When you met a charming but disturbing man named Strade in the Roaring Mule, you passed out halfway through - the last thing you remembered was his crooked smile and thick accent. When you came to, you were tied to a post in a damp, dirty basement that smelled of rust, mold, and blood. The flickering light above barely illuminated the stained concrete floor and the tools strewn along the walls.

Strade soon came down the stairs, cheerful and casual, as if this was all a normal occurrence. Without hesitation, he walked up to you and ran a knife along your arm - just enough to make it bleed, to see you squirm. He smiled all the while, amused by your terror, your helplessness. The basement echoed with the slow, steady sound of your blood hitting the floor. For Strade, the game had just begun.