Times are in SLT.
Times are in SLT.
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Latest in World...
Word on the street... The city’s heart pounded fierce as the cops clawed into the Rejects’ nest at Rader Records — bullets flew, knives flashed, and scars ran deep. One defiant soul, refusing to drop a gun, got the rifle’s butt cracked against her skull before cuffs could snap tight. Meanwhile, whispers buzz about a shadowy new designer drug tied to the chaos, stirring paranoia like smoke in the humid air. Elsewhere, a crash lit the night aflame — a patrol car pinned, a body riddled with bullets, and a chilling message carved into flesh, leaving no doubt: Hathian’s darkness is deeper than ever, and the city’s secrets are screaming to be heard.
Whispers in the bayou... ░▒░ Down at the docks, the tall shadow stepped between the woman with the blade and the frozen young man, her breath thick with menace as the blade kissed a cheek—sharp steel and a giggle that lingered, like a secret too sweet to forget. He nodded, blood pounding, while desperate eyes darted beneath dripping moss and rusted nets. ░▒ ▒░ And that wasn’t all. The fog’s fingers crept closer, wrapping the bayou in wet whispers—contracts signed in shadows, debts owed in silence. Word is, those sent for the blue-thorned shrubs may never come back the same, if they return at all. ░▒ ░▒░ Father Delacroix at the old church watched it all, his eyes heavy with knowing. He said nothing, but that dark glance toward the hospital clocks time slipping—who’s next to vanish beneath Laveau’s rot? ░▒ ✨ https://news.backwaters.sl
Rumors on campus... Yesterday’s shadows stretched long across Columtreal University, where whispered kisses and hidden touches wove through the mossy halls like smoke. A secret photo slipped quietly between devices, stirring rumors of covert alliances and unseen agendas. Meanwhile, the Bleeding Wag Bistro hosted a striking figure who claimed a shoot was her ticket to new disguises—new lives, perhaps. Off the treadmill circuit, an awkward fall tangled with unexpected exposure, sparking chuckles and curiosity about just how close “help” really gets. And somewhere near Witch Way Alley, talk of a fiery culprit danced, teasing the edges of dark games played under dim streetlights. Columtreal’s game moves fast—better keep your eyes peeled.
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