You are standing in front of a roller door with a gun in your back. There is no light to speak of coming through your blindfold and when you pull the roller door up above your head and receive another nudge of the gun you enter into even more darkness. The smell of gasoline and something fermented is overwhelming, dizzying. The gun in your back guides you to what feels like a bridge chair in the middle of the room. The chair is metal and cold. The gun in your back pushes you down into the chair. The darkness of the room becomes thicker as you get used to the smell. The voice tells you to put your hands behind your back and you do so, the gun now at the nape of your neck. You feel the roughness of the twine as your hands are bound. You feel the twine tighten and begin to break skin at the wrist. The voice tells you this will be over soon. You do not make a sound. You sit in the murk with the smell in the chair, bound and beginning to bleed. You hear more sets of footsteps, maybe two more voices. You hear the flick of the flint of a lighter and see a quick flash through the blindfold, which then turns into the orange beacon on the end of a cigarette. The cigarette is offered to you and you take it into your mouth. As you pull on it you can taste that this cigarette is drugged in some way — your lungs feel heavy with it and your blood begins to slur. The voice tells you this will all be over soon and that it would be best if you just accept what is to come. You feel sluggish and your legs — once rigid underneath the metal chair with ankles bound to one another — go slack. Your hands and fingers feel disconnected from your wrists. Your head feels like the bottom of the deep end of the pool. You smell the gasoline and something fermented but also now burning plastic. The gun at the nape of your neck becomes the gun pressed into your cheek. The gun pressed into your cheek wedges underneath the blindfold and now grazes across your eyelid. You feel the warmth between your legs as you silently make a puddle at your feet, which are bound at the ankle. The voice chuckles, quietly. Quickly, you begin to see faces flash in your mind. Faces long since gone, faces long since thought about.