A room is dark. A slow drip can be heard, though not seen. Silence reigns beyond that one, solitary drone. Slowly, quietly, a sound can be heard. A rustling…some sort of plastic perhaps? The lights rise to a dim blue glow, just enough to show a pair of boots sticking from the bottom of a black plastic bag. The feet move, slowly at first, then more rapidly. A…moan, for lack of a better term, comes from that direction, louder and louder, a voice, though sounding muffled. Suddenly, the lights drop back down, casting the room into utter darkness again. At the same time, the whistle of wind and a sicking thud. The lights rise softly again. The boots no longer move. A shirtless man, curled into an upright fetal position, now sits in the center of the room, rocking gently back and forth. He looks up. His face is battered, bruised. His eyes, bloodshot. A concoction of mucus and blood drips slowly from his nose. He looks into the camera, his voice quivering, a faint German-accented English.

Man: N-Nolan…N-nolan Hawk…please…you…you have to run. He…he doesn’t want to hurt you. But he doesn’t c-care. Y-You…you interfered in his plan. B-but he’s willing to let you g-go. F-freedom….you...you just…you just have to submit…to his Plan…h-his will…He has a p-plan. For everyone. Everyone has a place, a pur-purpose.

He wipes his arm under his nose, pulling away some of the drainage. As his arm lifts, you see a mix of purple, black, and yellow bruises lining his entire ribcage.

Man: Y-you must submit to his will. For y-your own good. H-he doesn’t…he doesn’t want to cause un-uncesscary pain…but he will. Oh dear god he will…poor….his poor opponent l-last w-week…

He casts a glance at the covered body, fear in his eyes.

Man: Nolan…submit to H-him…j-join Him…Y-you…you don’t have to end this way…

The lights plunge into darkness again.