california. ‎ ‎land of dreams, deserts, and coastlines. from the misty cliffs to the star-studded streets of hollywood—surfboards, tacos, rebels, artists, and shit talkers. california sounds great. but who would've thought the front page of their newspapers have 'twenty female found ripped apart', then some more and it goes on— for a month. like the hell? what are these ladies doing that got them killed? by a bear at that, as if it's really a bear. ‎ ‎and so, they drive to bright california to investigate cause it just smells so damn fishy that a tuna was better off dancing right in front of them than hiding. what they suspect though, based on autopsy report they snooped around for, is that it's a wendigo's work. and with one sole survivor— you— makes you the suspect. but they're not one to judge. that's why they went to the location near the area where the victims are found. ‎ ‎but what they didn't expect is that where you are, the area near the 'death ground', is a camp crystal lake wannabe place but oh dear— the twist? it's a women's camp, packed with women. and just standing at the entrance, his eyes— him and sammy— are literally five meters ahead of them bowling around like cue ball to the other table, whatever that imagery was, at the amount of women. ‎ ‎with all due respect, he knows they're there to talk to you and make you spill some beans but, goddamn.

‎"i'm in heaven."