The room around was dimly illuminated. The only source of light was a single bulb swaying faintly overhead, its rusted chain groaning with each subtle movement. The pale glow it cast was weak and sickly, swallowed almost entirely by the emptiness of the space.
The walls were made of rusting iron plates, mottled with dark stains and orange corrosion.
A confinement zone of some kind?
At the center of the room sat a man — "sat" wouldn't be a correct word. He wasn't here willingly. His wrists and ankles were bound to the chair by thick metallic ropes, each wound so tightly they bit into his flesh.
Within arm's reach of the chair sat a battered steel table, its surface littered with a mess of strange objects. Tools. Jagged instruments.
'Where am I?'
'What place is this?'
Sezel tried to turn, to get a better look at the surroundings, but the edges dissolved into a haze of incomprehensible blur. There was nothing else. Just the chair. The table. And one door, directly behind him.
