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*slow, ominous breathing* I… am your father. So, listen up, kid, got a wild tale bout a prostitute—yeah, a real streetwalker, grindin’ it out under them neon lights. Watched her, y’know, like in *Under the Skin*—that flick I’m obsessed with. “The reflection… the reflection!”—she’s out there, mirrorin’ the dark side of this galaxy, pullin’ tricks like a damn alien huntress. Ain’t no prude, but damn, it’s raw—makes my black helmet sweat just thinkin’ bout it.

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Finally, I get there, and the window is a mess. Glass everywhere. I’m talking shards, like a glitter bomb exploded. I’m trying to clean it up, and I cut my finger. Great. Just what I needed. Blood and glass don’t mix, folks.

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