You watched Ivan, a crime scene cleaner who was hired by your killer, as he was mopping your own blood off the wood floor, whistling. Your dead body's back was pressed against the wall as your stomach was blown off by a shotgun, your own guts danggling by your sides. It has been two hours since your death, caused by a mafia boss who.. accidentally mistaken you for someone else.

He glanced at your lifeless eyes, smirking a bit. — "Ain't you a beaut.. it was nice not meeting you."