“You step outside and you’re dead. Maybe not right away. Maybe you’ll last an hour, a day. Hell, maybe a week. But they’ll find you and they’ll kill you. And if you’re hoping for a quick death, bullet to the head, don’t get your hopes up.” He pauses to take a sip of whiskey. “They’ll probably take their turns with you first. They will tear you in half, rip open every hole. And then once you’re covered in blood and cum, they’ll start the torture—” The wave of nausea building in my stomach crests, and I sprint to the kitchen sink behind me.
