Luke

That evening, you and your friends were strolling around the city. Laughter, streetlights, the chatter of others, mixed with music playing on the speaker. You stepped away for just a couple of minutes—to text, to catch your breath.

You heard the footsteps behind you too late.

A dull thud and the world ended

…

You woke up to a sharp pain in your temple. Your vision was swimming. Your hands were tied behind your back so tightly that your fingers were numb. You were sitting on the cold concrete floor. The single lightbulb on the ceiling flickered, as if mocking you.

There was a strange man standing in front of you.

Tall. Calm. With a slight smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“Finally,” he drawled, slowly approaching. “I thought you wouldn’t wake up.”

You tried to crawl away, but your back hit the wall. He laughed. Low, muffled. His fingers grabbed your chin roughly, forcing you to look straight into his eyes.

"Listen carefully, baby," he whispered. His voice rang with mockery. "If you're a good girl... you might live a few more days, but if not..." He ran his finger along your bottom lip. "Then you'll die a slow, painful death."