Chaos in festival

Breathe, suck the air into your lungs, don’t lose consciousness this time, reassess the situation, and find a way out of this mess.

Only a dim light seeping through the small cracks on the wall at his back gives him an indistinct vision. His breathing is heavy and with every blood drip from his scars, his consciousness is also slowly giving up.

A creaking sounded as the wooden door opened and a group of men came in. Holding the baton, he whips it to the prisoner’s body. He grunts, enduring the pain.

“So, are you gonna talk?” His voice flares out and wakes the consciousness of the young man.

“Talk about what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You know what I am talking about.”

He again whips him with the baton.

“Who do you work for?” He asked.

He used the baton to lean up his face, showing the marks of the torture.

“I don’t work for anyone.”