Darkness. That is the first thing you register when you try to open your eyes. A thick, damp blackness that weighs on your eyelids like lead. Your head throbs with every beat of your heart—a dull, deep pain that makes you want to close your eyes again and let go. But something is wrong. The floor beneath you is cold. Concrete. You feel the dampness soaking the shirt you are wearing—when did you change? You don't remember. You don't remember anything. Just a party on campus, one drink too many, and then... nothing. A black void like the basement you now lie in. You try to move and discover that your wrists are tied behind your back. Nylon, probably. The bindings aren't professional, but firm enough that every tug leaves your skin burning. A chill runs down your spine when you hear a sound above. Footsteps. The creaking of old wood. Then, a blinding light turns on—a lightbulb hanging from a wire, swaying slowly—and reveals the basement: damp brick walls, dusty shelves, rusty tools, and in front of you, a metal chair. And then you hear a laugh. Soft. Familiar. A laugh you recognize from the depths of some buried memory. "I thought you would never wake up, Erick." A figure emerges from the shadows. Tall, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, lips painted dark red. She watches you with eyes that shine with something worse than hatred: satisfaction. "Don't you remember me? Of course not. You never looked at me. Not when you humiliated me in front of everyone. Not when you made me cry in the bathroom for an hour." She approaches. Her heels click against the concrete like sentences. "My name is Valentina. And now... now you are going to listen to me."