It was a dark and stormy night. Actually, to tell you the truth, it wasn't really that stormy, and it wasn't even very dark yet. Either way, it was cold. The local high school was having its seasonal dance that night, and most students were there.

Cherie Andrews and her fellow cheerleading friend Kala Morrison were having a fabulous time dancing to their favorite music. Suddenly, the room was filled with the sound of gunshots, and several teenagers fell to the ground with sickening screams. Blood poured everywhere. Everyone was running around in a frenzied panic, trying to figure out what happened. Minutes later, to their relief, the teenagers heard the sound of police sirens outside. The police entered the school and tried to help the frantic dance-goers sort out the details of the shooting. Even after many interrogations, no one seemed to know who might have done it. Meanwhile, ambulances came to transport the hurt to the hospital and take a body count. In the end, the fatalities included mostly popular snobs and uncool losers, but to everyone's dismay, Cherie and Kala were killed too.

Lee France was at home watching TV that night, when he got the munchies. Being the go-getter he was, Lee dragged himself out of his easy chair and headed for his car to drive to the nearest gas station. Just as he was about to open the door of his gold sedan, he felt the pressure of a cold metal object against his head and heard a voice say, "Make any sudden moves, and I'll shoot." Lee's feet were frozen to the ground. The possibility of death terrified him, despite the number of death threats he received at school.

"Get in the car." The gravelly voice spoke again and Lee obeyed. He couldn't see the criminal's face through his mask, but he followed the instructions in case the guy was serious. The gunman instructed him to drive to an abandoned warehouse. Upon arrival, he hauled Lee over to a corner like a sack of potatoes and tied him to a chair.

"What are you doing?" Lee asked. "How come you made me drive you here? Who are you, anyway?"
The masked gunman answered, "I just came from a terrible tragedy and I needed a getaway car. As for who I am, I am no one to be trifled with. That is all you ever need to know."
Okaaayyy...Psycho! Lee thought. I wish I wouldn't have gotten hungry.
"This is really gay! I think you're gay! Did you know you can't hide a piece of broccoli in a glass of milk?"
"Shut up!" The gunman fired a shot past Lee's head. It silenced him for a good five minutes, and then he spoke up again.
"You know, there's no elevator to success. You have to take the stairs." The gunman bit his lip and glared, trying not to waste any more bullets. He didn't want to kill Lee just yet, but the temptation was overwhelming. Also, he just couldn't understand why Lee was being so obnoxious with the possibility of death close at hand. Most people would have been quiet long ago.

"What are you trying to do? You're already being terribly annoying, and that is not helping save your life any. In fact, it's not helping you at all." Statements like that were very unlike the gunman, but he was only trying to prolong Lee's life as long as possible. For what reason? Well, he didn't know himself. Even with that suggestion, Lee only began spouting more useless advice. Fed up with the whole idea, the gunman shot past Lee's head again to scare him into silence. The shot missed Lee as intended, but it hit an old, decaying shelf. Ordinarily, that might have been fine, but this particular shelf was piled with stacks of soggy, smelly cardboard boxes filled with strange and unused things. When the bullet hit the shelf supports, it knocked the shelf off-kilter. The whole pile fell right where Lee was sitting, killing him instantly. Not wanting to wait around to see the carnage, the gunman fled into the night once again, leaving his victim behind.