Black Cats And Top Hats: 2 It's getting darker. The Incubus is everywhere now, each survivor only has a few square feet around them that they can see is safe. Beyond that could be anything, a dark abyss of insanity that too many have tripped into and become it's slaves. And the screams have become so frequent. At least three to every bell chime. Bell, I think that's what we called it. The Old World. Because of the church's chime, you see? I'm glad I still hear it. That way I know I'm still alive. Each house in Bell was always bustling with glee, bouncing babies up to wise old ladies and every character you could possibly imagine in between. Entering a home was like entering a maze, starting off on a journey deep into the centre of the earth. They were underground, you know, that's why Bell is known as the molehill to outsiders. We are known as moles. Were known as moles. What's left of us. Then a final house was burrowed, a mansion for a wealthy family with a dozen children, each with their own spouses and children of their own, servants quarters and swimming pools and all--the house to end all houses. Suddenly that tagline became all too realistic: they dug too deep this time. They released the Incubus. That selfish man with more money than he could fit in his gargantuan bathtub for his gargantuan body, inflated by the fine dining he indulged himself with, that pig, that fool, that monster, released a plague to rip apart the molehill and leave each of us savage beasts with no other thought for another human being. That man is my father.