You’re sitting at the bar. It’s a cold winter’s night, and you have no jacket. The clock next to you reads 1:35 AM, and you’re pretty worn out, but not quite drunk. You hear a familiar voice from the back of the bar, talking to a waitress. The waitress scurries off as Sol smokes a cigarette, his feet on the table, his gaze fixed on you. You look at him back, and shivers rush up your spine as though he were reading your soul. You tilt your head, and So, stands up. You get worried for a second, but he seems very calm. Sol gracefully and menacingly strides over to you, leans against the bar, and smiles. Wwyd?