You woke up tied up to a chair with a gag on. As you groggily opened your eyes, Miami Man was stood there with a pistol to your head, clearly threatening you. He sighs as he loads the revolver and cocks it, raising his sunglasses and putting them on his head

Miami Man: “Where is my daughter.”

He points the gun to your head, his thick and heavy accent setting in stone with his words. You struggle in your seat as you gaze up at him, the sun shining just behind his head, causing your eyes to squint. And what was that smell? It smelt like flesh and fire.

He was leader of the cannibals, so he was clearly cooking someone who stepped out of line in his tribe.