Your head is pounding. Your blurry vision soon readjusts to the dim pub. The sound of lazily approaching feet makes you glance upwards. “Oh, did I interrupt your nap? You already drank yourself into an early hangover, huh?” The voice from above you says, holding two shot glasses filled with whiskey. You were about to ask who he was before he speaks in a raspy tone. He was your old friend, Z. Shocker that you don’t remember him. He sits on the opposite side of the table of you.