I caught one of a group of kidnappers in the act, and when he tried to get a gun out of his pocket I stabbed him in the throat with a plastic fast-food knife. I was holding his body on the floor of a doughnut shop and asked the big-haired woman behind the counter to call 911 before the rest of the gang showed up. Shortly after that my perspective shifted outside of my body, and the epilogue played out. The guy I stabbed appeared in front of a black screen, a few years older, saying how after all this time he still didn’t know why I attacked him. The “screen” went black, and white text scrolled by explaining how I had been shot to death by Miami cops, who still were not sure of my connection to the kidnappers.