Read the full story of The Static Killer here

October 31, 2026. Halloween. Sarah Choi hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours. Her ears were completely deafened from the quarry, filled only with a permanent, high-pitched whistle that sounded like boiling water. She sat on the floor of her apartment, her back pressed against the drywall, staring at the empty unit next door. The city outside was a ghost town attempting a forced smile. The mayor had refused to cancel Halloween, desperate to project a sense of normalcy. It was a fatal mistake. By 6:00 PM, the streets were filled with trick-or-treaters, parents, and partygoers. But Sarah could feel it in her teeth. A low, rhythmic thrumming began to vibrate through the floorboards. The Static Killer wasn't gone. He had spent the last two days wiring the city's festive hubs. Sarah stumbled out of her apartment, driven by a manic, desperate need to warn people. Her vision was blurred, her nose bleeding. She ran toward the Downtown Halloween Festival, where thousands had gathered. She tried to scream, but no one could hear her over the ambient noise of the crowd. Then, the clock struck 7:00 PM. The audio feed hijacked the main festival stage’s massive speaker walls, the street-side amplifiers, and the internal sound systems of every local bar simultaneously. It didn't start with static. It started with the gruesome, recorded screams of Arthur, Marcus, and Clara from the quarry—pitch-shifted, amplified, and layered over the ancient, resonant frequency of the Anzu-Ki. The volume didn't just turn up; it reached a lethal, weaponized decibel level that tore through the human body like shrapnel. What followed was absolute carnage as 419 people died in less than three minutes. The physical destruction of the human anatomy was horrific. In the center of the festival plaza, the soundwaves were so dense they literally ruptured the lungs of everyone within a hundred yards. Dozens of children and parents collapsed instantly, their chest cavities collapsing inward with a sickening, hollow pop as the air was violently forced out of them. The frequency interacted with the skull's natural resonance. Sarah watched in paralyzed horror as people’s eyes literally liquefied, pouring down their faces like dark tears. The blood in their veins vibrated so violently that capillaries burst entirely, turning the skin of the victims a deep, bruised black before their internal organs hemorrhaged completely. People tore at their own ears, screaming in an agony that was instantly swallowed by the overpowering screech of the speakers. Some fell into violent, bone-snapping seizures on the concrete, their limbs snapping under the force of their own contracting muscles. A crowd of over eighty college students inside a nearby nightclub died trapped against the fire exits, their hearts stopping mid-beat as the club’s subwoofers shattered their ribcages from the inside out. The streets were slick with a red mist. The festival plaza became a literal open-air morgue, littered with 419 lifeless, bleeding bodies dressed in Halloween costumes. Sarah stood in the dead center of the slaughter, completely untouched. The damage her ears had taken at the quarry had left her auditory nerves destroyed; the frequency couldn't lock onto her brainwaves. She was an island of survival in a sea of blood. As the catastrophic frequency abruptly cut to silence, leaving only the sound of car alarms and dripping blood, a local digital billboard above the plaza flickered. The face of the Static Killer—the rusted steel welding mask—filled the screen. He didn't speak. He just pointed a single, grease-stained canvas finger directly down at Sarah, letting her know that she wasn't spared out of mercy. She was left alive to be his witness, permanently haunted by a symphony she could no longer hear, but would feel vibrating in her bones for the rest of her life. Happy Halloween #BBNFT 🎃🔪 Tomorrow, 3 Phase Two Addy's will be sent $666 in ETH each. The random number generator results and proof of send will be up at that time. Have a safe time out there tonight, make sure to check your candy, and leave your radios, cell phones, and Bluetooth devices at home. You just never know when The Static Killer will strike next.

The police never came for them on October 30th. Instead, an anonymous, localized text message hit the phones of Arthur Vance, Marcus Vance, Clara Diaz, and Sarah Choi at exactly 3:00 AM. It contained nothing but a set of GPS coordinates pointing to a desolate, abandoned limestone quarry on the city's outskirts, followed by a single audio file: five seconds of pure, rhythmic static overlaying the sound of wet, heavy breathing. Driven by a toxic cocktail of guilt, terror, and the desperate need for answers, all four found themselves standing in the freezing, pitch-black quarry by 4:00 AM. They didn’t know each other, but as they huddled under the looming stone cliffs, they quickly realized the horrifying thread that bound them together. They were the architects of The Static Killer’s masterpiece. But as the wind began to howl through the jagged limestone, they realized they weren’t brought here to be interrogated. They were brought here to be sacrificed. "You think he's just an acoustic physicist, don't you?" Marcus whispered, his voice trembling as he held a flashlight against the dark. "When I was digging through my yard's old manifests to see what else he stole... I found out this quarry isn't just an old mining site. In the 1800s, early settlers called it 'The Whispering Maw.' They built a colony here that completely vanished. Old folklore says they tried to exhume something from the deep earth—a pre-human entity that doesn't have a physical form, only a vocal resonance. An ancient Sumerian text calls it Anzu-Ki, the 'Screaming Wind' that tears the soul from the flesh through perfect tone." Suddenly, the flashlights flickered. The air pressure in the quarry dropped so violently that everyone’s ears popped simultaneously. From a cavernous opening in the center of the quarry floor, a massive, rusted tornado siren—the very one Marcus had sold him—began to slowly rise on a hydraulic platform. Surrounding it were the custom aluminum diaphragms Clara had machined, arranged in a perfect, geometric pagan circle. "Oh god," Clara choked out, falling to her knees as blood began to trickle from her nose. "He didn't build a weapon. He built an altar. The cross-hatch patterns I engraved... they aren't for sonar. They're ancient cuneiform sigils meant to amplify the frequency of the earth's crust." Before anyone could run, the siren let out a low, guttural groan. It didn't sound like mechanical gears; it sounded like a colossal, wet throat clearing itself deep underground. The frequency hit them like a physical wall. Arthur, the elderly landlord, was the first to break. The high-pitched ringing he had been hearing since yesterday suddenly amplified a thousand times over. He clutched his head, screaming in agony as his eyes completely bloodshot. In accordance with the old urban legends of the 'Whispering Maw,' those who hear the true voice of the pit are hollowed out from the inside. Right before Sarah's horrified eyes, Arthur’s jaw unhinged with a sickening, wet crack, opening unnaturally wide as if his own body was trying to turn into a speaker cone. He collapsed, his skull literally fracturing outward from the internal acoustic pressure, leaving his face a hollowed-out mask of bone. "Run!" Marcus yelled, but the soundwaves gripped his legs. The frequency began to interact with the iron in his blood—a gruesome manifestation of the ancient Anzu-Ki lore where the entity dines on the magnetism of the living. Marcus's veins began to blacken, visibly bubbling beneath his skin. He tore at his own clothes, screaming as his skin blistered and split open, his blood violently vibrating until it literally atomized into a red mist, spraying into the hungry air toward the siren. Sarah and Clara scrambled toward the quarry exit, but the sound was everywhere now, bouncing off the limestone walls like a physical maze. Clara stumbled, her foot catching on a discarded copper wire. As she fell, the frequency harmonized with the aluminum sigils she created. The kinetic vibration became so intense that the ground beneath her began to liquefy like quicksand. The stone itself vibrated at a frequency that shattered her bones into dust within seconds, leaving nothing but her mangled, compressed clothes sinking into the churning gravel. Sarah, the neighbor, was the only one left. She reached the edge of the quarry, her vision blurring, her heart beating at a erratic, lethal pace. She looked back one last time. Standing on the ridge above the howling siren was the silhouette of a man in a grease-stained canvas jacket and a rusted steel welding mask. He wasn't looking at the carnage below. He was holding a microphone up to the open air, recording the final, agonizing screams of his unwitting accomplices, mixing their dying terror directly into the weaponized static. Sarah collapsed into her car, hitting the ignition and speeding away into the dark, her ears permanently deafened, her mind shattered. She survived, but she brought the curse back with her. Now, whenever the city goes completely quiet, she can still hear the wet breathing of the Static Killer, whispering through the pipes of her apartment wall, waiting for the intermission to end. Farewell to The Landlord, The Scrap Metal Dealer, and The Specialized Machinist. Your sacrifices left in terror. The Killer's Neighbor aka #BBNFT Phase Two addy #37, your story continues on and tomorrow, on Halloween, the fate of the remaining 422 addys will be decided. $2000 will be given away at the end of this campfire tale. “Life is just the slow-bleeding wound you are born with; death is the moment the last drop realizes it was never going home.” - The Static Killer

The following 4 #BBNFT Phase Two addy's were just sent $200 in ETH from the list of 422 remaining in our Discord, 1, 121, 188, & 37. Verify proof of send via thebearandbullnft.eth

October 29, 2026, is a day of heavy, suffocating silence. A state of emergency has paralyzed the tri-state area. Schools are shuttered, businesses are dark, and the streets are entirely empty. No one dares to turn on a television, a radio, or even a smartphone. The area is mourning sixty-six lives lost over three days, but grief has been completely swallowed by an agonizing, collective paranoia. Every time a refrigerator hums, a pipe rattles, or the wind whistles through a window screen, people freeze, terrifyingly aware that the airwaves could be taken hostage again at any moment. But the creepiest element of October 29th isn’t the empty streets. It is the hidden rot underneath the city. While the FBI sifts through the empty theater roof, a terrifying reality is taking shape across four completely unrelated households. The Static Killer didn't just build his weapon in isolation. He engineered it using the unwitting, everyday routines of four people who have absolutely no idea they are tied to a mass murderer. The Landlord: Arthur Vance, a retired widower, spends his morning cleaning out a damp, subterranean storage unit he rented out eight months ago to a quiet man named "Mr. Edward." Arthur always thought Edward was just a harmless, eccentric handyman who paid his rent in crisp hundred-dollar bills. Today, Arthur notices a subtle, high-pitched ringing in his own ears that hasn't stopped since yesterday. Walking deep into the back of the locker, he finds a work bench covered in thousands of tiny, discarded copper wire clippings, a pile of medical-grade ear speculums, and a forgotten notebook filled with Arthur’s own daily work schedule, meticulously tracked down to the exact minute. The Scrap Metal Dealer: Marcus Vance (unrelated to Arthur), who runs a salvage yard by the docks, watches the news with a sick feeling in his stomach. Two months ago, a man in a canvas jacket paid him triple the market value for the acoustic cones of an old tornado siren and three broken stadium loudspeakers. Marcus remembered laughing, thinking the guy was just a weird audiophile rebuilding a vintage sound system. Now, looking at his yard's security footage from that day, Marcus realizes the camera feed cuts to pure, distorted static the exact moment the man walked up to the counter, leaving no record of his face. The Specialized Machinist: Clara Diaz works at a high-end precision tool laboratory. For weeks, she prided herself on a complex freelance project she took on via an anonymous dark-web contract—machining ultra-precise, custom aluminum diaphragms designed to vibrate at highly specific, sub-audible frequencies. The client claimed it was for an innovative marine sonar prototype. This morning, looking at the structural diagrams of the weaponized LRAD device released by the FBI on television, Clara recognizes the distinct, proprietary cross-hatch pattern she personally engraved into the metal discs. The Killer's Neighbor: Sarah Choi lives in a duplex apartment with paper-thin walls. For the last six months, she complained to her landlord about her neighbor, a reclusive nocturnal man who constantly played low, vibrating bass tones that made her floorboards shake at 3:00 AM. She thought he was just an inconsiderate aspiring DJ. Last night, the apartment next to hers went completely dark and silent. This afternoon, out of pure curiosity, Sarah pressed her ear against the shared wall. She didn't hear a tenant moving. Instead, coming from the empty apartment next door, she heard the faint, unmistakable sound of a single, battery-operated pocket radio, broadcasting nothing but dead air and wet, heavy breathing right against the drywall. The Static Killer has vanished, but as darkness falls on October 29th, these four people are realizing the horrifying truth: they didn't just live alongside a monster. They helped him build the instrument. Tomorrow morning, 4 #BBNFT Phase Two addy's from the remaining 422 will be sent $200 in ETH. The addy's will be picked at random as done previously. The results and proof of send will be posted here on X. Each of these addys will receive one of the 4 below delegations moving forward. The Landlord The Scrap Metal Dealer The Specialized Machinist The Killer's Neighbor With 2 days remaining and another near $2000 in play, what is their role, and what happens next?

The typical Wednesday in the life of a founder.

"THE DAY of DREAD" Part 3 October 28, 2026, was the day the static broke containment. Fifty people died in less than ten minutes in what the media is already calling the "Acoustic Massacre," a coordinated strike that proved the Static Killer's final warning was not a bluff. He turned up the volume, and the human body simply could not withstand the pressure. The carnage began at exactly 2:14 PM, intentionally synchronized with the city’s weekly emergency siren test. When the municipal loudspeakers across the downtown business district kicked on, they didn't emit the standard undulating tone. Instead, a deafening, metallic screech tore through the air, instantly overriding the city's central audio network. The physical toll was immediate and absolute. Within a three-block radius of the central plaza, the air pressure seemed to drop instantly. Thirty-eight pedestrians dropped to the pavement in agonizing unison. The frequency was so violent, so intensely amplified, that it caused immediate cerebral hemorrhaging. Witnesses who were safely inside soundproofed office buildings looked out their windows to a scene of pure horror: people stumbling blindly, clutching their heads as blood poured from their ears, eyes, and mouths before they collapsed into lifeless heaps on the concrete. Simultaneously, the killer hijacked the audio routing system of a crowded commuter ferry crossing the harbor. The ship’s internal PA speakers blasted the same amplified, weaponized infrasound into the enclosed lower decks. Twelve passengers died trapped in their seats, their respiratory systems paralyzed instantly by the sheer kinetic force of the soundwaves. Total chaos erupted as emergency frequencies flooded with the screams of first responders who couldn't even approach the hot zones without their own equipment shattering. While the city descended into a state of absolute panic, tactical teams traced the master override signal to the roof of the historic Plaza Theater. When the SWAT unit breached the roof access doors, they found the killer’s broadcast nest. A massive, military-grade long-range acoustic device (LRAD) was bolted to the parapet, humming with residual heat. Next to it sat a dummy dressed in a grease-stained canvas jacket and a rusted steel welding mask. Tape-recorded to the dummy’s chest was a digital timer counting down to zero. The Static Killer was already gone. He had used the city's labyrinthine, century-old steam tunnels beneath the theater to slip away into the subway system hours before the sirens even activated, completely evading the police dragnet. At 11:59 PM, as a traumatized populace locked themselves in their homes, every active radio frequency, television channel, and smart device in the region suddenly hissed with a familiar, slow, wet breathing. The static faded, replaced by the crisp, haunting clarity of the killer's actual voice, echoing across the airwaves one last time: "The symphony is complete, and the instrument is calibrated. You are dismissed. But remember this when the air goes quiet again: silence is only the intermission. I will return." We sit at 472 #BBNFT Phase Two addy's. It is now decreasing by another 50. The following are the 50 addys to be eliminated from the list of 472... 5, 6, 10, 36, 38, 59, 69, 92, 109, 110, 118, 123, 124, 125, 134, 139, 145, 169, 177, 191, 202, 205, 208, 217, 236, 239, 240, 261, 266, 267, 279, 301, 304, 308, 310, 318, 322, 338, 351, 359, 363, 368, 373, 384, 408, 424, 428, 437, 458, 469 Beginning tomorrow, and for the next 3 days, the largest giveaways will be taking place. Every remaining addy is locked in and no more eliminations will be taking place. Look for the updated addy list tomorrow in our Discord before the next post goes out tomorrow evening.

"THE DAY OF DREAD" - pt2 October 27, 2026, was supposed to be the morning after. Instead, the tri-state area woke up to a heavy, unnatural fog and the suffocating realization that midnight didn’t end the nightmare. The death toll from the Day of Dread stood frozen at sixteen, but today, the Static Killer changed his methodology, testing the limits of what his bizarre frequency could actually do. At 7:02 AM, the lore surrounding the "Static Killer" took a sickening turn during the morning rush hour on the Commuter Rail Line. It started with a collective, localized seizure. Dozens of passengers across three separate train cars suddenly dropped to the floor simultaneously. Witnesses who were just out of range described it as a horrifying spectacle: forty-two people clutching their ears, bleeding profusely from their noses, their bodies locking into violent, rigid tremors. The emergency rooms at St. Martin’s Medical Center are currently overflowing with these near-fatalities. The victims are physically intact, but neurologically shattered. They stare blankly at the hospital walls, completely catatonic, their eyelids twitching in a rapid, rhythmic pattern that matches the exact cadence of the killer's pirate radio broadcasts. Doctors are calling it a massive, synchronized neurological short-circuit. They didn't die, but whatever frequency washed over them effectively wiped their cognitive function. But there was one exception. A 24-year-old audio engineering student named Maya Lin narrowly escaped the same fate, and her account is the only reason the FBI now understands what they are actually dealing with. Maya was on that very train, wearing a pair of high-end, industrial-grade noise-canceling headphones. She told investigators that right before the chaos broke out, her active noise-cancellation didn't silence the air—it began to violently fight against an external wave. The headphones hummed, rattled, and grew scorching hot against her skin. Through the plastic casing, she heard a sound she described not as a human voice, but as a "structured mathematical scream"—a highly concentrated infrasound frequency overlaying the radio static. She ripped the headphones off just as the plastic melted, catching only a split-second exposure to the raw air. While everyone around her collapsed into convulsions, Maya suffered only a ruptured left eardrum. As she stumbled out of the train car into the panicked crowd, she spotted a figure standing calmly on the opposite platform. He was wearing a grease-stained canvas jacket, holding a modified military-grade field transceiver, and his face was entirely obscured by a vintage, rusted steel welding mask. He wasn't running. He was just watching the passengers bleed. By the time transit police flooded the platform, the man in the welding mask vanished into the maintenance tunnels, leaving behind a custom-built signal repeater bolted to a structural pillar. The FBI’s behavioral science unit spent the afternoon analyzing the hardware from that repeater. They discovered the Static Killer isn't just a murderer; he is a rogue acoustic physicist. The frequencies he is broadcasting are mathematically tuned to resonate with the human brain's natural electrical impulses, effectively overriding the autonomic nervous system and forcing the heart or brain to shut down. The terrifying truth is that today wasn't a failure for him. The dozens of people who nearly died weren't a miscalculation. It was a calibration test. Just twenty minutes ago, at 11:45 PM, every digital billboard along the interstate flickered out, replaced by a single line of glowing white text. Simultaneously, a block-wide emergency broadcast interrupted every television network in the county. There was no static this time. Just a perfectly clear, crystalline audio signal of a man’s voice, raspy and distorted by the respirator of a welding mask, delivering a final promise for October 28th: "Yesterday you learned to fear the silence. Today you learned to fear the air. Tomorrow, I turn up the volume." As of last night, 472 #BBNFT Phase Two Addy's remained. Today, one person narrowly escaped and that was addy #61. They were just sent $250 in ETH and they continue on for the remaining 15 days of Fright. Verify send via thebearandbullnft.eth Addy's are up in our Discord.

"THE DAY OF DREAD" The authorities are still broadcasting the shelter-in-place order across the tri-state area, but if you look at the emergency scanner feeds, it’s already too late for sixteen people. Today, October 26, 2026—a date the killer explicitly promised in a distorted audio file mailed to the police department last month—is officially being called "The Day of Dread." For the past eight months, the FBI has been chasing a ghost. The media calls him the "Static Killer" because the only evidence he ever leaves behind is a battery-operated pocket radio at each crime scene, tuned to dead air, hissed static filling the room where his victims are found. He doesn't break doors, he doesn't shatter windows, and forensics hasn't found a single flake of skin, fingerprint, or strand of hair. Today, he proved just how coordinated he really is. It started at exactly 4:14 AM at a 24-hour distribution warehouse just off the interstate. A night-shift supervisor walked into the breakroom and found four employees sitting around the table. Their lunches were unpacked, their coffee mugs were still steaming, and all four were staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. Their hearts had simply stopped. In the center of the table, a small black radio was blasting white noise. By noon, the toll reached twelve. A family of five in a quiet suburban cul-de-sac, a pair of college students in their dorm room, and an elderly librarian. None of the scenes showed any signs of a struggle, forced entry, or trauma. The toxicology reports coming back from the county coroner are baffling the medical examiners; there are no traces of gas, paralytics, or known poisons in their systems. It’s as if their bodies just collectively forgot how to live. And at every single location, neighbors reported hearing a faint, high-pitched rhythmic humming sound drifting through the air just minutes before the estimated time of death. The final four victims were found less than an hour ago inside an stalled subway car. The transit power grid flickered for exactly three minutes. When the lights kicked back on, the passengers in the adjacent cars looked through the glass doors to see four commuters collapsed in their seats, completely motionless. Right now, the police are tracking a pirate radio signal that keeps jumping frequencies across local bands. It isn't broadcasting words. It's just transmitting a slow, wet sound of someone breathing heavily, punctuated by the metallic click of a radio dial turning. If you are listening to the radio right now, or if you start to hear a strange, low-frequency hum vibrating through the walls of your house, don't try to look for the source. Turn off your electronics, lock your doors, and pray that the Day of Dread ends at midnight. Last night, 488 Phase Two Addy's remained. It has just been decreased by 16. Pray that this doesn't continue past midnight...

490 Phase Two #BBNFT addys remain for the 15 days of Fright events. The Following 2 were just eliminated and sent $150 in ETH. Addy's 170 and 350. You can verify proof of send via thebearandbullnft.eth and the 490 addys in our Discord prior to the 2 removals. Tomorrow is the DAY OF DREAD. Somewhere between 1 and 100 addy's will be eliminated, and a wheel spin will decide their fate. There will be nothing won on this day. Only, THE DAY OF DREAD 🪦

Lean in close, because the story of what happened on the chilly night of October 24, 1976, in Chicago is the kind of real-life nightmare that makes you glad we have a fire burning right now. Imagine the scene: It’s late autumn. The wind coming off Lake Michigan is bone-chilling, and the streetlights on Clark Street are casting long, dancing shadows. Two teenage friends, 14-year-old Michael Marino and 16-year-old Kenneth Parker, are just doing what kids that age do—hanging out, laughing, looking for something to pass the time on a weekend night. They have no idea that a monster is actively prowling the very same streets. Cruising through the neon glow of the city is a large, unassuming car. At the wheel is a heavy-set, well-known local businessman. He’s a guy who throws neighborhood block parties, works in politics, and even dresses up as a clown to entertain sick children at hospitals. His name is John Wayne Gacy. But underneath that friendly, civic-minded mask is a calculated predator. Gacy spots the two boys. He pulls over, rolling down his window. He doesn't look scary; he looks like someone's uncle. He strikes up a conversation, oozing charm and authority. He offers them a ride, maybe promises them a quick way to make a few bucks doing construction work, or perhaps offers them a drink. Eager for an adventure and trusting this seemingly harmless adult, Michael and Kenneth step off the cold sidewalk and climb into the warmth of the car. The doors click shut. That is the exact moment the trap snaps shut. Gacy drives them away from the bright city lights, out into the quiet, dark suburb of Norwood Park Township. He pulls up to his brick ranch house on Summerdale Avenue. Inside, the house looks normal enough, but there is an underlying, faint, sickening odor in the air that Gacy always excuses away as a moisture or plumbing issue. Once the boys are inside, Gacy brings out a pair of handcuffs. He smiles, pitching it as a trick. He shows them how a person can magically escape from them if they know the secret. He convinces one of the boys to let him put the cuffs on to demonstrate. The metal clicks into place around the teenager's wrists. Suddenly, the friendly neighbor vanishes. Gacy’s eyes go cold. He reveals the terrible truth: there is no magic trick. The boys are trapped. What followed over the next few hours inside that house is the stuff of pure horror. Gacy subjected the terrified teenagers to a brutal, agonizing ordeal of physical torture. They were completely helpless, trapped in a suburban living room while the rest of the world slept soundly outside. When Gacy was finally done playing his sadistic games, he brought out a piece of rope and a wooden stick, fashioning a crude garrote. One by one, he tightened the cord around their necks, cutting off their breath until the room went completely still. But the horror didn't stop with their deaths. Gacy walked over to a small closet, opened a hatch in the floor, and dropped down into the dark, damp, claustrophobic crawl space beneath his house. In the pitch black, surrounded by the horrific stench of his previous victims, Gacy dragged the bodies of Michael and Kenneth into the dirt and buried them side by side. For two years, their families searched, hoped, and prayed, completely unaware that the boys were resting in the shadows beneath a madman's floorboards. It wasn't until December 1978, when police finally excavated that horrific crawl space, that Michael and Kenneth were finally brought out of the dark. Tomorrow, 2 more #BBNFT Phase Two holders will be eliminated. They will also each be receiving $150 in ETH.

On this day, October 23, 2026, the quiet, tight-knit village of Hamoud in Jordan’s southern Karak governorate became the scene of a devastating tragedy. For generations, the Christian minority and Muslim majority in Karak had lived side-by-side, priding themselves on interfaith solidarity and peaceful coexistence. But this afternoon, an unprecedented act of violence shattered the community’s peace. Between 150 and 200 people had gathered in and around the historic Hamoud Greek Orthodox Church. They were there for a funeral procession, paying their final respects to a departed community member. The crowd was largely made up of older residents, with most of the attendees aged between 50 and 70. As the solemn service moved outside into a funeral procession, a vehicle abruptly pulled up near the sidewalk. According to security camera footage broadcast by Jordan’s state-owned Al-Mamlaka TV, three casual-clothed gunmen stepped out. Two of the men brandished pistols, while a third carried a semiautomatic long rifle. The men initially took cover behind trees and a low stone wall, aiming directly at the unsuspecting crowd before charging toward the church entrance. They opened fire, unleashing a relentless barrage that lasted for five terrifying minutes. "People were crying, wailing, screaming—it's hard to describe," recalled Ihab Ammareen, a witness who watched in horror as bloodied attendees collapsed onto the stone floor. Another attendee, Khaled Burqan, described total chaos as the gunfire echoed off the church walls, leaving dozens pinned down with nowhere to run. The attackers fled the scene in their vehicle before local police could intercept them, triggering a massive regional manhunt. The gunfire left 7 people dead and 34 others wounded. Emergency vehicles rushed to the village, transporting the injured to local hospitals, where 27 victims required immediate, prolonged medical stabilization. Outside the primary medical facilities in Karak, the atmosphere grew incredibly tense. Authorities established a heavy security presence, cordoning off entire roads and forcing distraught, angry families to abandon their cars and rush to the entrance on foot. Shouts of grief and demands for justice echoed through the crowds as the names of the deceased were slowly released. ------------------------------------------------------------ 497 #BBNFT Phase Two addy's remain. 7 were just taken out in gunfire and eliminated. Each of them will be taking home $50 in ETH. The following are the 7 addys... 78, 217, 409, 124, 435, 417, 329. The $50 in ETH will be in your addys by this time tomorrow. You can verify your addy number by looking in our Discord minor announcement channel.

We just injected 2 million @toga_coin into our game. I am always bullish on @cryptoequip Introducing a new item system that is built to deliver and a live casino built as use cases for you to play your favorite games. What token should we add next? 👇 By the way, anyone can join in. Gold is the alpha.

502 #BBNFT Phase Two Addy's remain. The following 5 were just eliminated. 197, 265, 438, 344, and 74. Each of you are each receiving $75 in ETH. I will have it over to you all within 24 hours when I am back at the project addy tomorrow. You can verify the most recent and updated list of 502 addys in our Discord to see if you won the $75 and got eliminated, or continue on to the next round. As for what's coming on 10/23, due to the the extreme nature of these events that took place in history, they will be posted tomorrow, on that date. As well as how many were eliminated and what the giveaway prizes were for those who were taken out. Until then, “Don't you know clowns can get away with murder?” - John Wayne Gacy

The final torture of the "Tool Box Killers" took place on October 22, 1979. It sounds like a fictional slasher movie or a terrifying cautionary campfire tale: two men driving a custom GMC van around California, picking up hitchhikers only to torture them using household tools like hammers, pliers, and ice picks. Unfortunately, this urban legend was a gruesome reality. Lawrence Bittaker and Roy Norris—known as the "Tool Box Killers"—claimed their fifth and final victim, 16-year-old Shirley Lynette Ledford, on October 22, 1979. Shirley Ledford, 16, was hitchhiking home from a party in the early morning hours in Burbank, California. She was picked up by Lawrence Bittaker and Roy Norris in their customized GMC van, which they had chillingly nicknamed "Murder Mac." The vehicle was a rolling torture chamber, retrofitted with blacked-out windows, soundproofing materials, and a custom-built partition to trap victims in the back. Over the next several hours, the killers subjected Ledford to unspeakable torture using ordinary household tools: pliers, ice picks, coat hangers, and a sledgehammer. Bittaker used a portable cassette recorder to document the entire ordeal, talking to Ledford and forcing her to answer questions while recording her screams. Afterward, they strangled her with a coat hanger and dumped her nude body on the front lawn of a suburban home in Westlake Village to be found by the homeowners. The audio recording was so uniquely horrific that it was later used to train FBI profilers to understand the extremes of human sadism, and jurors at their trial openly wept and vomited from the audio alone. Tomorrow, 5 #BBNFT Phase Two holders will be eliminated from the remaining 15 Days of Fright events. They will also be walking away with $75 in ETH.

506 Phase Two #BBNFT addy's remain. The following 4 were just eliminated and sent $100 in ETH. You can verify addy's in our Discord. Proof of send via thebearandbullnft.eth

A lingering urban legend in Boulder County, Colorado, traces its roots directly to a burial in the Lafayette Cemetery. A Romanian coal miner named Teodor Glava died during the height of the 1918 Spanish Flu pandemic and was buried on October 21, 1918. Following his burial, bizarre rumors spread through the town that Glava was actually a vampire. Local superstition grew so intense that townsfolk eventually claimed a wooden stake was driven through his heart. A strange juniper tree and a wild rose bush grew directly out of the center of his gravesite, wrapping around the headstone—which locals claimed grew directly from the wooden stake. For decades, teenagers and ghost hunters have visited the grave on October nights, reporting sightings of a tall, dark figure with glowing red eyes standing near the juniper tree. Tomorrow, all eyes are upon those who drifted into the cemetery. 4 @bearandbullnft Phase Two holders will be bitten and removed from the remaining events. They will also walk away with $100 in ETH a piece. Never to return to this place on Earth but cursed to walk in the afterlife half dead, and half alive.

512 #BBNFT Phase Two addy's remain for the 15 days of fright events. Now we reduce it by 6 more. Holders # 307, 166, 502, 211, 94, and 31 are eliminated. The 512 addy's are in order in our Discord to verify if you survived.

On October 20th, 1977, a charter plane carrying the Southern rock band Lynyrd Skynyrd ran out of fuel and crashed in a wooded area near Gillsburg, Mississippi, killing 6 people, including band members Ronnie Van Zant, Steve Gaines, and Cassie Gaines. Tomorrow, 6 more Phase Two holders will be eliminated.