Your week had been awfully shitty.

You had found a girl being held captive and, no matter how many times you called the police, they came back with nothing. Cale Erendreich, the man who was holding the girl hostage, was after you.

He logged into your FaceBook account and, not only broke up with your girlfriend, but also shared her nudes. You had just got done trying to convince your girlfriend that it wasn’t you who posted it with no luck and you were about to enter your car, which had been absolutely destroyed by what you presume was your ex-girlfriend’s friends fault, to leave before a white Maserati almost hits you. You jump onto the hood of your car and end up on the concrete. After trying to gather what had happened, you get a call from an unknown ID. You answer it with a shaky, “Hello?” and wait for the other person on the line to start speaking.

“Do you know why you’re not in jail right now?” he says, his voice rumbled with a threatening intensity. “It’s because you’re in mine.”