B equals Y.

Ah, you are exactly where you are supposed to be.

At the exact right time, my friend.

Drawn once again to the quiet hum of forgotten things.

Well, you know as I do. The shop has already chosen what you'll receive tonight.

Come closer.

Here, in this drawer, among the relics no one dares ask for.

A disc.

Plain.

Shabby.

A white DVD scuffed and worn as if someone tried to erase it with their bare hands.

And yet across its face, this curious mark.

Not a title, not a name.

Just scribbles.

A frantic hand pressing too hard,

dragging lines like a warning.

It was found abandoned in the back room of a closed-down bar.

So sit and listen to the story of a man, a drink, and a conversation he was never

meant to have. This is the tale of the woman at the bar. Before we begin, I want to point out some of the customers whose names have been etched in brass

on this beautiful plaque I had made above the front desk.

These are some of the members of the inner circle of the antiquarium.

We go by the Obsidian Covenant. Recent initiates include

...