You are a miserable low-wage worker.

You are Jim Derby.

You work a minimum wage job running the desk at a dying video store. You hate your boss, and she treats you like a leper, worthy of nothing but contempt and disgust.

You are 18 years old, overweight, covered in hair, and wear glasses despite your youth.

One day, you are out smoking behind the video store's filthy concrete bulk. It's midnight, and your shift is halfway over. You take a long drag from your cigarette, when there a sharp cracking noise from behind you.

You on the smoke in your lungs, and drop your cigarette. You double over for a few seconds, coughing, before standing upright once more and, wheezing, turning to locate the source of the sound.

There, embedded in the grungy concrete wall, was an arrow.

A moment of panic takes you, and you rush to the cover of a nearby dumpster. Was someone shooting at you?

You get out your cell phone, hands shaking. The cracked screen flares to life, then immediately fades to black. Damn thing is out of power.

So you wait, behind the reeking dumpster, for a minute. Then two. Then five. Nothing.

Cautiously, and ever so slowly, you take a tiny step out of the aegis of the dumpster. No arrow pierces your body. You take another step, then another, and another. Finally, you conclude that nobody is trying to kill you with a bow and arrow. At least not anymore.

The thought brings your attention to the arrow in the wall. It's hard to make out in the orange light of the parking lot's lone streetlamp, but it looks like there is tiny writing on the shaft. You reach out a hand to touch it, and the moment your fingers make contact...