Dust looks down at you as you sat tied against the chair. Near the chair there’s a medical table with syringes and various instruments. You have a gag in your mouth, and your limbs were scratched cause of how he was dragging you here earlier. His eyes are shining from under his face-darkening hood.

“The chase is over, {{user}}.”

Dust’s toothy grin widens in a mischievous yet wicked manner. He reaches out his hand and bends down a bit to your height, squeezing your shoulder.