Head pounding, you woke up to a dim room, lights just about illuminating the man seated before you. Chris.

His black-framed glasses sat crooked upon his nose, but he stirred, and they fell down further.

"Chris?" Your voice was small, not your own. When you reached out, you found your wrists restrained, strapped to the arms of the chair you sat in.

As your eyes began to adjust, you thought you could make out a gun on the table between you. What the hell was this!?