The room was dimly lit by a single light bulb that cascaded down from the ceiling. It swung from left to right from the slight breeze that fleeted in through the small port windows on the higher parts of the four walls. The room was crisp silent with only the subtle sounds of a body of water crashing onto concrete seawalls somewhere in the distant. In the centre, however, sat a young boy dressed in a black, formal tux that now has rips and dirt on it, with his hands tied to the back rest of the chair, and his sight blinded by a piece of dirty cloth.

He was confused, and in a great magnitude of fear. He felt his heart hammering in his chest, flinching at the slightest of sound. When you lose your sight, your other senses amplifies. He wanted to break free from the restriction, but every single time he remotely moved his hands, the thorns of the ropes binding his hands together would stab his soft, sensitive skin. He tried nonetheless, because even though he feels terrified, he still has hopes he can get out of this-- a kidnap? A hostage case? A game of sadism? --- he did not know.

In that moment, the sound of rusted metal creaking echoed the silent room. The boy felt his muscles tense. He could not be certain, but he was sure that was the sound of a door opening. The sound of footsteps entailed next. Heavy, clad boots dragged across the gravel ground. The man wearing those boots had a stern face, dark and unkempt hair, a thick beard that forested around his lips and a long scar that travelled down across the side of his face.

The boy could smell alcohol on the man that stood in front of him. The smell was pungent and thick- which probably meant it was fresh. It gave him headaches just breathing in that scent. He thrashed slightly, but cringing when the thorns of the ropes stabbed him.

"Dont bother. Youre not going anywhere," tells the man with the scar. His voice was deep, cruel and absolutely intimidating. It could very well have been the voice of the devil.

"Wh- whats going on?" asked the tied up boy, stammering through his words from the fear inside of him.

"Youll know soon enough," he says with the same devilish intonation.

He did not understand. Who was this man? What was he talking about? The boy tried to recall his past weeks. He tried to pinpoint where he heard that voice but nobody came to mind. He was a senior in high school- what possible danger could come out of high school besides the day to day bullying? He was terribly confused by this entire predicament.

In that moment, the sound of a phone of a keypad being dialed into echoes around the silent room this time. It was a gentle sound, a sound that both gave solace, and great fear.

"You have ten seconds," the cruel man says into the phone when the call is assumably answered. He shuffles forward then, and suddenly presses the cold metallic device onto the boys ear.

"Kurt? Kurt? Are you there?" says the man on the other end in a panic. He recognizes that voice.

"Blaine?" says Kurt, both still confused but relieved having heard a voice that belongs to somebody he knows. "Blaine, whats going on?" asked Kurt, not being able to remotely conceal his terror.

"Im coming to get you, okay?" says Blaine with as much assurance as he can muster. "Theyre not going to hurt you. Its me they want. Im sorry I got you into this, Kurt, but I promise Im coming to get you. I promise," says Blaine.
"Im scared," says Kurt, tears stinging in his eyes, unable to pretend that he is brave because he is brave at a lot of things- in this new situation, however, fear might as very well have consumed him.

"I know you are, but hang in there. Im coming to get you. I promise," says Blaine in a tone more solid. He means it. He is coming.

The phone is ripped away in that moment, and the fear and uncertainty settles back in. Kurt believes Blaine is coming, but it still did not stop him from feeling scared. He needs Blaine here, because for the few months theyve known each other, Blaine was his pillar of strength, and the arms of safety. He needs him here.

"You have thirty minutes to get to Warehouse thirty three at the Lima Bay, otherwise-" says the man, his sentence left hanging.

The man with the scar pulls out a small sharp knife, a knife that has a history of wounds and murder. He brings it to the boys face. Without even a hint of hesitation, he pulls it across the boys cheek and leaves a long and deep cut across his skin. The boy screams in pain. He tugs on his hand to remedy the cut, but to no avail. Tears start streaming down his cheeks. His cry is deafening and painful, but the cruel man laughs.

"You understand," he says into the phone, before he shuts it off.

Blood gushes out of the open wound, streaming down his neck like a straight river. It stings like no wound has ever stung before, but he needs to be strong. He tells himself that help is coming. Hang in there, was what Blaine had said to him, and that is what he shall do.

"Lets see if you are simply collateral damage to your friend, huh," says the cruel man in a hush whisper to Kurt.

"Hes coming, and youre going to be sorry," tells Kurt, mustering his courage to respond.

"Well see," says the man.

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