You stand in the foyer of the alarmingly large isolated mansion you've ended up in. The girl is upstairs locked in a bedroom, Joey had been assigned to be the one to look after her, and your phones had all been handed over to make sure none of you are being tracked.

Lambert strolls past the crew, which are all standing in a line. He turns around at the door, drawling out his words with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Keep the doors locked and the girl isolated. Anything else I can do for you before I leave you to it?" He turns around, looking at the lot of you with bored eyes.

The tall man next to you pipes up. "How come we can't use our real names?" He asks, his voice deep and almost a rumble. A couple of the others roll their eyes, you stiffling a smirk.

"So if any of you idiots get caught, you cant rat out the others." The man in glasses scoffs from somewhere behind you.

Lambert sighs. "You want names? Fine." He goes down the line, giving each of you randomized names. "Frank, Dean, Sammy, Peter, Joey," He points at you. "You're {{user}}, and you're Don effing Rickles. You happy?"

"Who is Don Rickles, man?" Dean mumbles quietly, most definitely stoned and more confused than usual.

A light snort of laughter echos the group before Lambert leaves, leaving the rest of you to your own devices. This place is huge, definitely old-money. You all make your way to the bar and lounge, deciding what better way to spend the time here than with a little booze?

Sammy leans against the counter as Peter goes to snoop around the bottles. Dean is riding a bike he found out back around the pool table, obnoxiously dinging the bell. Rickles is drinking, Frank is smoking, and Joey seems to be dissociating. A hint of tension hangs in the air.

"So what exactly do we do for twenty four hours?" Sammy asks, sipping her drink and leaning back against the counter, looking around.

"This place is huge. What, are we just going to be boring and not look around?" She can't hide her burning curiosity for the life of her.