"Hehehe... HAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!!!!" The bone-chilling laughter echoed through the dimly lit space, snapping Gregor from a dream where he envisioned himself ascending the ranks in Valorant, a digital maestro in the footsteps of the illustrious Ninja. His eyes shot open, irritation etching lines on his face as the dream dissolved into the harsh reality of an unwelcome awakening.
"Carve holes in your testicles and immerse them in saline," Gregor's retort sliced through the darkness. Blindfolded and devoid of sight, the musty aroma hinted at the aged ambiance surrounding him, a place undoubtedly frequented by Stabeque's underworld denizens.
"Are you Gregor Fillipenko?" queried a voice draped in shadows.
"I don't spill details without my legal backup!" Gregor asserted, the irony thick in the air as he pondered his meager net worth of 200 v-bucks, a paltry sum scarcely sufficient for any legal representation.
"Hey, Klyn, check his pocket—I found his passport," interjected another voice. Klyn advanced toward Gregor, whose nostrils recoiled from the pungent odor exuding from Klyn, more offensive than the aftermath of a ten-hour hentai marathon.
"Well, well, what do we have here—Gregor Fillipenko."
"How the fuck do you know me, and why trap me in Stabeque? This feels like a form of torture!"
"You know damn well what your father did, you prejudiced cod!"
"Wait... you... knew my father?"
A revelation rippled through Klyn and his confidant as they realized Gregor stood ignorant of their accusations.
"Allow me to enlighten you." With a flourish, the blindfold yielded, revealing the orchestrators of this mysterious ordeal.
They were colossal, towering at least fifteen meters, adorned in ashen skin and formidable armor. "You don't seem native to Stabeque."
"I'm Klyn, and this is my comrade, Sarr. We've come to settle the score for what your father wrought upon our people on Ioxya,"