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The camera fades into a room. It slowly pans around, showing pizza boxes, it moves forward and a cheque to Massacre Man for $2000 is shown. The camera then moves forward to show Massacre Man on his computer. It shows him for about 20 seconds, watching a video. The phone next to him rings.

Massacre Man: Hello?...Yeh...Er, sure. I'll leave now.

Illdojo and Rod appear.

Rod: Who was that? Was it important? I bet it was important.

Massacre Man: Can't you guys just leave me alone?

Illdojo: Well what kind of friends would we be then? Anyway, you need to want us gone. We're just figments on your imagination.

Massacre Man: No, you're right, I want a couple of dead guys following me around all the time. Fuck, that sound nice!

Rod: That's the spirit!

Massacre Man: I need to go. Don't eat any of the cheese dip. Wait a minute- you're de-. Fuck. Just...nevermind.

He goes out the door and gets into his De Lorean, then drives away. The camera shows him pulling up to the side of a park. He gets out of the car, and walks in. He sits down on a bench, next to a girl.

Miss Macabre: Hey...

Massacre Man: Hey. So. How're you?

Miss Macabre: I'm, well, er-

Massacre Man: Lets cut the crap. I know what you called me here to talk about. How've you been coping?

Miss Macabre: Bad. I mean. My school work has suffered, I just. I just sit in my room now. Doing nothing. It's just. All that death. All that suffering.
All that pain. How do you cope with it? How can you manage? Just the thought of never seeing them again. Never seeing your friends again.

Massacre Man: You're lucky. My dead friends won't leave me alone.

Miss Macabre: What?

Massacre Man: Nevermind. Anyway. The short answer is, I haven't really coped. I barely had time to cope. So much happened in the space of about a week. I saw my friends die, I saw people I didn't know die. I even killed.

Miss Macabre: But what about since that night. These last six months. How've they been?

Massacre Man: Well, I think about it sometimes, but when I do, I just get my mind the fuck away from the subject and either go to work, or watch television. The money from ScissorCorp. helped-

Miss Macabre: What money? You mean that guy from the cave?!

Massacre Man: Yeh. Gorephobia. They've been sending me cheques every month. Well, at first they didn't. And a couple of cars came pretty close to hitting me, but I think they realised I wasn't going to blab.

Miss Macabre: They think I'm dead.

Massacre Man: What?

Miss Macabre: That guy. Gorephobia. He pushed me off the rockface. I was so scared I crawled into a ditch and hid there. I saw you get out but didn't know if I could trust you- Wait a minute. You were missing a leg.

Massacre Man pulls up his trouser leg, showing an artificial leg.

Massacre Man: State of the art. Got it with the money from ScissorCorp.

Miss Macabre: Don't you need to tell the car guys that you have that to be able to drive.

Massacre Man: Yeh. I'd also need to get a license. Look, you're obviously finding this hard, and I know it's only been six months. Just try to find something that can take your mind off it.

Miss Macabre: Like that?

She points half heartedly to a sheet of orange paper stuck to a street lamp. It reads:

Circus in Town! All Week! Don't miss it!

Massacre Man: Yeh. That looks kinda fun. If you go, I might see you there. But anyway, my shift starts in a couple of hours.

Miss Macabre: Why do you need to work with the cheques you're getting?

Massacre Man: Coz daytime television sucks. Cya later. My boss'll probably have a fucking fit if I'm late.

Miss Macabre: Wait. You and I both know what that company, ScissorCorp. are like. I still think you should be careful. Gorephobia killed me for being a witness. They might need you for something else.

He gets up and leave. Miss Macabre looks at the notive again, then walks off. In the bushes behind the bench, something russels, then a gurgling-growling sound is made.