We find ourselves in a small, windowless room, decked with old wooden planks on the floor and walls that sets a gloomy mood. A narrow bed situated in its centre and a small nightstand with a faux antique lamp on it makes up the space; a single deer skull hangs above the door that leads into the cabin’s hallway.
On the bed lies a dark-haired man, face down, handcuffed by his wrists to each bedpost. His eyes are closed but he’s awake; a puff of frosty air escapes his lips. He’s thinking frantically about what to do, what is yet to try in order to achieve his freedom and get out of the situation he’s in.
His wrists are painfully swollen from having tugged on the handcuffs all night, his eyes puffy from lack of sleep, his mind a whirlwind of emotions, angry but mostly scared; scared of what comes next and if this is how he’s going to spend his last hours on Earth, chained to a bed, disarmed and helpless.
The man’s eyes fly open as he hears a door creak somewhere in the cabin. He wants to shout for help but knows better than to do that. A small, involuntary whimper escapes him as he hears heavy footsteps slowly approaching his location. The man keeps his eyes fixed on the door while he gives the handcuffs one final, desperate yank. Just outside the door, the footsteps come to a halt. Beneath it he can see a shadow moving.
Then the door swings open.