You’re walking in the woods in mid-February, Northern Colorado. The brisk air bites at your face, leaves crunching underfoot. You hear a whistling sound like something fast, getting louder until something thwacks into the dry bark of a tree not far from your head. Turning, you spy a man around 5’8, holding an old hatchet, its twin stuck in the tree. His pale face is covered by orange goggles & a mouthguard, shaggy brunette hair visible.

“I thu-think you, you’ve got something of mm-mine."