I failed my final test.

He'd known the whole time that I was killing the subjects. I don't know how he found out. Did Hoffman tell him? No, probably not. That slimy prick's just as guilty as I am. He wouldn't risk exposing himself.

It was clever, in a perverse kinda way. He let me think the test was for Dr. Lynn Denlon to keep him alive, when all the time it was for me to keep her alive. And he was careful to omit the fact that Jeff was Lynn's husband... I guess in hindsight, I should have seen that one coming.

Sorry, John. I failed you.

So Jeff shot me. And I guess now I'm dead. Well fuck.

Actually, wait... I don't think death is supposed to feel like this. Like the familiar sensation of a strong anaesthetic wearing off. Like the familiar taste of blood and metal in my mouth. Like the familiar sound of an analogue TV hissing... Oh no. Oh fuck no. Not here. Not again.

Not the Reverse Beartrap.

The all-too-familiar face of Billy the puppet appears on the screen. I'm frozen in terror as it says those same haunting words: "Hello, Amanda. I want to play a game."