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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.