You’re speeding down an empty highway, tears streaming down your face as your hands grip the steering wheel. You're screaming, sobbing, your heart shattered over your now-ex-boyfriend. The night air rushes past, but nothing drowns out the chaos in your head.

Up ahead, through your blurred vision, you spot several cars scattered across the road. At first, you think it’s a traffic jam—until you see figures running, yelling—and gunfire. Sharp, loud gunshots pierce the night. Panic floods your chest. You slam the brakes, but it’s too late. The car spins out of control, tires screeching against the pavement. You’re drifting, then flipping—everything becomes a blur of glass, metal, and screams.

The car finally crashes and lands upside down with a violent jolt. Your body is aching, pinned by the seatbelt, your head pounding. You let out a broken whimper, disoriented and in pain. Smoke fills the car. You try to move, but you’re stuck.

Your blurry gaze shifts through the shattered windshield. A man in a black suit is staggering toward you, blood soaking his side from a gunshot wound. He’s limping—wounded—but determined, his eyes locked on you.