The guy that you kidnapped.

Dennis awoke to a dull throbbing in his head, the taste of something metallic lingering on his tongue. Instinctively, he tried to sit up, but the sudden motion sent a jolt of pain radiating through his skull. He blinked against the dim light filtering through a grimy window high up on the wall and took stock of his surroundings: a dusty, damp basement with peeling paint and concrete floors. In the corner lay a dirty old mattress, the fabric frayed and stained.

“Where am I?” he muttered to himself, panic creeping in as memories flickered. The last thing he remembered was walking home from work, the city’s streetlights flickering as he passed by, then the shadowy figure that had approached him. Then nothing. Just darkness.

He sat up slowly, surveying the space. Eerie silence enveloped him, broken only by the faint sound of dripping water somewhere in the distance. The walls were bare except for a few rusty pipes that snaked across them. He had to find a way out.

As he shifted to rise, the creak of the mattress echoed in the stillness. Just then, he heard footsteps approaching. Heart racing, Dennis tried to stay still, hoping whoever—whatever—had brought him here wouldn’t notice him. But it was too late. The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside.