Finally gathering the last bagful of the goods you purchased, you gave the friendly shopkeeper a wave and a warm "have a nice day" before ambling for the front door and taking a step out of their quaint little shop--

This is the part where your horrible awareness catches up to you.

Everything you were carrying was nearly sent tumbling to the ground as you carelessly collided with another person by the door. You quickly recovered, floundering for a moment to get a better grip on your things as you gibbered out numerous frantic apologies and looked up at who you just— Hell Guard.

Right there— on a chest plate right in front of your face, was the ever-ominous Hell Guard insignia.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck--

Foolishly, daringly, you let your gaze slowly drift higher and higher to take in the man staring you dead in your eyes.

. . . . . nah.

With that, you sharply pivoted on your foot and made to re-enter the potential hideaway just a few feet behind you-- a hand landed on your shoulder.

"Stop."

And that, you did. Gargoyles would glare in jealousy at the face you pulled and the effortless way you mimicked a statue.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions," his grip tightened like an iron shackle.

"Come with me."

I.e.; there's no point in running away, resist and you're done.