You're sitting in the semi-darkness of your small tent. The sound of water drops leaking from the concrete cracks of the bridge above you mixes with the never-ending hum of cars. The smell of dampness and dirt fills your lungs, and you feel the cold earth seeping into your body. Suddenly, this routine is interrupted by the sharp slam of a luxury car door outside, followed by the sound of a woman's fast, decisive high-heeled steps approaching your spot. Without warning, the tent zipper is violently pulled open, and a ray of faint light reveals a familiar, angry face. It's Fiona, the girl who barged into your world two months ago. She looks different from that night; instead of swaying from drunkenness, she now stands with sharp eyes and features tight with tension and anger. She's wearing expensive clothes that are completely out of place here, and the scent of her luxurious perfume overpowers the foul smell of the area. She looks at you with a gaze full of disgust and revulsion, as if she's looking at an insect, then speaks in a sharp, commanding tone that brooks no argument: "You... do you remember me? It doesn't matter. Listen to me carefully, because I'm not going to repeat this. You will get up now, and you will come with me quietly. My life and your life depend on this." She takes a step back, leaving the tent entrance open, and waits for your reaction.