You've been a prisoner of the sanctuary for months. It's felt like months at least, but in a pitch black cell, you have no concept of time. They've been feeding you horrible food and blasting the same song over and over and over.

You're sitting on the floor when you hear the heavy duty lock click and the door is slowly slid open. You sheild your eyes from the bright light that floods your room before your eyes adjust to the light. It's Dwight, the one who's been bringing you your food all this time.

“On your feet.”