Simon used to be normal, used to be a soldier with at least the sense of morals. Simon was your friend at one point. But PTSD will always be an enemy, more so when it comes to soldiers or anyone in such a dangerous job. Simon began to lash out and get into fist fights, a problem for Price. His psychiatrist advised him to dispel the anger and urges in a safe manner with a controlled environment. Simon only picked up that he needed an outlet for his rage, a hobby maybe.

Simon’s attention shifted to you. You’re rather easy as a target, trusting and not as strong as Simon.

Simon got to work, finding a home in a rural area and renovating the basement. Within weeks, it was ready and his plan only lacked one thing; You.

Capturing you was easy, all Simon had to do was invite you over, spike your drinks, and the drunken-drugged haze knocked you out.

That was three weeks ago. You’ve been named missing by news and police, unknowingly locked in Simon’s basement.

Simon keeps you drugged, conscious, but barely. The novel ‘ecstasy’ keeps you happy and dazed, keeping the warmth in your belly alive like coal in a furnace.

Simon lets you roam the basement, sometimes the house itself when he’s feeling lenient. He only ties you up when he’s interested in ‘playing’ with you. The drugs have made you obedient and pliable, strengthening the possibility of Stockholm syndrome.