Ethan's eyelids fluttered open, and he found himself bathed in blinding light. Wincing, he instinctively raised a hand to shield his eyes, only to realize the truth—he was immobilized, tightly bound, and helpless. Panic surged through him, an electric current coursing through his veins as he strained against the restraints.
"What the hell?" he croaked, his voice a dry, raspy whisper that scratched his parched throat. He continued to squirm and writhe, struggling in vain against his inexplicable bonds. The nylon ropes grated against his skin like sandpaper, producing a relentless discomfort that felt as though every movement rubbed raw patches onto his flesh.
His memory felt like a fractured puzzle. Trying to piece together how he ended up in the situation felt like he was putting the puzzle back together just with the wrong pieces.
As his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, he took in his surroundings. He found himself sprawled on a cramped, neglected balcony that offered little more space to roll around than a yoga mat. The early summer evening hung oppressively in the air, a heavy shroud of heat and humidity that clung to the city. The sun's unforgiving rays scorched his exposed skin, soaking his shirt with a sheen of sweat, as if nature itself had conspired to make his situation more unbearable. Around him, the skeletal remains of decaying, abandoned buildings loomed.
"What is this place?" Ethan's heart raced as he considered the possibilities. Had he been kidnapped?
The sliding door creaked open, and two figures entered the room. The man seemed to be cut from the cloth of the dark underworld and fit right into the scene. Weathered and hardened, his very presence spoke of battles fought and won. With a menacing glare, he locked eyes with Ethan, his fingers twirling a knife with deadly grace. The blade gleamed malevolently in the harsh light of the afternoon sun.
The girl who followed seemed out of place in this grim scenario. She looked younger than him by a year or two, but her eyes held a steely determination. She carried a shotgun in her arms, and whether intentionally or not, the muzzle was always pointed in his direction.
Ethan squashed his insecurities and put on a brave front. "Hey there," he greeted, his voice dry and raspy but steady.
The girl regarded him with a lingering gaze before nodding slightly. The grizzled man took a menacing step forward.
Ethan's eyes darted between the two figures as he desperately tried to inch away, only to find himself cornered by the unyielding wall. Panic surged through him. "Wait! There's no need for violence. Can we talk this out?"
Fingers clamped around Ethan's chin, hoisting his face up with a painful grip. Panic fueled his struggle as he fought against the unwavering hold, his eyes fixed on the gleaming blade.
With an unnerving swiftness, the knife vanished, concealed up the man's sleeve. In its place, he produced a bottle of water, which he unceremoniously dumped over Ethan's face.
The icy water provided a merciful reprieve for Ethan's parched throat and a fleeting escape from the unrelenting heat. Gratitude mingled with his anxiety as he eagerly consumed the liquid.
The man tossed the bottle aside and stepped back, leaning against the balcony railing. His vigilant gaze remained locked on Ethan. The girl placed a folding chair and occupied it, her shotgun still aimed at him.
"Thank you. I would shake your hand, but as you can see, they are a little occupied," Ethan continued, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He addressed the girl who seemed to be the leader. "By the way, would you mind untying me? I'm not really into this stuff."
The girl looked at him in confusion. "What?"
Ethan smirked, trying to maintain a semblance of humor amidst the tension. "Well, if you wanted to spend some quality time together, you could have just sent me an invitation. Kidnapping is quite the unconventional icebreaker, wouldn't you say? Most people save ropes and restraints for a more, uh, intimate setting, but I guess we can try to make this work." He gestured casually in the direction of the imposing Marcus. "Although, if you don't mind, we might have to ask your friend to step out for a moment. I tend to prefer a bit more privacy for... these kinds of activities. Oh, and about these ropes, I'm not much of a fan of being tied up. I usually like to take the lead."
The girl's eyebrow arched as she exchanged a brief, incredulous look with her companion. She approached Ethan, her shotgun raised threateningly. Before he could react, the butt of the shotgun came crashing down on his face.
"Ow!" Ethan cried out in pain, a sharp, throbbing sensation surging from his nose. "What was that for?"
"Drop your stupid act," the girl snapped, pointing the barrel straight against his head. "Answer my questions and you live. Lie and I'll paint the balcony with your brains."
The curtain concealing the interior of the house fluttered aside, and two little heads popped into view, staring at Ethan curiously. He rolled his eyes, finding the situation stranger by the second. "I can't believe you brought the president to the interrogation room. Must be a serious issue."
The girl raised the gun again, and Ethan quickly backtracked. "Wait," he hastily said. "I'll answer your questions so you can lower it."
She returned to her seat and scrutinized him intensely. "What are you?"
The question bewildered Ethan, and he tried to fathom its meaning. "Don't you mean 'Who are you?' That question would be weird as well. As you know, you kidnapped me and all."
"What are you?" she repeated, her voice unyielding.
Ethan pondered for a moment, attempting to decipher her cryptic question. "Sixteen-year-old male," he replied, hoping to provide a suitable answer. "Oh, were you asking for my preference? I'm straight, so we can—"
The man named Marcus lunged forward, his powerful fist connecting with Ethan's nose. Excruciating pain shot through his face, and blood gushed from his nostrils.
"Hey! What's the—"
Marcus lifted him and leaned him over the balcony railing, his grip like a vice on Ethan's throat.
"Are you crazy?!" Ethan screamed, the wind whistling in his ears, and fear of free-fall loomed. "What are you doing?"
"Marcus, put him down," the girl shouted. "The kids are watching."
Marcus's eyes smoldered with unbridled hostility, and Ethan realized that this man was more than capable of throwing him over the edge.
"I'm sorry," Ethan stammered. His eyes flicked to the far-off ground. He couldn't help but glance down at the distant ground; he estimated he was at least eight floors up. The wind teased his hair as if beckoning him to leap into its embrace. His heart pounded furiously, the fear of a fatal fall squeezing his throat. He silently prayed Marcus retained enough sense not to release him. "I didn't know what the question meant."
"Marcus!" the girl's voice crackled with authority.
Marcus flung him to the corner of the balcony. The impact with the wall sent pain shooting through Ethan's body, and he slumped to the ground.
The children watching the scene let out startled cries and quickly retreated, allowing the curtain to fall back into place.
Blood continued to trickle from Ethan's nose and lips, staining the balcony floor. He was trapped in his humiliating, vulnerable position, unable to wipe the blood away or muster the movement to sit up. His eyes burned with a fierce glare fixed upon Marcus, who had resumed his post by the railing.
"What were you doing at the penthouse?" the girl asked.
Ethan's gaze shifted back to the girl, his earlier casual demeanor replaced by an air of frustration. "Listen here," he said, his voice tinged with impatience, "I have no idea why you brought me here or what you're asking about. Make yourself clear, or you can just let your friend here finish the job."
Ethan clawed at his mind, attempting to recollect how he'd ended up in the situation. He felt like a man searching through a fog, his memories eluding his grasp, shrouded in confusion and darkness. His thoughts remained a chaotic whirlwind, refusing to settle, as if his past had become an enigma he needed to unravel.
The girl persisted with her relentless stream of questions, each one a chisel, carving away at Ethan's already fragile state. "I don't know," he repeated, his voice heavy with despair, the stark realization that his memories were absent hitting him like a physical blow. It was as though he stood at the precipice of a vast abyss, staring into the void of his past. His mind resembled an empty canvas, yearning for a story that had been callously erased. "I'm Ethan Cross," he whispered to himself, as though repeating it could miraculously breathe life into his vanishing past.
"Who are you?" she finally inquired, her brown eyes boring into his, seeking answers he couldn't provide.
"I'm Ethan Cross," he echoed, the repetition a desperate attempt to summon fragments of his lost memories. Each time he said his name, it felt like he was reaching into the abyss, hoping to grasp a forgotten piece of himself.
The girl leaned closer, her gaze an intense, unyielding force. "Are you sure?"
Ethan's breath hitched, and his heart hammered in his chest. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice trembling, uncertainty and fear swirling in his eyes.
The girl and Marcus exchanged a brief glance. "I don't believe you're much help right now," she declared. "Rest up. I'll return later."
"Wait!" Ethan shouted as she rose to leave. "Who are you? Why did you bring me here? What have you done to me?" His words escalated from a whisper to a desperate scream, but they left him without another glance, leaving him alone with his haunting thoughts.