The city has provided me with my chains once more. Perhaps it would be best to call them "Chains"; they are things, after all. Everyone needs a friend. A powdered melange of my vices, ingested into my body, where it provides me with respite. A holy material, born from my Labyrinth.
Some would say that the Labyrinth's complexity is because it is less of something that I control, and more of what my mind would look like if it were not contained in my head. That the city is less of a construction project and more of a looking-glass. It merely reflects the mind of it's owner.
In this sense, I am going to bring the Game into my own mind, and then I am going to slay it. The Game will be caught between the four walls of my skull and it will meet it's end there, as the hunter catches the bear.
Something's in my head; something's in my memory. Memories of the moon and of towers, of mirrors and hanged men and of Death itself, standing tall. But is this truly a memory of mine, or a memory of future times?
I am free from the Chains; I've returned to lucidity. And time is ticking, my dear fellows; if you want to know what it to transpire, answer my riddle. Four days remain.