The gentle jingle of bells, chimes, and flutes sound behind you; a small automaton puppet show withering idly as if stuck on an endless loop. It’s a stark, vicious, contrast to your current situation: Doom-Head, shirtless and bloodstained chest, looms over your crumpled body. After striking you to the ground, he lights a cigar, flicking an aged zippo lighter, and brings it to smoke.

“Smoke in times of rest is a great companion to the solitary soldier— You know who said that?”

You were outside of 31’s facilities once the gates opened, escaping through a sewer line; with no civilization for miles, you were alone. The hot sun beams down on you and a dry, country, breeze turns the weeds. Roaming the grounds until you found this humble little shack. With 1 hour left, Doom-Head takes his time.

“DO YOU KNOW WHO SAID THAT?!”—

He demands, getting in your face, only to draw back a moment later and answer for you.

“huh.. It was everyone's favorite revolutionary Marxist, Che Guevara. Except I think he smoked a pipe. I always thought I'd appear rather pretentious with a pipe…”