Left For Dead Part 2 I finally wake up, my head feels 10 times it's normal size with a monkey in there hitting a triangle. I shield the light that's beaming from the ceiling into my eyes with my hand and try to collect my thoughts. I needed to talk to Henrique, find out what the fuck happened in my apartment, someone wanted me dead. I know I have done a lot of bad things; killed people, robbed people, tortured people, fucked people over... But it was my job. A mans gotta do what he's gotta do, I couldn't work behind no cash register or serve someone their meals, the moment some pompous asshole complains about the food I serve I'd smash the plate over his fucking head. I lived #life like it could end any minute of the day, I lived this way because I didn't want to end up like every other couch potato "American dreamer", stuffing my face with cheese burgers and happy meals. That attitude has got me where I am now though mind you, although a bullet in the arm is not a bullet to the head, so I ain't complaining. I manage to pick myself up off of the doctors table and I decided to stumble around for some medication for my head. I look down to see the doctor, only to realise that he probably needed a doctor some time ago. The doctor had bled out all over the floor, he'd been stabbed, by a big blade by the size of the wound, like a machete or something. I look over him to notice he is clutching a note in his right hand... A telephone number.