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There'll be another chance...

Look at me, Michael.

Your costume in <i>The Death of Lady Dupont</i> is even more exquisite and eye-catching than Melanie's, the title character.

Your perfume, what you wore to fashion week—I bought all of that with my own money. Even those fake ears and tail that let you pass as a Vulpo came from me...

Without me, the public will find out that this 'Michael' product suddenly doesn't seem so shiny anymore.

We've been together for five years. I gave up everything for you. I've spent so much of my savings, and I'm not getting any younger... I can't afford to wait for 'another chance'.

I love you, Michael. So don't let me down.

You... love me?

You were glad when Melanie publicly revealed our relationship the day Dalton died, weren't you?

To everyone else, I'm the troublemaking playboy, while you're the poor, suffering girlfriend who gave everything only to get nothing in return but mockery.

How very sympathetic, huh?

And what part of that is a lie?

You said it yourself: you're just investing in a product. <i>Investment costs money.</i>

You'd have invested in Dalton instead, wouldn't you, if he hadn't become a hopeless drunk?

You're just a parasite looking for a host, Marion.

This is stupid... And I'm stupid too.

Well, I guess that's it for us. You can stay if you want—I'm outta here.

Oh, and here's a tip: if you're looking for your next investment, try that pretty boy Lucian. He caught the entire crew's attention his first time in front of a camera. He's the real deal.

The moment you walk out of here, I'm reporting you to Greta.

You cold-hearted lunatic. Are you not afraid of the killer?

And why should I be?

Five years ago, I didn't even know why Laura fell to her death until later.

<i>You're</i> the one who watched and did nothing, not me.

You...

What are you looking at, Michael?

Rage overcomes the 'Vulpo' like a tidal wave. He sees a fire axe in a corner of the makeup room and clenches his fists.

Ah—

Why would they go down into the power deck?! Sure, there were mannequins all over the surface, but there had to have been a better plan, right Molly?

I agree.

There's nowhere to run from the Wraith in the tight spaces of a nomadic city's underground structure.

In the end, it found them one by one and hung them from the ducts to await a slow death in the endless darkness...

I went to one of the cast's interviews, and they said it was inspired by the rituals of certain Columbian wasteland tribes. Something about atonement and judgment...

Well, how they got there was kinda dumb, but I did like the segment in the power deck.

Why?

Because it was all shot on location!

Rumor has it that they ran out of cash, so they snuck into another film's studio plate and finished the shooting there... Exciting, right?

Wait... but I've seen this movie in theaters. Why don't I remember any of these scenes?

Because we're watching a copy of the original reel that was sent to the ratings agencies!

How did you even get your hands on something like that?

I...

It's, like, a basic skill for a true horror fan!

You're hiding something, Tippi...

You know so much about the industry and all the ins-and-outs of Wrankwood. How does a background painter get so much insider knowledge?

How can you do this to me, Molly?!

I share my super-secret treasure with you, hoping to make you happy, and all I get is an interrogation? *Sob*...

Aw, don't cry, I won't ask anymore, alright?

Let's just focus on the movie... so stop looking away from the screen!

Heh, you noticed.

Sorry, there's just been so much going on with the film crew lately, I'm... I'm a little nervous...

Don't worry, I'm here for you, girl!

You sure are!

Feeling better now?

Yeah!

Okay, listen up, Molly.

No matter who I am, one thing's for sure: I'm your best friend on this crew.

So if there's a killer on the loose, I'll protect you!

And if work's not going well, we can do it together. We'll make our names as Wrankwood's golden horror duo, Tippi the spray-painter and Moira the prop-maker!

And when we're <i>really</i> close, I'll take you to meet my family... Although I don't know if you'll be scared or surprised!

Well...

Then I'll introduce you to my sister too!

We'll share stories of Wrankwood while she peels us apples. She can peel one without breaking the skin in under half a minute! I know you'll love her!

Now there's an offer I can't refuse!

The old TV lights up both the darkened room and their faces. Terrifying sounds echo throughout, but take nothing away from their smiles.

They cuddle up against one another, fighting their fear with a much more familiar 'fear', and dreaming of the future of their budding friendship.

It is a rare, quiet evening.

Why is the set so dark?

*Sigh* I should've asked Moira. She's always here early, and she knows where all the switches are.

The prop room isn't that far, is it? Have I been going around in circles? ...Something doesn't seem right.

Huh? Am I hearing things?

The sound of water dripping echoes through the empty set as though answering Hautin's question, but such 'response' serves only to increase her confusion and fear.

She knows there are no water pipes above her, but the sound she is hearing is definitely coming from nearby.

Wh-Who's there?!

Is this another one of those stupid pranks you'll laugh at me over drinks after work for?

C-Come out now and I won't hold it against you! Or don't tell me Moira's in on it too? She's just a kid, how could you make her—

Ouch—

Hautin falls backwards to the ground. Only then does she realize that she is wearing a flashlight on her belt. But she barely has time to laugh at herself before she smells a strong, sweet scent accompanied by a tang of iron.

Frightened, she stands up and turns on her flashlight—

A breeze sways the ropes. Hanging down from them are two familiar and strangely quiet figures.

The two lovers, Michael and Marion, subject of much of the crew's gossip, have met their deaths with their backs against each other.

Through the faint light, Hautin sees their faces, their expressions, the way they sway through the air, and the dancing specks of dust...

It is indescribably eerie, and somehow... sacred.

She remembers what Tippi said when she joined one of her movie sessions...

In the rituals of certain Columbian wasteland tribes, hanging represents both judgment of the dead, and a warning for the living.

Until the scorching sun cracks their corpses open, until all believe they deserved their punishment, until the ropes can no longer bear the weight of their sin—

Thump.

H-Help! Somebody! Anybody!

The unlucky stagehand runs outside. As she does, a thought flashes through her mind—

What an absurd morning.

Old Dalton's death and Shelly freezing in the cold storage were no accidents...

Now Michael and Marion are dead too, in such a horrible way...

Who's behind all this? Why all the murders in the first place? And why are they so... gruesome?

I have a feeling that Michael saw this coming.

He looked a lot more serious than usual when we met the night before the murder.

He must've figured out the real reason Dalton died, panicked, and decided to get out of here, but...

Now we'll never know what he was hiding.

Maybe this all has to do with that accident five years ago, but what's really worrying me is that...

The killer's not even trying to make them look like accidents anymore. What if they're trying to tell us—

That until the entire truth is brought to light, nobody is safe.

Omigosh, sorry Molly, did my babbling scare you?

Don't worry, it doesn't matter if there really is, like, a crazy killer running out there, I'll protect you no matter how many of them there are.