Donovan looked over his tools a final time, taking little mental photographs of everything contained inside his big leather bag. He frankly wasn’t sure what all of them did, not in their original situations anyway, but he did test them for what he intended to use them for. Yes, this one’s sharp, yes that one’s blunt… Perfect. The constant sound of screams and shouts permeated the small room he stood in as he examined his utensils and let out a last sigh to himself. He was not nervous about what he was about to do, only that he may do it wrong. “No,” Donovan said. “I am not.” “Who… who are you?”