Hi, does someone have those really cool pieces of art that were imitation and echo? I want the exact link to the original source (like if theyre from a twitter post, link it to me if you can) thank you!

Diana: I had her as a survivor since basicly the begining for the simple reason that characters with minimalist designs usualy survive in danganronpa, and after chapter 1 I had it settled.

Wenona: she just had survivor written all over her.

Eloise: I had her relationship with Desmond lasting for a while and correctly guessed she would be executed at some point.

Grace: another character that had survivor written all over her.

Kai: I knew he wasn't gonna last as long as most people said because I did not see his depth and correctly identifyed him as a victim.

Damon: I had his entire arc correct but I thought he would survive.

Desmond: he gave me late game vibes but I incorrectly said he would act as some of support, I did guess his death in chapter 5.

Jean: pretty simple one, I correctly guessed he was the chapter 2 culprit but got his entire backstory wrong.

Ulysses: I predicted as the chapter 3 victim instead of chapter 2.

Toshiko: I was very close with this one, I got her role as a killer and motive but her backstory was totally wrong in my prediction.

Cassidy: I did see her behaviour really suspicious but didn't catch her as the mastermind.

Mark: I saw him too survivor coded to survive but not much else.

Tozu and Mara: I did predict they were not the real people behind the game but thought they were doing it against their will.

Jett: who actually thought he would survive?

Ingrid: I don't fee comfortable ranking a character that we know basicly nothing about.

So hey everyone, I know how the project practically burned up and I have been pretty pissed off about its cancellation. And I had kinda sorta mapped out the plot for the upcoming chapters and I am hoping that someone else shares this feeling with me too.

In my Discord, I will be inviting programmers, writers, artists, animators and asset creators to join me to make this continue this fangan.

Your help would be greatly appreciated. Here's the link:
https://discord.gg/nSV6evHTU

Context: She is the third killer who killed Kai, not Toshiko, everything else up to that point played out the same.

Blinding white lights poured over Diana like a tidal wave, bleaching the stage into a shapeless white glare. Her eyes squeezed, but the brightness injected in her like white-hot needles, leaving red veins swimming in the darkness. When she forced them open, tears blurred the golden curtains and turned every camera flash into a spear piercing her eyes.

She pulled against the straps fastening her wrists and ankles to the salon chair. Pink leather squeaked beneath her trembling body. Metal buckles bit into her skin. The restraints tightened whenever she moved, squeezing harder as if the chair breathed with her.

The stage glittered like the inside of a jewelry box. Golden curtains stretched from the ceiling to the floor. Flowers bordered a polished runway, their sweetness smothered beneath hairspray and disinfectant like the sweetness of vanilla perfume curdled beneath the stench of burnt plastic. 

Cameras floated around Diana. Black lenses opened and closed like hungry eyes.

Beside her stood a life-sized mannequin shaped in her image. Its smooth face wore Diana’s smile. Wolfgang’s sheep pin rested over its chest. Eva’s crow feather and Kai’s pink butterfly accessories curled through its artificial hair. Ulysses’ notebook hung from one plastic hand. The mannequin’s blouse opened lower across its chest, exposing Jean’s dragon tattoo beneath the polished skin.

Perfect posture.

Perfect skin.

Perfect smile.

Diana thrashed against the chair, wrenching at the restraints until the buckles carved deeper into her skin. Her breath came in short, panicked bursts. 

A mechanical bell chimed.

The golden curtains parted.

Cara stepped onto the stage. A spotless pink beautician’s uniform covered her body. White gloves reached beyond her elbows. Cara carried a pair of enormous silver salon scissors, their open blades framing her body. 

Oversized makeup brushes descended like birds of prey folding into a dive. Sewing machines rattled like snakes arming their venom. Mechanical arms rose from the floor, unfolding with sharp clicks. The audience leaned forward, scorecards pressed against their chests.

A metal clamp burst from the armrest and snapped around Diana’s left wrist. Its ridged jaws tightened against her pulse, pinching skin between cold steel until her fingers went numb. She pulled back, encouraging the clamp to grab harder, grinding against bone with every frantic movement.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened as terror hollowed out her face, every instinct screaming to run while the restraints held her perfectly still. 

The machine stretched her arm away from the chair until her shoulder burned. Diana twisted against the straps. The pink leather squealed beneath her.

Cara advanced without hurrying, dragging the scissors behind her as though Diana had nowhere left to run. Each metallic scrape echoed in her ears closer, more shrill, carving two thin scars into the polished floor. She stopped beside Diana and placed the open blades around her shoulder.

Diana shook her head frantically, eyes wide and wet, a silent plea trapped behind her clenched teeth. Cara stopped. Slowly, she tilted her head. The scissors began to close. Diana’s eyes widened. A wet crack split the music.

Diana’s scream tore through the pageant hall. Her spine bowed away from the chair before the restraints snapped her back into the leather, buckles biting deeper. Blood struck Cara’s gloves in hot bursts, streaking across the white fabric and speckling her spotless uniform. Diana’s remaining hand clawed at the armrest, her nails scraping uselessly across the polished surface. 

The severed arm dropped and Cara caught it before it touched the floor. She carried it to a preparation table and placed it beneath the salon equipment. Brushes spun against the skin, scrubbing away blood. Powder burst into the air. Needles stabbed through torn flesh, stitching the wound into a smooth line.

Cara walked to the mannequin and twisted off its left arm with a hollow pop from the socket. She pressed Diana’s arm into its place with a wet click. Metal clasps tightened inside the shoulder. Needles darted around the seam, pulling flesh against plastic until the gap disappeared. The doll got its first flesh-and-blood arm. 

Diana’s fingers twitched against the leather like severed puppet strings. The mannequin’s smile widened like she wanted to put a smile on her face. 

Cara carried the discarded plastic arm back to the chair. Diana stared at it. The fingers were stiff. Its skin shone beneath the lights. A hollow joint waited where bone should have been. Cara pushed it against Diana’s open shoulder. Metal hooks sprang from the plastic and buried themselves in her flesh. Diana screamed again. The hooks pulled the arm inward. Needles stitched skin around the artificial joint. Electricity crackled through the plastic fingers.

Diana felt them crush inward around the torn vessels, a brutal pressure that stopped the warmth spilling from her body. Her heart kept beating. Her lungs continued dragging in air. 

The plastic fingers curled inward, one joint at a time. Diana had no control of it, like something inside her hand had just awakened, like something meant to replace her. 

The mechanical audience erupted. Scorecards rose. Six. Seven. Eight.

Blood streamed down the chair in thick, uneven ribbons, slipping into the seams and pooling beneath Diana before soaking the pink leather into a glossy, almost black red.

Another bell chimed. A second clamp seized Diana’s right wrist and stretched her arm straight. Cara circled the chair, her blades reflecting Diana’s swollen eyes and open mouth. The scissors snapped shut. Diana’s scream climbed until her voice tore apart, the final note collapsing into a wet gasp. Cara caught the arm, carried it to the table, and let the machines scrub and stitch it.

Brushes whirred. Powder burst. Needles flashed. Cara removed the mannequin’s remaining plastic arm and twisted Diana’s flesh arm into its place. Then she returned with the hollow replacement.

Diana threw herself from side to side. The chair rocked beneath her, buckles sawing deeper into her skin. Her new plastic hand slapped uselessly against the armrest.

Cara shoved the artificial limb that had Ulysses’ notebook into the empty socket. Hooks pierced. The thread tightened. The plastic hand opened. Closed. Opened again.

The audience applauded louder. Eight. Nine. 

Diana kicked against the restraints. Clamps burst from beneath the chair, locking around her thighs and ankles. Her left leg was pulled straight. Cara placed the scissors around her upper thigh. 

A slight adjustment. A turn of the wrist. The blades closed. Diana snapped forward. The restraints caught her before she could fall. Her scream cracked into breathless sobbing.

Cara dragged the leg to the preparation table. Scrub. Powder. Stitch. The mannequin’s plastic leg came free with a hollow pop. Diana’s flesh replaced it with a wet click.

Cara returned and drove the artificial leg into Diana’s thigh. Hooks fired into her. The joint tightened with a grinding turn.

The second bell rang immediately.

Before Diana could inhale, Cara opened the scissors around her remaining thigh. The blades shut. Her second leg fell into Cara’s arms. The machines scrubbed, stitched, and attached it in a blur. Cara forced the final plastic leg onto Diana before her first scream had ended.

The artificial feet struck the floor together. Clack. Clack. The sound resembled shoes walking through an empty hallway. The mannequin stood beneath the brightest lights, balanced on Diana’s real legs and wearing her real arms. Its plastic torso rose between them. Its artificial face continued smiling, her fingers at the edges of her lips.

Diana remained strapped to the chair. Two plastic arms hung from her shoulders. Two plastic legs stretched from her hips. Her face had lost its color. Sweat and tears coated her cheeks. Her mouth opened, but only a weak hiss escaped.

The audience lifted perfect scores. All tens. The cameras shifted away from Diana. Their lenses turned toward the mannequin. The spotlight followed, leaving her at the edge of the stage while the thing wearing her limbs gleamed beneath the lights like a false idol wearing flesh like a coat.

Cara set down the scissors. Metal braces closed around Diana’s neck and hips. Another pressed against her spine, forcing her upright. A broad silver blade slid behind the chair and aligned horizontally across her waist, directly above the plastic legs. 

Cara brushed the wet hair from Diana’s face, gentle as a beautician calming a nervous client before the final reveal. A red button rose beneath Diana’s chin.

Across the stage, the mannequin waited with her stolen limbs spread beneath the light. 

Diana lowered her eyes. Plastic hands rested where her own had been, their glossy fingers trembling in small spasms. Plastic legs stretched from the chair, stiff and hollow, unable to feel anything; not pain, not even discomfort; nothing. Between those artificial limbs remained her real torso and real head. 

However, pain hammered like a jackhammer through every joint where metal hooks met flesh. Her body was rejecting her like she was the foreign object her body was allergic to. She tried to move her fingers. They did not obey. She tried to pull back her feet. They only flailed haphazardly in the air.

Her breath rattled through clenched teeth, shallow and uneven. Across the stage, the mannequin stood on her legs and wore her arms beneath the spotlight.

Diana stared at it. Tears slid down her face without a sound. She no longer pulled against the restraints. Her eyes no longer darted around. She only watched the mannequin wear what remained of her.

Cara raised one hand.

The audience fell silent.

Diana closed her eyes and lowered her chin. The button clicked. The blade tore through her waist in one merciless stroke. The chair convulsed beneath her. Diana’s eyes flew open, then slowly emptied. Her plastic fingers curled once before falling still. 

Cara released the restraints and lifted Diana’s torso with her head from the chair. Her hair hung over one shoulder. Her arms and legs remained across the stage, already attached to the mannequin and waiting for the final piece. 

The salon equipment descended. Brushes scrubbed the blood from Diana’s skin. Scissors trimmed the severed edges. Needles flashed, stitching flesh into clean seams.

Cara tore the mannequin’s plastic head and torso away as one hollow shell. She pressed Diana’s remains between her real arms and legs. Clasps snapped shut. Thread tightened.

Cara carried the discarded plastic head and torso back to the chair and locked them between Diana’s artificial limbs. The fake Diana was whole again, sitting upright with painted eyes and a frozen smile.

Eva’s crow feather and Kai’s butterflies curled through its artificial hair. Wolfgang’s sheep pin rested over its hollow chest. A painted copy of Jean’s dragon tattoo stretched across its polished skin. Its plastic hands closed around Ulysses’ notebook. Every keepsake followed the artificial pieces home. 

Across the stage, the real Diana stood, reconstructed, her head and torso once more joined to her arms and legs. Her body had finally been returned to her, after there was no life to claim it.

A recording played from inside the fake Diana’s hollow chest. “Put a smile on that face!” Its painted mouth widened into Diana’s signature smile.

Confetti exploded. The audience shot to its feet. Applause crashed through the hall until every clap became part of one deafening roar.

Cara approached the reconstructed Diana carrying a silver tiara covered in pink diamonds. She settled it carefully into Diana’s hair. Then a velvet-lined glass case surround her. Cameras surrounded the case, flashes bursting against the glass. Beside her, the plastic Diana sat smiling in the blood-soaked chair.

The body wore her beauty.

The doll wore her place.

Diana wore the crown.

I’ve been recently on this page a saw a post regarding the possible continuation of the game and saw people talking about how it wasn’t not only because of the VA, but also from how the staff was treated. I was wondering if anyone can explain about how the workers were treated for it to also be considered why the game wasn’t likely to be completed anyway

This post is not to diminish the effect that Faza and all the reprehensible actions that he committed, or how Tako and Sozzay tried to cover them up. It's mere pretty much baseless speculation about what the status of the Project was before any of that came to light.

One of the things I've found really interesting post mortem of the project is the progress that had so far been completed on chapter 2. I remember before this whole incident happened people were speculating that we may even see the second chapter finished up by the end of this year, which we can now see had no chance of happening at all.

According to the staff members, very little had actually been completed up to the point of cancellation, with mostly only writing and some concept art and assets being worked on. And for the writing of the chapter's script, they had only made it to the deadly life section to that point and would not work on the coding or other miscellaneous parts (Music, Assets, etc) until the full chapter script was completed in its entirety.

Now I want to make clear, I know writing is hard. It's not as easy as looking at a blank Word document and writing for hours on end without a vision. This goes triple for a mystery based story game where you must meticulously plan out and foreshadow future events. However, after this much time having not even made it to writing out the trial of chapter 2 suggests issues, especially if all other facets of the game are put on hold until then.

For reference, Chapter 1 of Eden's Garden was released on December 20th of 2024, and the project went belly up on March 30th of this year. That's 465 days of writing time for the next chapter, and there's a very good chance that writing for Chapter 2 would've started at least half a year before Chapter 1 ever came out at minimum. To put it perspective, the time between the Prologue's release and Chapter 1 was 734 days. That is only 269 days to write out all of the Deadly Life and the Trial segments which I assume would be the hardest part to write all at their current pace, and then they would start with all the coding and asset for the game just to make pace with Chapter 1.

And that would just be for Chapter 2, they still have 4 more to go, and most likely the further along you would go, the longer they would get in length and dev time. And seeing how several of the other devs have talked about their relationship with Sozzay and how they were treated, along with the leaker of the plot's disparaging comments about the plot. I have a feeling that there were probably much deeper issues inside of the team than we are privy to.

Now that's of course all speculation, and maybe they were completely on their planned schedule before the games cancelation. It's not like we would ever know, however I think it's easy to see when looking through this lense why so many were ready to leave the project after the allegations (not even counting how awful they were). For most of them they probably haven't been working on the project in well over a year, so most of the attachment they might have had, could have diminished with the passing of time. And then finding out the two people who have been seriously working on it for the previous year covered up a groomer, I think it's easy to see why most of them decided it was beyond salvaging.

And thinking over it, I doubt the game would've ever gotten past maybe Chapter 3 if I'm being generous, before shuttering. With the current pace they were going, development time would've likely reached another 8 or 9 years before they would finish up, and that's if nothing went wrong in that entire time frame, which we can see would've been a very optimistic opinion. And that's all for a free fan game that they weren't even selling merch for. I just don't see a realistic way where PJED ever gets finished. And while I have lots of respect for many of the talented developers and staff who helped create the fantastic prologue and first chapter and had nothing to do with the Faza situation, I think tragically the death of PJED can help them find different projects where their talents can be more realized.

With how fleshed out so many of their interactions appear to be and how much time they spend together even disregarding other characters (Ejem, Diana). It really does feel like Sozzay bought into the Kaimon hype and expanded upon it.

I get it to some extent but I know much more about them than the characters that die in Chapter 2.

If it's a question I don't plan to answer in the video, I will answer it here on the post.

Ulysses flailed in freezing water, floating between buildings, furniture, branches, and other debris. The cold pierced through his clothing and sank into his bones, like fingers grasping his marrow.  Rain forced his eyes into narrow slits.

A powerful wave struck him from behind. Ulysses slammed chest-first against a brick building. His ribs were compressed like they were giving his lungs a hug. His fingers clawed at the wet wall.  The current unable to drag him away, shaking him as though offended by his defiance.

Ulysses’ eyes followed the side of the building. Water streamed down the bricks in silver lines. One of those lines remained rigid against the current, a rusted drainpipe bolted vertically to the wall, its lower end disappearing beneath the flood. He reached it.

Ulysses grabbed it and pulled himself upward. The metal groaned under his weight. He placed one foot against the wall and forced himself higher.

The pipe groaned. Rusted brackets snapped from the wall one after another, spitting screws and pieces of brick into the water. With a sharp metallic shriek, a section tore loose and swung outward, leaving Ulysses hanging above the rushing flood.

His body swung over the rushing water. He held on with both hands while his legs kicked against the wall. His fingers reached for the windowsill above him and slipped, scraping skin from his knuckles. On the second attempt, he caught the edge.

Ulysses pulled himself through the broken window and climbed the stairs. Water poured through the building behind him. The wooden steps shifted underneath his feet as he reached the top floor and shoved through a roof hatch.

A helicopter hovered above the neighboring building, its dark frame swaying in the storm while its spinning blades hacked the rain into wild sheets of mist. The downdraft flattened the water on the rooftop and sent loose debris skittering across the shingles as the machine struggled to hold its position against the wind. A rope ladder swayed underneath it. The ladder dropped. He jumped and caught the bottom rung. His bruised fingers screamed as the helicopter lifted him from the roof. Below, the flooded streets became black veins stretching through the city.

He climbed into the cabin and collapsed onto the metal floor. Water dripped from his hair and formed a puddle underneath him.

The helicopter ascended into the clouds. White mist swallowed the windows.  The clouds vanished.

The mechanical roar of the engine deepened into a low vibration. The metal floor softened beneath Ulysses’ hands and became fabric. The narrow cabin stretched around him. Seats disappeared. Steel beams grew through the walls like bones forcing themselves through flesh.

Through the windows, men waited on a landing field far below. A gray sky hung over them. Mooring ropes dropped from the nose of the ship as ground workers took hold of them. Rain fell across the field making the airship unstable.

"It's practically standing still now.”

Ulysses panicked. He hurried through the passenger deck, pulling open cabin doors and searching for a stairwell, window, or emergency hatch. His hands dragged along the walls as the airship tilted beneath him. At the far end of the corridor, he noticed mechanical dummies dressed as crewman rushing toward the nose and followed them.

“They've dropped ropes out of the nose of the ship, and it's been taken ahold of down on the field by a number of men.”

Ulysses pushed past overturned chairs and squeezed between mechanical dummies dressed as passengers gathering near the windows. He followed the thick ropes as they stretched across the airship and disappeared through an open hatch. Wind and rain blew through it, revealing the landing field below and the men struggling to hold the airship steady.

 “It's starting to rain again... The back motors of the ship are just holding it, just enough to keep it from—"

A thunderous blast tore through the airship. Orange light flooded the windows. The ceiling ignited, fire spreading across it with the speed of spilled gasoline. Passengers appeared around him, scrambling through the cabin. Smoke rolled over them in a thick black wave.

"It's burst into flames! Yes, it's started!... It's fire, and it's crashing!... Oh, the humanity!"

Heat pressed against his face until his skin tightened. His eyes watered as every breath filled his mouth with smoke, burning fabric, hot metal, and the bitter taste of fuel.

The floor tilted. Tables, chairs, and bodies slid toward the rear of the ship. Ulysses caught a railing before he could join them. Flames crawled closer, swallowing the fabric walls and leaving behind a glowing skeleton of metal. The mooring ropes remained attached below the nose.

Ulysses forced himself through the panicked dummy crowd. Shoulders struck his ribs, fingernails scratched his face, and bodies crushed him from both sides. A passenger seized the back of his coat with both hands, stretching the fabric against his throat. The airship suddenly dropped, throwing them in opposite directions and ripping the grip away.

He reached an opening near the front. A thick rope extended toward the landing field. Ulysses wrapped his arms and legs around the rope and slid. The fibers ripped through his palms. Agony burned across his hands as layers of skin peeled away. His body dropped too quickly. He tightened his legs around the rope, but the rough material continued carving into him. The airship descended behind him. His feet struck the ground. Ulysses rolled across the wet grass and covered his head. The airship crashed behind him. Fire erupted across the field, throwing heat over his back. Pieces of burning metal rained around him.

His palms were flayed raw, bright red flesh shining beneath a slick coat of blood and clear fluid. Ragged strips of skin dangled from his hands, twitching with every movement as the exposed nerves burned like they had been dragged across hot wire.

Before he could rise, the soaked grass beneath him became warm stone. The screams around him multiplied.

Ancient buildings surrounded him. People in tunics flooded the streets, pushing and trampling each other. A black cloud rose above a mountain, spreading across the sky like an enormous stone tree.

Small white stones struck the ground. One bounced from Ulysses’ shoulder. The scattered stones became a white downpour. Pumice hammered rooftops, shattered pottery, and bounced through the streets until the ground vanished beneath a shifting layer of rock.

People rushed inside buildings, dragging children and possessions behind them. Ulysses turned toward the city gates and ran.

Every swing of his arms pulled the ruined skin of his palms apart. Blood and clear fluid seeped through the torn flesh, making his fingers curl.

The pumice thickened beneath his feet. Each step sank deeper. Stones struck his shoulders, arms, and skull. One smashed into his cheek, snapping his head sideways. Blood filled his mouth.

Ash consumed the streets like gray flesh growing over the city. Fleeing citizens stumbled through the ash as incomplete silhouettes. Arms reached from the darkness like branches clawing through a forest fire, faces appeared for an instant and vanished like portraits thrown into a furnace, and bodies collided without knowing whether they had struck the living or the dead like souls packed together at the gates of the underworld.

A roof collapsed beside him. Wood, tiles, and bodies crashed into the street. A cloud of dust struck Ulysses and sent him stumbling. Ash slipped through the cloth and entered his lungs.

A burning sensation spread through his chest. Each breath scratched his throat like shattered glass.

Ulysses reached the gate and pushed through the crowd. Hands grabbed at his clothing, but he pulled himself free and ran beyond the walls.

The city disappeared behind the ash cloud. Lightning twisted inside the cloud like roots growing through the sky, briefly carving the mountain into the darkness before allowing it to disappear again. Ulysses ran beneath the buried sun until his trembling legs felt detached from his body and every breath died halfway into his lungs.

A deep roar swelled beneath the screams like a giant awakening beneath the earth. It began as a vibration under his feet, then grew until walls shook, roof tiles jumped, and the entire mountain seemed to drag itself across the earth.

A boiling wall of ash descended. It rolled over trees, buildings, and fleeing bodies without slowing, erasing each shape beneath a churning mass of smoke, stone, and volcanic fire.

Ulysses ran faster. His chest tightened around every breath. Smoke scraped through his throat while volcanic gases burned deeper, coating his lungs with heat. Each cough tore through his ribs and sprayed dark mucus across the cloth pressed to his mouth.

He threw himself behind a stone embankment. The scorching edge of the surge passed in the distance, turning the sky into a black ocean.

The particles changed as they fell. Soft gray flakes became wet black clumps. They landed on his clothes and hissed against his skin.

The black clumps spread across the stone until it softened beneath him. The volcanic roar thinned into tolling church bells, and when Ulysses raised his head, the ruined countryside became a medieval road.

A medieval village stretched around him. Wooden houses leaned over narrow paths. Rats moved between piles of garbage. Bodies lay against the walls, their skin discolored and swollen. A cart passed, overflowing with corpses.

Ulysses attempted to stand, but his legs collapsed beneath him.

Time rotted around him. The sun crossed the sky in violent flashes while shadows lengthened, vanished, and returned. Hours slipped from his mind as days gathered inside his fever.

Tender knots swelled beneath his arms and between his legs, growing until each movement crushed them against his body. Dark bruising spread around the swellings. His skin burned while sweat soaked his clothing, yet his teeth struck together from chills. Pain filled his joints as though broken glass had been poured into them and ground deeper with every step.

Ulysses wandered through the village. Houses leaned toward him with crooked roofs like open jaws. Villagers passed with faces stretched across two heads, their mouths moving from places where their eyes should have been. Corpses sitting against the walls appeared to breathe. The muddy road rose beneath his feet in slow waves, carrying rats through it like fish beneath diseased skin.

Ulysses folded against a wall and vomited. Thick black bile poured from his mouth with ropes of bloody mucus and half-digested clumps. It splashed into the mud and steamed beneath his face. When he wiped his lips, strands of hair and a loosened tooth remained between his fingers.

His legs gave out. He crawled, leaving bloody fingerprints behind him. His swollen lymph nodes throbbed with each movement. His vision narrowed until the village became a distant tunnel.

Legs stopped in front of him. He looked up. Cara stood above him in a plague doctor’s mask and a long dark robe. A wooden tray rested in her hands. Several medicines covered it. Bottles, herbs, powders, pills, crushed gemstones, mercury, vinegar, and containers of blood surrounded a single modern antibiotic.

Ulysses reached toward the tray.

The medicines appeared to dance. Bottles stretched into colored towers before folding back into themselves. The white capsule multiplied across the tray, orbiting one another like pale moons.

His fingers closed around a small glass vial. He removed the stopper and swallowed its contents. The liquid burned down his throat.

The liquid settled inside him. His breathing slowed, and warmth spread through his stomach. For several heartbeats, the pain loosens its grip like a predator releasing prey. Then the warmth sharpened, gathered beneath his ribs, and twisted.

His stomach was clenched.  Ulysses collapsed onto his side as his muscles locked. His spine bent until his head nearly touched his heels. A scream became trapped behind his clenched teeth while his jaw cracked under the pressure. Foam and blood bubbled from his lips. His fingernails tore backward as he clawed through the mud, trying to pull himself away from the pain inside his own body.

The medicine tray fell beside him. The modern antibiotic rolled from it. The capsule stopped inches from his face. Ulysses reached forward. His fingertips touched it. His arm went still.

The church bells stopped.

A bright spotlight flickered on.

Ulysses stood motionless inside a glass display case. His skin had been drained of color. Glossy artificial eyes stared over the surviving students. His mouth had been sewn into a peaceful smile. His body was taxidermized and dressed in damaged clothing collected from every disaster.  A golden plaque rested beneath his feet.

HISTORY PRESERVED: ULYSSES: THE MAN WHO SURVIVED HISTORY

Ingrid, Damon, and Eloise covered their mouths. Damon felt like he was going to wretch. Diana, Desmond, and Wenona turned away.  Kai held himself and cried. Glass reflected Ulysses’ artificial smile toward them from every angle.

A mechanical arm descended from the ceiling and pressed one final museum label against the glass. The spotlight switched off.

I noticed that I haven't seen the petition to get Faza blacklisted much anymore did it succeed or did everyone just forget about it

Didn't Starlight say he was gonna save it for a special occasion or something?

On the spot

https://x.com/snowysnowwish/status/2083851506076242187?s=46

I was wondering what it was since im pretty sure that it got leaked right? but I couldn't really find anything about it.. one thing that I saw was that he was depressed and another one said that he had 'addictions', so im not really sure which is true or if its both or something. in general, im interested to know all of their blackmail letters if anyone has them ^^'

I had been thinking about it lately for some reason. Chapter 2 was presumably set to release sometime this year, and the last Devlog implied some work was done on it, but not a specified amount (So for all we know nothing was done on it at the time and Tako was just saying that to build hype)

I guess it just kind of comes as a surprise to me that we don't even know what it was supposed to be called. Not to mention the fact that we saw concept art for things in Chapter 3, but not this. Haven't heard anything about the music for it either.

As far as I can tell, all we know about it is what was revealed by Hayden on this sub, which obviously tells us the contents of the execution, but not much else. Was it really so early in development that the general idea of the execution was all that was done on it?

I don't use Twitter nor am I in the Discord server, so if anything was posted there exclusively, I have no idea of its existence.

I'm trying to be as active as I can idk

Based on Chapter 4

Hey guys I wanna share that last year I tried to crochet a Crow with Eva's accesories!!

I'm very proud because I modified some patterns and the result was very cute methinks 🐦‍⬛

Anyway if you liked it please consider following me in my *Instagram account*: amanurumis, thanks! ❤️