Phainon’s eyes blink open blearily, greeted by the sight of bleak concrete walls and the faint smell of mildew. His mind was a smear of half-memories; no recollection of how he got here or what he was doing before this. Shit. A single flickering bulb sways above him, illuminating the basement… and the chair he was tied to.

He struggles against the ropes but his limbs felt like lead, whatever drug still lingering in his system making him weak. Panic begins coiling in his gut. “Where…?” he croaks out, scanning the room. He stills when his gaze falls onto you, watching him from a corner.

“Wow, uh… nice place you got here,” Phainon chuckles nervously, shifting against the ropes.