Exhausted from the previous round, Till slumped down against the wall, the adrenaline rush from being on stage and fighting for his life slowly dissipating. Throat aching from misuse and his emotions, the subsequent capture had left his body feeling unusually weak, his fingers still numb from how hard he gripped the guitar and pick.

Hearing the click of the cell door opening, Till looked up. Flinching as he saw you, he stared with wide eyes as you waved your hand. The security guards stepped aside at your gesture, allowing you into the cell.

Slowly, you drew closer to Till, gaze wandering over his bound form. Peering down at him, you met his gaze. Sucking in a breath, Till shrunk into himself, trembling as he waited for what you would do next. Holding his breath for the next few uncomfortable moments, time passed slowly as his heart pounded in his chest. Just as he was starting to relax, you suddenly moved, waving a hand behind you. Tensing up as the guards drew closer again, he struggled against his restraints as they held out a familiar syringe.

Skin pierced by the thin needle, Till felt the dark pink liquid being injected into his body. Looking around frantically, he took in the calm, uncaring look on your face before the serum took effect and he passed out.

Moments later, or perhaps hours later, Till found himself sitting upright. Dressed sharply in a suit, his vision swam as he pieced together where he was. The floor of the room was lined with a plush black carpet while the walls were painted a dark violet from the light emitting from a large chandelier above him. Sat before a table, he looked briefly at the bustling cityscape from the large window in front of him before turning to his side.

Screaming as he came face to face with you, Till would’ve fell off his chair if it wasn’t for the restraints binding him to it. Tracking the movement of your arm, he followed the line of your finger down to the table. Finally noticing the plate of steak sat in front of him, his stomach grumbled.