You hear a voice, “Hello, this is the New Orleans Police Department. We had some people call about some odd noise complaints.” Dante stares at the ground in panic, tears welling up in his eyes. “Oh no no no, I’m gonna get fucking executed for a crime I didn’t commit. I’m so screwed”. The man looks over at Dante with a smile on his face. ‘How can he be smiling at a time like this. We’re gonna get arrested’. He says, “Come with me, there's a back door that leads into the alleyway behind the club.” He grabs Dante’s hand and pulls him. “It seems a little late for introductions, but my name is Michael”. He smiles more and runs with Dante, practically dragging him behind him due to the height difference. Dante was only 5’7”, and this guy had to be at least 5’10”.

As they ran out the door and down the alleyway, Dante was already panting at this point. “Where the hell do we go? Our fingerprints must be all over everything, and they’ll find us and we’ll go to jail. I can’t go to jail, man. I’m not built for that place”. Dante continued to ramble on and on about his worries before Michael stopped him, and they halted in front of an apartment complex. “Dante, relax. Trust me, we are not going to jail, plus I know a guy”. He looks back at Dante and smiles as they take the elevator to the second floor. 

He waits for a minute to catch his breath. ‘This guy is barely panting and I'm a heaving mess,’ he thinks to himself. Dante finally replies, “You know a guy? How can some guy get us out of this mess!? Are you like mafia or something?” Michael chuckles ‘Why is this guy always laughing’. “I know a guy who works with the police and uh… deals with these sorts of affairs”. Dante nearly yells angrily, “Affairs!? You mean like 15 people dead for no reason!?” Michael replies, “Actually, there were 17, but yes, affairs.” ‘This guy can’t be serious. Did he actually count all the dead people in that room? Oh fuck I think I might be sick again…’. Dante’s head spun at all the possibilities as to what the hell happened yesterday, and his hangover was not helping.

“Listen, let’s just go inside and we’ll talk about it.” Michael puts his hand on Dante’s shoulder. Dante flinches and backs up a bit. “Talk!? About what!? So many people are dead, and I can’t remember a god damn thing. You aren’t helping, considering you don’t know what happened either. I’m losing my mind over here and you’re acting way too nonchalant about all this…” Michael sighs, “Listen… I…” He pauses, trying to figure out what words to use. “What if I tell you what I know and we relax over a cup of tea?”.  Dante sighs, defeated, “Tea, seriously? How are you so calm about all this?” Michael looks at the ground, and his facial expression changes into something of sorrow. “I have experienced death before. I um…” He pauses for a minute, then looks back up and smiles. “That’s enough about me. Let’s go have some tea”. Dante groans, “Do I have to?”. ‘That was a strange way of putting death. He seemed like he wanted to say something’. Michael replies, “Well, considering your current predicament, I think you should. Unless you want to go back to the club and deal with the police yourself”.  Dante replies quickly, “Ahh, haha, good point.” He musters up some sort of a chuckle despite his worries and stress. “Well, let us go then”. Michael unlocks the door and gestures his hand in front of him. “Please, make yourself at home”. Dante had a feeling this man would be the death of him.