I thought there was no worse way to wake up, than when I was sick with the flu and had a one hundred- and three-degree temperature and had emptied my stomach of its contents every half hour.
I was wrong.
There is no worse way to wake up than to a pounding head and your wrists being chained above your head to the ceiling. I felt like I was in an old school jail where they simply left you there dangling to slowly die of dehydration. I have no clue where I am or who took me. I vaguely remember a male voice saying something, but then I come up blank.
The room I am currently dangling in is nearly pitch black. The small six-inch window being my only means of light. The only thing it reveals is a seemingly empty room. The walls are made of thick steel, as well as the floor. The place is baron,
