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The floor is somehow even stickier than you remember -- this time of night it's normal for the floor to be wet and adhesive, but currently it feels like the floor tiles are intentionally coated with something unpleasant. You try to not think about it too much and refuse to look down. It's fine. You're here for business. Paul, your bodyguard, is waiting for you, making sure your favorite VIP lounge is safe. 

The door is opened for you, and you step in, without thinking. It takes you an embarrassingly long moment to realize what's wrong.

"Who are you? Where's Paul?!" you ask, furious. The last thing you expected was for your right hand man to lure you into a trap. The door closes behind you, and you take a step back. The floors are so, so sticky. 

"Paul?" asks the woman, and shifts in her seat. "That was his name?"

"Where is he?!" you snap. You look down to your shoes. The floor is so, so sticky and so, so red.

The woman laughs. "He moved a bit too much." 

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