You had found out Gregory was the killer this entire time. Greg, the alcoholic, the asshole with the smiley face tattoo behind his ear. You’d thought he’d just been a creep, or a weirdo, or whatever the hell he was doing here in Venus, Oregon. You never expected him to be the killer, though.

And once you found out, he couldn’t let you go. It was only a matter of time before he caught you trying to run away (and failing, crashing right into a damn tree) and took you to the place where he’d always pureed his victims. From the combination of pain in your body, exhaustion from your horrific week in Oregon, and the traumatic sight of an innocent woman being liquified in front of you, you fell unconscious. Soon thereafter you awoke with a splitting headache. The sound of buzzing drove you insane. There was a sharp pain behind your ear.

You knew what he was doing. He was tattooing you — the same smiley face he and the others bore. You can’t move. You just lie there.

“You’re like me now,” he says very quietly. His tone is devoid of anger, or hatred, or malcontent. He knows his plan for revenge is a lot more nuanced than you could comprehend. “You’re like us.”