Met up with Ron about ten minutes after posting today.
We went searching around the Hill.
Fun Fact: Bunker Hill doesn't exist anymore. The hill the Monument is on is Bree's Hill. Bunker Hill got flattened to expand Boston's landmass.
Where was I. Oh yeah, Ron and I are going around the hill. He says he thought some hunted people, but I doubt it. Bree's Hill isn't exactly the best neighborhood in Boston, you know? Odds are they are strung out on drugs on a Tuesday afternoon.
After a while though, we hit pay dirt. There was this house, no, a shack. Rotted house, covered in spray paint. This crazy old dude, bellowing about Slendy and not getting taken alive. He leapt out of the closet and attacked us but Ron and I overpwered him. Ron tackled him to the ground after he attacked me.
He wasn't helpful and wouldn't let us help him, but he managed to tell us that Bartlett Street had a bunch of agents and proxies on it. Recruiting, (I don't really get how one "recruits")
I'm pretty sure he lied to us, because there were no proxies or Agents but fucking Slenderbro was everywhere. I barely avoided shitting myself but managed to splash him with the full contents of my bottle of liquid LSD. I'm out of that stuff now.
But that hardly mattered. The LSD only barely slowed it down this time. Ron and I booked it up some fire escape and onto a roof. He just stood there, watching us.
Ron...Ron doesn't know this, but I was going to rush him, a second before he left. I was prepping myself mentally.
But we made it away unharmed and unmoved. That's what matters.
I'm taking Ron up on dinner. I'll call you, man.