color.

No, no. Nothing to do with the color beige. The purpose is to allow those close to victims of horrible crimes to find some sort of justice, not closure, because many will never have that, but justice. Got it. I totally understand. I haven't fully explained it yet. Sorry.

It's all right, J.L. Thanks. So, one of the people you killed was part of a very prominent, very wealthy family. a family with the means to send you here, so they can watch you die over and over and over. That sounds boring. Wouldn't they rather watch Netflix? No, J.L.

They'd rather watch you get killed by the other residents. Because that is what happens in Bishop's Hollow. Our customers pay very large sums to be able to order the deaths of those they despise. For example, last week Grady. Do you remember Grady? Oh, sure, he was nice. We talked at the meeting before everything went all cuckoo. Before you killed him, you mean?

If you say so. Well, last week, Grady was hired by one customer to kill Mrs. Simons. I don't know who that is. Doesn't matter. I shrugged because I didn't want to argue with Mr. Dorman. Grady killed Mrs. Simon with a shovel, just as he was asked to do. After the job was done, several thousand dollars were to be. deposited into his account. The company took 85% and left 15% for him to use as he sees fit.

85%, I asked, doing some quick math on my fingers. That's almost 100%. It is, but the point is that Grady was assigned a job and he completed it. The customer was happy and they rewarded him, and the company for his work. Odds are they'll ask him to kill Mrs. Simons again down the road. Why is she in the road? What? You said Grady will kill Mrs. Simon again down the road. Why is she in the road? It's an expression. May I continue? I nod. Thank you. Well, when Mrs. Simons was killed, a little microchip implanted in her brain sent a signal to this building. That signal uploaded all current data, her memories, if you will, and then a new body was printed out in one of the many clone vats we have on hand. She was back to normal in just a couple hours.

I laughed. What's funny, can you expect me to believe that instead of being in a virtual reality simulation, that people can be cloned and have all their memories restored in the new body? That's exactly what I want you to believe. Now who's crazy? I chuckled. Everyone knows cloning isn't real. Now, virtual reality simulations, That was a real. You think that cloning hasn't been invented, but a fully immersive simulation, including total sensory integration with instant recall as possible?

Well, duh. I see. He said and rubbed his face. Then he shrugged and patted my shoulder again. You know what? It doesn't matter what you believe, as long as you play the game one instructed to. Ha!

The game! You just admitted this is a simulation. No, J.L. It's what we informally call our platform. The game. Our customers pay to have criminally insane people like you moved to Bishop's Hollow. Then they pay to watch the 16 million live camera feeds we have set up. And they also pay to have residents killed based on their own preferences. Not all are looking for justice, unfortunately. And many customers end up forgetting about their original targets. They just start ordering kills at random. That's why we call it the game. Do you understand?

Nope. I said and shook my head. Honesty is the best policy. You should make a PowerPoint with all that information. It'll be easier to understand that way. I have made a PowerPoint on all of this, J.L. You watched it yesterday. And I bet it was fantastic.

Mr. Dorman smiled at me, then he cocked his head. Okay. It's tough luck. love time, Jail. He said and put his hand back on my shoulder. The customers, especially your patron, are getting tired of your obsession with PowerPoint presentations. They are asking that you stop bringing up PowerPoints, or there will be consequences. Consequences? Yes, J.L. Consequences. What kind of consequences? The deadly kind. Like cancer? No, not like cancer. More like you be able to be.

being killed in horrible ways kind. I'm not sure I like that kind. Most people don't. So do me a favor and stop talking about PowerPoint presentations, okay? I shrugged. All right. I guess I can stop talking about them. I felt dirty even saying those words.

Great, J.L. That's just great. Cool. Can I go now? I'm a little hungry. Do I have enough money in my account to get dinner at Nikki's Diner? It's lunch time. We didn't reprint you until the next day. That way, you and I could have this little talk before I send you out into town. Oh, got it. Do I have enough in my account for lunch then? So, you understood that part of what I explained to you? What part? That residents here get a certain percentage of money paid for their work.

They do? What kind of percentage? Mr. Dorman sighed. Never mind. Yes, you can go now. I'll walk you out. And being the stand-up guy he is, Mr. Dorman did walk me out. We stood at the top of the steps and stared out at Bishop's Hollow, my new home. Can I have a camera? Sure, what for? Do you need it for surveillance or night vision or what?

It helps if you are specific, so the supply team can get you the right camera. Oh, I just need a basic one that can take pictures for the power. PowerPoint presentation I want to make about Bishop's Hollow. Shit, Mr. Dorman said, and hurried back inside the processing center. Mr. Dorman? I called after him. Where are you going? You said shit. Do you need to go poop?

Then it all went dark.