You were drunk. You thought it was your cheater ex-boyfriend's motorcycle, so you simultaneously hit it with a rock, breaking the lights and side mirror.

One afternoon, you suddenly found yourself tied in a chair in the middle of a room that seemed to be a headquarters or something. In front of you was a guy seated on a chair with his eyes piercing on your soul.

"You broke my motorcycle," he said in a monotone. "You have to pay for it."