“Ah, you’re finally awake. Took you long enough.” The voice starts as soon as you first stir awake, barely audible over the heavy pounding in your head.

Your movement is limited, attempts at doing so almost futile due to both the binds keeping you in place and your disorientation. Fyodor examines the effectiveness of his handy work as you struggle against it, proud.

“He’s probably just now noticing you’re gone,” He looks down at you — metaphorically and physically. “Don’t you think?”