Taken. Held. In a room fit for no one. The grime on the walls told me all I needed to know.
It was now time to find my inner demon. My inner maniac. My inner killer.
The shelf above me had a rusty pair of scissors, some rope, and a broken chair leg. I grabbed. I tied.
Weapon made. Blood boiling. Sweat dripping. I grabbed and yanked at the old metal door and stared at the face of my captor as it swung from a bloodied chain. Someone else was here, and I now wondered if they knew about me.