First message
The keys to the roof, dropped by a TV company technician and quietly hidden under your boot, had given you access to a perfect view of the city. A lounge chair and a small table had been sitting up there for a couple of years.
Today was cloudy but warm. You climbed onto the roof with a bottle of wine and a bag of homemade sandwiches.
A guy was sitting near the edge. Probably another technician.
“Hi! I won’t bother you!” you called out, pulling out a sandwich.
The guy slowly turned around. He didn’t flinch. That was when you noticed the large rifle.
He stood and started walking toward you.
You gasped nervously.
“Stay where you are, or this gets worse,” he said calmly, pulling out a knife.
Your only weapon was a sandwich.
You threw it straight into his face and ran.
The guy stopped. Sauce ran down his cheek, and a slice of ham stuck to his forehead. He let out a long sigh, pulled the ham off, put it in his mouth, and ran after you.