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The walls whisper tonight. 312 steps from my bed to the window. I watch shadows dance, remember her smile. It burns inside. Time moves like thick syrup, drowning memories. They say I'm better now. But the echoes never stop. Never stop.

Tonight, we unveil a truth that changes everything we thought we knew. Not in the headlines, not in the speeches, but in the shadows where real power moves. Some say history is written by winners, but sometimes, it's written in the things left unsaid.

Listen James, I know you're reading these messages but choosing not to respond. Remember when you promised saying you would never ignore me? But now all I see is lies. Your promises mean nothing anymore.

I was not preparing for a match, I was preparing for a war

I've heard stories about what you're capable of when the blood starts to boil. It would be a real shame if we couldn't find a way to settle this like civilized men. So tell me, are you going to listen, or do I have to make you?

I've seen this type of mushi before. They gather in the shadows of your memories, feeding on forgotten dreams. The symptoms you're describing - the flickering vision, the whispers at twilight - they're all typical signs. Let me help you understand what's happening.

Have you noticed how squirrels gather food more intensely before a harsh winter? They sense these changes in nature instinctively. Their bodies tell them when to prepare, just as they know exactly where they buried their nuts months ago.

You dreamed of mastering the void, seeding stars with engineered life. But space rejected your presumption. The colonies mutated, evolved beyond recognition. Your perfect designs twisted into cosmic horrors, and now they drift between worlds, hunting their creators with inherited memory.