Agent Marshall

It's a modified hospital room from the looks of it, but one he wouldn't want to stay in.

The smell of mildew tells him that the stains running down the walls are from some sort of leak.

The tile on the floor is cracked or just missing, revealing ancient strips of mortar and glue.

There's a door on the far wall, presumably to a bathroom, but it's hanging by one hinge, and whatever space is beyond that is pitch dark.

There's a creak, then a bang.

Marshall jumps and tries to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

He can barely even twitch them.

He tries again with the same result.

His legs are covered by a soiled blanket.

Dark brown splotches stain the less than white material.

Marshall reaches out to move the blanket away from his legs, but he can't even accomplish that.

His wrists are secured to the bed rails by thick leather straps.

Each strap is buckled tight, and there is a small lock on each buckle, making it impossible for Marshall to remove them.

He shouts.

Creak and a bang.

Creak and a bang.

A voice whispers from the far corner of the room.

Marshall yells.

A shadowed figure takes a step forward, then shakes its head and steps back.

The forward movement may have stopped, but the shaking doesn't.