You're on a fishing trip. Alone. Sure, it gets a bit desolate sometimes, but hey! The birds keep you company.
You absentmindedly thumb through your tackle box, wondering what you'll get today.
Brandy got a twenty-pounder here once, you remember; wrestled with 'er for a good ten minutes, but it was a damn good meal after that.
You're hoping for something even better so you can wipe that idiotic smirk off her face.
You find what you're looking for: some gimmicky light-up spinner. You got a big one with this one last year. Better go with this.
But your eye catches a new lure-- a shiny, colorful affair, shaped like some kinda sparkly dragonfly-- and you pause for a second, wondering where you got it.
"Musta bought it online," you decide, ignoring the fact that you've been in this cabin without internet for six days.
Making a split-second decision, you ditch your other lure and affix this one to the end, smiling with your choice. It's a high-quality one, that's for sure, or at least brand new.
You're sure you'll get something nice with this one.
And with that, you cast the rod into the water, content.
In fact, you're so contented that you fall into a gentle lull with just you and the fishing rod out on the lake; before you notice, you've dozed off a bit.
While you're in your daydream, you barely notice the old spinner clambering out of the box before it sinks a hook into your neck.