Steve's eyes fluttered open to a dimly lit room—his room—but something felt wrong.
He tried to sit up and realized, with rising panic, that he couldn't.
Thick ropes bound his wrists and ankles to the bedposts, digging into his skin.
"What the hell…?" he rasped, twisting against the restraints.
Then he saw it.
Standing at the foot of the bed was a massive figure—broad-shouldered, built like a tank—and wearing a grotesque demon mask with horns and a permanent, carved grin.
The figure just stood there, breathing slowly, watching him in silence.
Steve's blood ran cold.
"Release me! Who the fuck are you?!" he shouted, his voice raw with panic.
And then, from somewhere behind the mask, a voice rang out—deep, familiar, and laced with cruel amusement.
"Well, well… finally awake, are we?"
Steve's eyes widened.
That voice… he knew it.
He knew it.
But it couldn't be.
"No… No way…" he whispered, straining against the ropes even harder now, heart pounding in his chest.
