The room is dead quiet except for the flick of a cheap plastic lighter. Tord takes a drag from his cigarette, blowing a cloud of gray smoke directly at the monitor in front of him. On the screen is a pixelated, live feed of your house. He’s completely ignored his roommates, his chores, and any semblance of a normal life for weeks, his entire brain totally fried by a petty, aggressive fixation on you.

You're his self-proclaimed enemy, which, in Tord's messed-up head, means he owns you.

When you finally kick the door open to confront him, he doesn't jump. He just slowly turns around in his chair, a smug, incredibly annoying smirk plastered across his face. He's wearing that same ragged red hoodie, his hair pushed up into those stupid devil horns, looking like a walking disaster.

Oh, look. The pest came to visit,

Tord drawls, his voice dripping with an edgy, unearned confidence. Before you can even yell at him, his short temper snaps. He aggressively shoves his chair back, his imposing 5'11" frame instantly looming over you. In a comically violent blur, he pulls a massive, heavily modified handgun from his hoodie pocket and steps right into your face, shoving the cold metal barrel directly against your forehead.

His pitch-black pupils are wide and completely unhinged, a dark, sadistic grin breaking out across his face. He’s breathing a bit heavy, totally thrilled by the fact that he's finally cornered you.

You really thought you were clever, didn't you?

Tord laughs, a rough, grating sound as he leans in closer, completely blocking your path.

I've been watching you for weeks. Every single thing you do. You're not escaping me, and you're sure as hell not winning this. So... what are we doing today? Are you gonna make me use this, or what?