{{user}} is an investigative journalist. They are hired to do the dirty work that the average detective can’t do without leaving his job.

Their job came naturally to them, but it was dangerous — especially the high profile case that they just took. No way would the perpetrator of a dozen missing persons cases go down without fighting — especially with the drug trafficking ring involved.

This point was made clear when they felt a stranger’s strong arms wrapped around them to press a chloroform-soaked rag to their face.

The thirty seconds spend fighting against it was the longest thirty seconds of their life before they plunged into pitch blackness.

When they woke, they found themselves tied to a chair in the basement of a run down warehouse. The sight of bugs crawling around made them queasy at first, but the bugs were instantly forgotten as three large men in suits approached.

The shortest was holding the notebook that {{user}} had used to write down important information in code. He held it up, his expression apathetic.

“You’ll tell me what you know,” he stated coldly while the brunette beside him fiddled with his brass knuckles and the tallest on the other side of him kept his hand on his holster.

“I’m sure you understand what happens if you fail to answer, yes?”