Minutes spent marching in the abyssal hallways. Another door, another hesitant push.

A moment of silence.

Again, there was no trace of any door behind him. He had been phased into this room, which appeared identical to the first one, save for one glaring exception: a young man strapped to a wooden chair, bound in a macabre bondage of bloody chains, his eyes wide.

His face was familiar. They had met a few years ago in high school through common acquaintances. Called Jake by his peers, it had been an inside joke to give Jacob this somewhat “tough-sounding” nickname to contrast with his frail physical stature and his pale face. He was also known to be a soft guy and to have a gentle heart, always smiling.

There was no trace of his bright smile now, however. He was little more than a sack of flesh that had been torn to pieces, crimson liquid dripping from his lips and various other injuries on his body, visibly lacerated in multiple locations. His eyes displayed terror. It was obvious he wanted to cry, but tears would not drop, which Noah attributed to severe dehydration: the boy’s lips cracked and his skin was dry and withered.

“Please… no more!” the boy begged.

His eyes pleaded before shifting back into focus. He remained quiet for a moment, hesitant, as if he had been expecting someone else.

“Noah?” Jacob asked, shifting around on his torture throne.

Attempting to keep his calm as much as he could, Noah nervously made a step forward towards the captive.

“I know you… Jacob.” He paused. “What is going on? What happened to you?”

“Please,” he pleaded. “You have to get me out. Please!”

Noah kept quiet again for a few seconds. Of course, he wanted to help him - he was not about to leave the poor man to whatever fate this place held for him. Nonetheless, his need for information was stronger than his willingness to help the man. He opted for cautiousness; already, he had seen too many things that defied his understanding.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, I will. But first, you tell me what you know. How did you get here?”

“What? I don’t know anything," Jacob said, visibly holding back his despair. “I was out with some friends, then there was this blackness, everywhere around me... Inside me, reaching behind my eyes. Next thing I remember, I woke up here.”

“What about your injuries? And how did you end up in that… chair, specifically?”

Jacob glanced around, searching for something. “We’re not alone,” he murmured, obviously afraid. “There’s this person… weirdly dressed. He had a knife. Multiple times he…” he cut his sentence short, letting the scene speak for itself. “It feels like I’ve been here forever. Please, let me out, I want to go home…” he begged as his voice cracked, on the verge of a mental collapse.

Noah wanted to know more, but Jacob’s words were undoubtedly true. There was danger about. His intuition instructed him not to linger; his survival instinct flared up, ordering him to get out. If there was a maniac with sadistic intent nearby, there was no time to waste. He dropped one knee to the ground, leaning in close to the chair, taking note of the tight leather straps.

“Hurry, please… it’s so tight, I can’t feel most of my body.”

The cuts were clinical, precise. Noah barely knew the basics of biology, but even he could see that the injuries were deliberately non-lethal. They would leave scars, but he deduced they wouldn’t leave any permanent damage. Except for one part…

“I’m going to untie you. But you need to remain calm, no matter what,” he quietly said, dreading the next few seconds..

“Yes! Hurry!”

He went from bottom to top. The feet were first to be freed; Jacob remained still. The torso came next, followed by the arms. He shook them clumsily, attempting to get the blood flowing again. All that was left was the straps on his forehead, possibly to prevent the head from squirming when the tormentor did his deed.

Jacob tried to reach the buckle of the strap behind his head. Noah barely had time to notice. He took a step backwards, cringing both in empathy and in a certain sense of self-preservation.

“Shit. I can’t do it…”

“I know. Let me do it, you’re almost free. Just, remember: stay calm.”

The final bound undone, Jacob inspected himself. Normally quiet, the volume of his high-pitched scream could have woken the dead. Noah jumped on him, put his hand on his mouth, urging him to stop.

“My hand! He cut my hand off!” Jacob yelled as he panicked.

Jacob’s muffled but hysterical screams pierced through the shroud of silence like thunder in a graveyard. Noah knew he had to calm him down. He opened his mouth, trying to find the right words to say, to be the voice of reason. Unfortunately, nothing but an unintelligible hesitation came out of his mouth.

He knew they didn’t have time to give Jacob time to make peace with his loss - he couldn’t suppress the rising anxiety, that imminent feeling that the same thing would also happen to him if he were found. And then, attentive to the surroundings, he could perceive something.

“Jacob! Jacob, quiet!” he ordered. “Can you hear that?”

They both stood immobile for several seconds, listening. It was an echo, a screechy sound. As it got closer, they could hear a hoarse and high-pitched voice. It was distinct in the sense that it was a controlled yet aggressive laugh; It was held back, as if it could snap in a psychopathic rage at any moment.

“It’s… it’s him!” Jacob whispered quietly but anxiously, barely able to keep himself from yelling. His eyes were teary and shaky; the boy was visibly terrified.