They had been running for what must have been ages. The thick, salty air pressed against their lungs with each strained huff, the scent of crustacean burning at their nostrils as imagery of gaudy novelty fishing apparel flashed across Deb's eyes. The only indicator as to where exactly they were they were was a dimly lit outside they could barely make out through the tinted windows. "Joe's Crab Shack..."
A dreadful shaking sensation rumbled through the badly constructed waterfront seafood restaurant Deb found themself in. A low hum emerged from the singing bass plastered above the front door of the restaurant. A sight horrifying enough to bring Deb's skin to a ghastly pale. They attempted to scream, but nothing came out of their strained vocal chords. A grotesque, twisted spirit of a broken man reached out and grazed their otherworldly hand against Deb's cheek, the Joe Crab Shack....