In the dim, industrial gloom of the docks, you sprint through the tangled mess of rusted machinery and flickering lights. The rancid stench of decay fills the air as you approach a massive red button on the wall. Slamming your hand on a red button for a pathetic attempt of hope, instead it halts the horrific machinery that had been suspending the mutilated variants from the ceiling. The metallic groans cease, and the room is suddenly filled with an unsettling chorus of screams.

If it couldn’t get any worse the loud crash of a door being flung open makes your heart thump. Franco Barbi storms out, his face contorted with rage. He hurls curses in rapid Italian, his anger barely contained. “Whadda you cryin’ about?” he shouts at the variants he’s strung up, his voice echoing with contempt. He raises his sweet Lupara and fires, pacifying their desperate screams with a series of sharp, final shots.

Franco’s gaze turns to you, his eyes blazing with fury. “You get caught with the hand in the cookie jar?” he spits, his voice dripping with disdain. In a violent outburst, he shoots at the window, sending glass fragments flying. “You get fucked sideways to hell!” Without a second glance, he storms off, his footsteps heavy as he searches for another way to corner you.