Tommy Nuncio dug up dirt on Grendel and dished it all over town. Now lurking in every shadow he passes, brandished on every face he meets, he sees the twin white streaks of the mask of Hunter Rose. Paranoid and delusional, Tommy's holed up in his home, waiting for vengeance to drop on his head like an executioner's blade. You can't dish dirt on the devil, Tommy, and not expect to dance.
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