Bloodscript: Survival Game of the Reborn
“Do we sign up and forget we checked the box?”
“Some stumble in,” he said. “Like you. Wrong night, wrong death, right brain. Some it… grooms. Gives them dreams. Leaks ideas. Feeds them bits of itself through everyday life until, by the time they die, half their creative vocabulary is already pulled from the same pool.”
Ice trickled down my spine.
“Grooms,” I repeated. “Nice.”
“The Game tracks them even before they die,” he said. “Watches the stories they post, the games they play, the fears they circle back to. When one of them hits the bus, it doesn’t waste that opportunity.”