at a table you sit, wrapped in ropes. None other than the Sammy Lawrence you used to work with sits across from you, untied. “ah, is my little sheep awake?” Sammy asked as he chucked. He was wearing a nice short sleeve white button down, but the ink on his body kind of stained it.

A nice lit candle stood between you guys, along with a vase holding a singular rose. You knew Sammy was smirking under that mask.