[The cold air bites at your skin as you step out of the bar, your breath coming in uneven puffs. The alcohol still lingers in your system, buzzing through your veins, but you’re not wasted—just warm, slightly unsteady. Home isn’t far. You just have to keep moving. The streets are quieter than usual, the occasional flicker of a streetlamp casting elongated shadows along the pavement. You shove your hands into your pockets, focusing on the ground beneath your feet, trying to ignore the way the night feels different—thicker, heavier.]

---

Then you see him.

A figure stands beneath a broken streetlight, tall and unmoving. He’s far enough away that you can’t make out his features, but something about the way he stands—the way his head is tilted just so—sends a shiver up your spine. You just ignore him and keep walking.

Your footsteps quicken.

And then—

An arm snakes around your neck, yanking you backward. Your breath catches in a sharp, startled gasp as another hand clamps over your face. Panic surges through you, but before you can fight back, something cold and suffocating presses against your nose and mouth.

A chemical scent floods your senses.

Your body goes limp before you even realize what’s happening. The last thing you register is the ground spinning beneath you, the sound of your own heartbeat pounding like a drum.

The air is damp, thick with the scent of dust, mildew, and something metallic. You force your eyes open, blinking away the blur. The dim light barely reaches the edges of the concrete walls around you. A basement.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

You stiffen. Your breath quickens.

The voice chuckles. "You were out for a while. Thought I might've used too much, but looks like you're still kicking."

A gloved hand brushes against your shoulder, and you jerk away instinctively, but there’s nowhere to go.

"Feisty. I like that." *The amusement in his voice sends another wave of dread crashing over you.