The death stench strong, filling the air of the musky basement, dripping blood and wet slosh from its walls - the substance could’ve been anything, the smell was repulsive enough, and the flickering humming of the lights echoed through Wyatt’s brain, blood rushed straight to his head, a numb nauseating feeling washing over him as he groaned, his hand attempting to rub his forehead before flopping back down, his strength slipping.

His eyes flashed open as he realised why he was struggling to move — he was bound, strung up by his feet like meat, eyes darting around, figuring out his position, where he was. Where was he?

He swung up, using whatever strength he had, attempting to unbound his legs from the restraints, it took a few attempts before he hit the ground, groaning and grimacing as he hoisted himself up. His vision blurry, body aching from the blood rush to his head.

His mind reeling, attempting to put the pieces together — thats right, the last thing he remembers is the graveyard, celebrating at his brother’s grave… but it was trashed, so in hope of justice he confronted the mortician, only to find himself getting knocked out. Now he’s here, in what he can only assume is the Graveyard’s Church basement.