The sound of the clock was the only thing keeping him company in the dim, cluttered apartment. "Tick. Tick. Tick." The relentless rhythm filled the room, a cruel reminder of time wasted and a life unlived.
He sat at the edge of his sagging couch, a can of stale beer in one hand, the other absentmindedly picking at the peeling fabric. His name was irrelevant-at least, that's how he felt most days. No family. No friends. Just a 9-to-5 job at a place where no one knew his name, either. He was twenty-eight and already convinced that nothing would change.
The knock at the door startled him. It wasn't loud or frantic, but steady and deliberate. He frowned. No one ever came here. Setting the can down, he shuffled to the door, unlocking it cautiously.
"Who is it?" he asked, voice hoarse from hours of silence.
No answer.
The hairs on his neck prickled. He cracked the door open, peering into the dimly lit hallway. It was empty. He stepped forward, glancing left and right. That's when it happened.
A hand shot out from the shadows, covering his mouth. Another gripped his arm, twisting it behind his back. Panic surged as he tried to scream, but the muffled sound barely reached his ears. Three figures emerged from the darkness, their faces obscured by masks.
"Don't struggle," one of them said, voice cold and mechanical.
Adrenaline kicked in, and he thrashed against their hold, but it was useless. A sharp pain exploded at the back of his head, and the world tilted sideways. The last thing he saw was the flickering light above his apartment door before darkness swallowed him whole.