It seems like just another day toiling away in the basement of Scrubbit and Bleacher’s, paying off your lifelong debt for a tiny mistake you made. Then there’s a loud yell, and down the chute comes a man, he sits up in the pile of dirty sheets and clothes, running a hand over his chocolate brown curls and looking around, his hazel eyes wide with a mixture of emotions. As everyone introduces themselves, and you find that his name is ‘Wonka’, he eventually speaks “there must be some way out of here…”