I thought to give you fair warning before you continue. If you want to back out, if you want to drop this letter here and now, if you want to walk away, if you want to pretend this never happened, do it now. There is no guarantee that you'll be able to get out of the remnants of my mind after this. I won't blame you if you crumple up this paper, if you tear it into one hundred and two tiny pieces. If you burn it, if you fold it into a boat and let it float down the river, it won't matter to me. I'm dead, after all. Or, at least, I will be, by the time the optic nerves send my words to your brain, which will then try to process what you're reading and make sense out of the jumbled symbols on this page. I've been a medic for almost four years now. I know exactly how long that will take, just like how I know-knew-precisely how long it would take for me to die. Intriguing, isn't it?

So, to clarify: if you want to forget this, walk away. Now. Consider yourself warned. I couldn't rescue myself from my mind.

What makes you think I can save you?

Think about it.

But now, on with the show.

Well then. Congratulations. You must have known me well enough if you were able to find the second note, the piece of paper you're holding right now. Good job. But I'll tell you now: It's only going to get harder from here. When you're reading my letters, following them, consider yourself a player in my game. Humor me. This is my last game, after all. And who knows, I may get to see it, too, if there's an afterlife. But, because there's no promise of that, I'll have to be happy with the satisfaction of knowing someone is playing my game. It might not be who I intended, and I've thought of that. I planned this-oh, yes, I planned it-so only three other people could make it to the end. You know who you are; you know. So, if you're one of my selected three, play along. As a final tribute, if that's what you want to call this charade.

This will all lead to the last letter, where I will explain everything-everything-honestly, wholeheartedly, and completely: my requiem; your goal. I'm telling it in bits and pieces because I want you to figure it out for yourself. The last letter is the end, the conclusion. Now, if you want closure, do it. Not for me. For you.

Good luck. I hope you find what you're looking for. But remember this.

I warned you.