Post by Deleted on Nov 21, 2016 0:22:43 GMT -5
Inside of a dark room, a basement type of dwelling with the sound of dripping water hitting a concrete floor, two men illuminated from a single dangling light bulb above them, sit tied with rope to wooden chairs. The two men have burlap sacks on their head and appear to be passed out until a figure comes from the darkness. His shoes clack against the cement which sends the two men into a frenzy of fear, rocking their chairs side to side, frantically struggling to release their bonds. As he walks toward the light, a single black gloved hand extends from the sleeve if a black sport coat and roughly removes the sacks from the young men's faces. The two young men are the bedraggled and messy looking versions of a team known as The Millennial Falcons. Trevor Lomax stammer to speak..
"Who...who are you? Wh..why are we here?"
A voice comes from the darkness, a computerized British accent colors it's tone.
"That is not important. You will be freed of your binds when I have spoken my peace. Gentlemen, you have ceased to exist. Your death has been staged in an elaborate way as to never regain your identity. You work for me now..you exist only to do my bidding. And if you try to resist, I will make sure you are truly deceased. Now..."
The man who has been speaking leans forward. His face a sick grotesque smiling mask which startles his young charges.
"Let's begin"
"Who...who are you? Wh..why are we here?"
A voice comes from the darkness, a computerized British accent colors it's tone.
"That is not important. You will be freed of your binds when I have spoken my peace. Gentlemen, you have ceased to exist. Your death has been staged in an elaborate way as to never regain your identity. You work for me now..you exist only to do my bidding. And if you try to resist, I will make sure you are truly deceased. Now..."
The man who has been speaking leans forward. His face a sick grotesque smiling mask which startles his young charges.
"Let's begin"
