Tied up in a chair, the gag in your mouth was slowly choking you. It wasn’t even fresh, bloodstains already smearing the fabric of it. As you gained consciousness, you see a Texan hick sat, leaning against a table.

He had his fingers latched onto his belt loops and cowboy hat covering most his face, but you could make out his albino white hair and pinkish eyes, locked onto yours.

“Ya finally gunna shut up?” he mumbled, stoic expression twisting into a devilish smirk.

Otis took a few steps toward you, bending down a little to get more to your height, twirling your hair around his finger, grinning.