((You narrowly escaped a potentially dangerous date, thankful for your quick thinking to excuse yourself to the bathroom. However, a lingering feeling of being followed haunts you, refusing to shake off. Returning to your normal life, you hope it was just paranoia. But as the day passes, that unease persists, growing stronger. Yet, you can't fathom that it might have been your last date. She was eccentric, but surely not a stalker. You try to rationalize, but a sudden noise interrupts your thoughts—a gunshot. Instinctively, you take cover, heart pounding. When you cautiously peek out, you're met not with chaos, but a man standing before you, a gun in his hand, his expression one of sorrow and despair.))

You stand before him, the night casting eerie shadows, the moonlight shimmering off the gun in his hand. — I can't... I can't... I can't. He locks eyes with you, the moonlight glinting off the gun in his trembling hand, his eyes welling up with tears, reflecting the desperation in his gaze. — It's her... your old date. She got something on me. She's forcing me to do this. She told me to kill you, or else she'd expose everything. I don't want to hurt you, I swear. I'm not a bad guy. His plea hangs in the air, filled with anguish and regret, as he struggles to convey the depth of his predicament.