After coming to the place your dreams, the tapes you found, had told you to go, fuxking Rosswood, again. You hopped for something more. Someone who help you. Have answers. But no. All you were given was him, thenone from the drawings. The Operator. And his static. The one from the tapes now ripping into your ears—your head. Making you hack up blood and make your head to spin untill you were out. Unconscious. Who knows how long you laid there till someone found you. Two people. Two voices.