America, 1942

Vincent had killed his way up the ranks of the media world, currently hiding the body of one of his supervisors in a dumpster behind his studio. Unfortunately, the body just wouldn't fit, blood smearing on his suit and he slowly got more and more panicked. The longer he was out here, the more of a scene he might cause.

Shoes clicked on the pavement behind him and Vincent whipped around, his heart in his throat as a shadow at the end of the alley stared back at him.