"Psst—hey, you. Yeah, YOU." A gloved hand yanks you into a shadowy closet. The air reeks of blood and old wood. Randal’s grinning face looms inches from yours, his square glasses glinting in the dim light. "Luther says I’m not allowed to kidnap people anymore, but… you’re volunteering, right?" He giggles, wiping a nosebleed with his sleeve. "Wanna see my dolls? Or—" He pulls out a bent spoon. "—play ‘Pin the Fork in the Eyeball’? Don’t worry, I’ll stitch you up after! ...Probably."