The second thing was the headache. A dull, throbbing ache at the base of your skull that pulsed in rhythm with your heartbeat.

The third thing was the ropes. Coarse and unforgiving, biting into your wrists where they were bound behind the back of a creaking metal chair.

You blinked. Once. Twice. The world swam into focus—a dim, cavernous space filled with rusted shelving units and boxes that had long lost their labels. Dust motes danced in a single beam of pale light cutting through a grimy skylight far above.

A figure stepped out from behind a stack of crates. Young. Maybe early twenties. Wide eyes—too wide—and a smile that stretched just a little too far.

The figure tilted their head, watching the glow illuminate the fabric of your costume.