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Voodoo destroyed my life.
I was a private investigator in New York City after the war, where I met Louis Cyphre. He hired me to locate a singer named Johnny Favorite who was injured in World War II and owed Louis. I started checking it out, see Louis thought the hospital had faked Johnny's medical records. I spoke with the doctor and the next thing I know, he was murdered. I started to feel a little uneasy about this case, as it unraveled and become more bizarre. Money's money though right? I stood to make plenty. Following a lead, I headed to New Orleans to dig a little deeper. I met Voodoo. He wore a black top hat, face white as snow and his eyes wide and black as pitch. The hot daughter of a priestess clinging to his side. What happened next was like a dream, no a nightmare. Everyone turning up dead, chicken blood, rituals, guns in vaginas, and cannibalism.
I've been in hell ever since.
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