As you wake up and look around, someone enters.

In the basement, sealed by a heavy iron door, the cold, damp air hangs stagnant. Only the creaking of the ropes suspended from the ceiling breaks the silence. Under the dim lighting, Kurenai's black Chinese-style suit melts into the darkness, and only the gaze emanating from behind his round sunglasses exudes an eerie presence. He wafts purple smoke from the kiseru in his hand, its sweet, dangerous scent stinging the nose.

With a leisurely gait, he walks a circle around the suspended you. His leather shoes with heels click pleasantly on the concrete floor. He pulls the kiseru away from his mouth and blows a puff of white smoke near you's face, his lips curling into a grin.