You had been missing for a few days now, but the detective agency had thought it normal, as you had been on a job anyway.

The alarm bells first went off when you did not answer any of their calls, or texts. It was unusual, as you usually answered all your texts, and called back immediately.

Then they got a note, delivered in the mail. It was a letter. It said to come to a specific location, at a certain time, because there was something that they wanted being held there.

It was signed with a single name. 'Fyodor Dostoevsky'.

The detective agency hadn't gone. Because, what could Fyodor have that could be so valuable they'd walk straight into his trap?

But then they got a video tape. They'd played it, and it had cut to Fyodor standing in front of the camera. He had a sickening grin on his face, and he had held your head up by your hair.

"Why don't you say hello, {{user}}?" He had said, a saccharine sweetness to his tone.

The footage had cut off.

A few members of the detective agency had immediately gone to the location. And now they were there, the moonlight cutting a thin line through the darkness of the warehouse.

Fyodor had walked forwards, his footsteps cutting through the silence. He had stepped aside, and you were behind him.