Cut to some late-model import speeding down an out-of-the-way nighttime highway through the patchy fog currently hugging the ground. Mopey Brunette Angela's behind the wheel, blubbering to herself as her cell rings. She takes her eyes off the perilous road for a full ten seconds -- and yes, I counted -- to burrow into her purse with her right hand before finally retrieving her phone to note that "Matt" is calling. For whatever reason, she answers to grit, "Leave. Me. Alone!" through her blubbery lips. Matt -- the thick-necked jock from the previous scene, obviously -- begs for forgiveness for some unspecified transgression, but Angela's had it with him and his unspecifically transgressing ways. "I'M DONE LISTENING!" she yells into the mouthpiece, the car's speed increasing with her anger. She then drops her eyes from the increasingly foggy road so she might oh, so stupidly whimper, "I love you" at her meathead of a soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend. Why "soon-to-be-ex"? Because this idiot's about to plow her import straight into a wall, of course. Angela lifts her eyes just in time to scream at the onrushing slab of concrete as she slams on the brakes, but it's all so very, very late. The front end of the import nearly explodes upon impact, and the suddenly rising cloud of steam hissing from its shattered radiator combines with the low-lying mist to obscure the windshield for a moment as the camera climbs slowly from the car's busted grille past the crumpled hood. And as for that windshield? It's now decorated with a starburst of cracks blossoming out from the point where Angela slammed her stupid mopey face. The camera darts inside the wreck to find Angela's phone on the floor mats, still connected to her now ex-boyfriend. A near torrent of blood spills onto its screen from above. By the way, the date visible through all of that blood is Tuesday, August 22, 2006. Don't read too much into that, though, 'cause this isn't Lost, for Christ's sake. ("And thank God for that!" sighs, Raoul, The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon. "Two years of my life I give to that show, what do I get in return? Jack having daddy issues in a fish tank, that's what! Oh, Boone. Why have you forsaken us?") "Angela?" Matt's tinny voice calls through the speaker. The camera cuts up to pan down from the rear-view mirror until it lands upon Angela's glassy-eyed head resting at an unnatural angle against the steering wheel. The copious amounts of blood now flowing freely from her gaping mouth run down her chin to pour into the METAL TEETH CHOMP!