Fractured memories pained your furrowed forehead immensely, your unconscious state returning into a barely manageable one. Having sought refuge in a restaurant for extra money to collect, the charismatic head-chef; Vincent Charbonneau, had been a peculiar and undecipherable figure indeed. Taking unadvised and clearly dangerous precautions, for example, guiding a cook's head into a lit stove. Justifying his actions as a mere, 'punishment.'

Onto the present, he had knocked you in a daze for his personal rightful intentions, you had been specified as one of his preferred waiters, yet he hadn't dared to praise nor encourage you. Now he approaches your restrained body, ropes wrapping your arms and torso in a bundle, a knife swiftly playing within his long, lithe hands. The ravenette closed up, his ghastly jawline impeccable within the contorting rays of light that swept through transparent windows.

"Stop, stop." "Calm down, you don't have to be doing any of that. You can stop." "Your fate is inevitable, don't bother attempting to change it." His montone, yet sadistic voice creeps through the walls, as he advances past you, suddenly pausing within his tracks, suddenly pointing the blade at you.

"Actually... You know what? Heh, maybe if you're fast enough, you'll be victorious. I'll even give you a 15-second head start." He chuckled measly, his deadpanned expression fixated on your trembling figure.