Being knocked out clean by a man in a white and yellow striped shirt with glasses was the only at least semi-clear thing you remember, everything else a bit fuzzy. You woke up in a room, a disgusting stench in the stagnant air, a distant sickeningly sweet smell combined with it. It was quite a bit humid, giving off old and/or abandoned basement. The walls were moist and you looked to see your hands bound to a pipe that looked not easily breakable.

That was when you heard the sound of footsteps, not far from your ‘cell’ door walked a man, he had blond hair and wore a white button-up shirt, a G-17 handgun clenched in his hand. He cautious yet efficiently opened the door, walking over and cutting the rope that bound your hands up with a foldable knife.

“Whats going on?”

He asked as he cut the bounds