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Seventy Five

  In an underground complex, all crumbling concrete and rusted stairs. There are zombies here, their mouths red with blood and flesh. I pilot a small buggy, knocking many of them over, until I end up being stopped by the sheer number of moving bodies before me. As I climb out, they vanish. A man in   strange suit motions toward a staircase as an elephant man-type zombie stumbles toward me. I am to fight him: this is entertainment for an unseen audience. I choose to hide behind a strange wall. The zombie turns into a gun turret which I  eventually destroy.
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Seventy Four

  The city has been invaded by some sort of 14th century Shogunesque army. They've taken over the giant bathhouse/restaurant, akin to the one from the film Spirited Away. We attempt to retake it by crossing a bridge, carefully balancing on taught wires [I've been playing a lot of Ghost of Tsushima], but archers lean from upstairs windows: they fire down at us, and I see bodies plunge into the river below. I try and alternative tactic for entry, taking an alleyway behind the building, but before I am able to help I become entranced by the unusual intersecting pipework that criss-crosses the space . Staring dumbly at the patterns, I hear the battle continue in the distance.

Seventy Three

'Michael from season 4 of The Wire is trying to kill me. We drive through an abandoned city, weaving between wrecked cars, firing guns at each other. None of my shots make contact. In a scene reminiscent of the end of Heat, I follow Michael and his accomplice through something which resembles the Holocaust memorial. I shoot at Michael, and as he falls I continue to riddle his body with bullets. Despite there being a lot of blood it becomes apparent relatively early on that this is not Michael but a cardboard cut-out. I have a flashback to a similar incident where my partner was killed and inexplicably replaced my Matt Berry, dressed in a 70s-style outfit. He had a seizure and rolled around in the mud. Back at the memorial and I am pleading for my life and crying.'

Seventy Two

'In an underground complex, all crumbling concrete and rusted stairs. There are zombies here, mouths red with blood and flesh. I pilot a small buggy, knocking many of them over, until I end up being stopped by the sheer number. I climb out but they vanish. A man in strange suit motions toward a stair case as an elephant-man-type zombie stumbles toward me. I am to fight him. I hide behind a strange wall. The zombie turns in to a gun turret which I eventually destroy.'

Seventy and Seventy One

Adam has become a vampire, at least I assume it’s Adam. We’re outside Asda at twilight, and I become aware of the threat as an object I take to be my brother moves at speed through dense foliage. Against better judgement I give chase, and watch as the vampire-like creature bounds across the road and jumps a garden fence. I follow. I am aware that I am able to leap in a similar fashion, and in the back garden of a normal suburban home I consider my position. The garden has a stone bird table, and through the blinds I can see an elderly couple watching television. I’m approached by a cat, which I instantly recognize as being the vampire. It senses my recognition and scatters in to a thousand black shapes, which form a sort of evil waterfall in reverse, spewing backwards over the fence and on to the adjoining cul-de-sac. I again give chase, but find myself standing in an empty street with no sign of the menace. All the lights in the houses are on, but no-one seems to be home. Again

Sixty Nine

'The undercroft of a castle or cathedral. A female friend – blonde, round face, but unrecognizable on waking – is telling me about an amazing man, a prophet no less, who is going to lead her/us to some unspecified promised land. I am obviously sceptical. The undercroft is arranged with a series of desks, as in a Victorian class room (all tightly packed, high, scarred wood). Everyone is wearing a white gown. The class begins, and the students and my friend are subjected to a baffling array of visuals and noises projected across the entirety of the room. Somewhere in the darkness a man is laughing. I move slowly through the flashing lights to the source of the laughter to find Chris Morris, his hair long and curly, is in fact doing all of this as an elaborate joke. I try to explain this to everyone by I am drowned out by the ‘art work’; I run out of the undercroft, aware now that the practical joke was obviously at my expense.'

Sixty Eight

In some sort of wasteland, possibly Malton from urbandead but in reality. The buildings and general lay out of the space appears to be a grid system, dark green, crisscrossing and bisecting the land; it resembles a giant board game. The sky is muted orange, and I have a feeling there is something lurking in the increasing shadows that dusk has introduced. Someone who I am with shows me around their flat. From the window I see abandoned car parks, and in the distance lakes and mountains, though this view is partially obscured by smoke rising from refineries that seem to encircle the town. The light is falling away. No-one is on the street when I am taken to the next house. The view from the window is the other house. Each subsequent place I am shown around offers a view of the preceding property. I am caught in a loop of property viewing, with some unknown menace responsible for the trap I find myself in.