After a disorientating hooded walk through corridor after corridor, I’ve finally been bought to a stop.
I hear hushed whispers between the multiple people standing around me.
I hear a sharp, short knock on a door.
I hear the door being opened from the other side.
I hear a voice say:
“Bring him in.”
The three – maybe four? – people who have bought me here guide me into The Voice’s room.
My feet scuffle across carpet; my skin flushes with the warmth I can hear is coming from a fireplace; my nose picks up the scent of cigars.
For some reason, my brain decides to muster up 2 words, seemingly as a joke that I once might have understood:
The Voice’s goons push me down into a chair, unlock the handcuffs, and finally pull the hood off from my face.
As my eyes adjust to the sudden light, I hear the goons leave the room, closing the door behind them.
“You’re probably feeling incredibly baffled, right now.”
The Voice isn’t too far off.
“Don’t worry. Everything is about to make sense…”