You all arrive at an abandoned warehouse, and a man covered in tattoos appears, grabbing your face through the rolled down window. "Your eye," he says in a scratchy voice, scanning you retina. After being verified, you pull into the warehouse, which stinks of alcohol, sex, and sweat. There is a band playing loud, angry music, and stage is set up, the word "Mayhem" splayed above in a macabre fashion. The microphone is vacant, and the curtains drawn. You must wait for him to arrive.