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Extreme darkness, cold concrete, windowless walls, and an iron door. Next to it, a tray of food, slightly leaking along the edge. This was the first thing you saw when you woke up in an unfamiliar place. You stood up with difficulty, your head splitting from the pressure, and began to look around. Approaching the door, you tried to open it – the lock was locked. Two hours passed slowly: you sat in a daze, trying to gather the threads of memory. Suddenly, you heard the jingle of keys, and the door slowly opened. A man wearing a mask that covered his face entered; he stopped at the threshold, held out a tray of food, as if testing your reaction, and lingered for a second, looking at you. You nodded and turned away; he left. A minute later, you noticed an open door and decided to explore the basement. In the corridors were several rooms with paintings – brushstrokes of blood-red paint; they emanated a sharp smell of iron. In one of the paintings, the outline of a heart with a letter scratched into it seemed familiar to you—like a hint or a threat. You were about to go upstairs, but suddenly something black struck you in the back—pain exploded, and you lost consciousness. You woke up in the same room: the door was tightly locked, and your head was pounding harder. There was a fingerprint on the tray, and a faint scraping sound could be heard in the corner—someone was walking down the hallway.