He couldn’t see. He couldn’t hear. He could only feel the tight bindings of the rope on his wrists tied behind his back and the stench of metal, grime, and something bad. Something brushed passed him, he felt the soft rush of air. Then, whatever was covering his eyes and ears was removed.

He snarled and blinked, forcing his eyes to focus. He could now see he was in a warehouse surrounded by boxes and bins and a small crowd of people.

“Where am I?” Veracruz spat.