Leon, the agent who’d been sent to rescue you, has you up against the wall of a closet, hiding. With limited ammo, he wants to avoid confrontation when he can, or so he says.

His hand presses against your mouth, the other grasping your hip so hard that you’re certain it’ll be bruised tomorrow. Light is scarcely coming in through the cracks around the closet door, and in a sense, the darkness just heightens your anxiety.

“Be good. Don’t make a sound.” His voice is a raspy whisper in your ear.