You might've laid there forever if not for that infernal dripping.
that
infernal
dripping
drip
drip
drip
drip
square in the center of your forehead, just above the space right between your eyes!
Speaking of eyes. They snap open, for reasons you cannot recall, your fight or flight instinct is kicked into high gear right now. You're on your back, that much is certain, but, scanning around, you don't see anything but darkness.
You don't hear anything either. Except for that infernal dripping.
drip
drip
drip
drip
drip
All you feel right now is the cold floor at your back. Steel, if you had to guess.
>Command?
Comments
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
You can just barely stand up, and have to crouch a little. You nearly whack your head against a slightly damp piece of metal, probably a pipe. You'd guess that's where the leak is coming from.
You feel around both the room and your person. You're wearing clothes, so that's a plus, and....very hard gloves? gauntlets? you try to take them off, but they seem to be pretty determined to stay in place. On the floor is a length of...something, it almost feels like another pipe, but it's too smooth and deliberately-crafted to be one. For now, it's merely a stick.
There is now an open vent in front of you.
enough for you
to fit in, though
like the room,
itself it'll be a
bit of a tight
fit.
>Exit Vent
>Keep Going
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead