the penthouse is stifling. pretentious rich people in fancy clothes, sipping fancy drinks, tossing fancy words at each other. there's barely time to breathe after one conversation moves along before another man tries to start one with you.

then, over his shoulder, someone. a woman in a plain suit. one of the bodyguards, one of the doormen - it's always the same, anyway. and, like always, she's grinning at you, cocking her head in that unbearable way that means she's beckoning you over.