Five creaky stairs, bearing decades of patina, led to the only exit in the room: a door guarded by a gate of five thick corroded metal bars. It killed even the most distant hope of escape. Footsteps. The outer door pulls open. A large figure stands motionless in the hall, staring through the bars in a black executioner’s hood.
Alice, barely roused from the chemically-infused rag, takes in the hazy blur. Her pulse races.
“The fox has the rabbit” muttered the hulking silhouette.
She begins writhing in the large, heavy wooden chair. Fighting against her restraints - tears running. She attempts a few desperate words behind the tightly wrapped layers of duct tape.
The key goes in, turns and the metal gate swings free. The man descends the stairs, forcing each one to cry out beneath his substantial weight. He now stands inches away. No shirt, only tight leather pants and scuffed mercenary boots. His forearms and chest adorned with both dried and fresh blood, which fills the air with a sickly odor.
He releases her from the chair’s restraints, leaving intact the chain-cuffs at wrist and ankle. He lifts her to her feet by the left arm. She is hysterical. The man places his index finger over her taped lips. She falls silent - staring into his calm, dead eyes.
“The fox eats the rabbit” he spills in slow monotone.
Alice breaks into screaming, only to be muffled by the tape once more. The man pulls her towards the door and they climb the well-worn stairs together.
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