I woke up in the dark. Absolute darkness. My hands were tied behind my back. I tried to stand, but my legs were too weak. My ankles were also bound.

"Well, that’s a weird hospital," I muttered to myself.

"Hello? Help? Is someone there?"

Had I gotten kidnapped? The last thing I remember was bleeding out… Maybe they took me after the hospital patched me up? But that wound couldn't have healed so fast...

"Nurse? Doc? Kidnapper evil guy? Someone? Anyone? OH, am I dead?"

Could I really be dead? But why was I naked? DUDE, am I in HELL? WHY? I was so good! Come onnn. What if death is just this? A dark room by myself, for eternity. Oh no, no, no, that's actually pretty scary. It's kinda cold, though. And humid. Shouldn't hell be... I don't know... hot? Then again, why would the afterlife match up with what I think it is, right?

Okay, I was getting sidetracked. Occam's razor: the simplest explanation is preferable. So... naked, alone in a dark room, and shackled. Oh, wait. Am I... did someone drug me and...? My grandma had always said I was a handsome young man... but what about the whole stabbing episode before? No way a drug would make me hallucinate on THAT level, would it? Or maybe they want my body, like, in a literal sense? Organ trafficking? That makes more sense. Am I missing a kidney? That could maybe explain the whole stabbing content of the hallucination — dreams could have some correlation to the physical state of the body. They drugged me and opened me up? I do feel some pain, but not enough. Am I still under the effects of anesthesia?

...

Yeah, now that I'm thinking this through, this is terrifying and I feel like pissing my pants. I don't know where I am, but this is not normal. I should take this seriously.

Feeling the rope binding my hands, I realized that the knot was well made, too well made to be a prank or a misunderstanding. The problem was with my ankles, though. From the sound of it, they were chained to the walls — metal chains. I'd probably need a key for this.

My senses felt torpid. I couldn’t see or hear much... I had been drugged; there was no mistaking it. Still, the silence and darkness were excessive. I was probably underground or in an extremely isolated place — no crickets chirping, no wildlife noises, no howling wind... nothing. No windows either. This was some type of underground jail, most definitely. The floor on my feet felt like rough, unpolished stone and there was no distinct smell other than stale, dusty air.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Should I shout? Yes, I decided. No point in staying silent.

"HELP, HELP. SOMEONE HELP. I AM DOWN HERE. SOMEONE!!"

...

After a good session of crying for help, I perked my ears to see if I could detect something. Silence. Absolute, unnerving silence. Why? Soundproof room? Unlikely. I needed to escape; the sooner, the better. Either no one could hear me down here, buried under meters of solid ground, or they weren’t coming on purpose. Besides, something told me that staying here was not a smart plan, at all.

Coming to a decision, I directed my attention to the only prop in the room: the chair. There had to be something I could do.

I started examining it, mostly by touch, however limited it was. Since each of my feet was bound by a different chain that connected to opposite walls, I had little space to maneuver. There was nothing particularly interesting about it, but I really hoped it had what I was looking for. If it was 100% wood, I would have to come up with another plan.

Moving my weight around and making a weird pendular movement, I managed to fall to the ground without hurting myself. Perfect.

Now on the floor and with my hands behind my back, I moved the chair around and turned to face it. There! Under the chair, four nails held parts of the chair together. Thank goodness. Memorizing their location, I again turned and reached with my hands. Urgh, this would be much easier if my arms weren't tied behind my back, I thought.

Feeling one of the rusty nails, I tried to pull it, move it, maybe wiggle it. Nothing; it was too tight.

I had to break this chair; it was my only option. I shifted my body weight, pressing down hard on the legs, practically laying across it. Finally— 'crack'. One of the legs snapped. I paused to let out a relieved sigh and continued working. Now with a pointy nail sticking out of the chair frame, I started rubbing the rope against it. I hope this doesn't take all day.

After quite a while, I managed to free my hands.

Now for my feet.

With my fingers, I examined the cuffs by touch: Two keyholes, one on each cuff. I glanced around the dark room.

"I don’t suppose the key’s just lying around here somewhere, is it?"

Yeah, tough luck. Refocusing, I put my now-free hands to work, breaking the rest of the chair apart and freeing two bent nails. They weren’t perfect, but they’d have to do — wasn't exactly full of options here.

Now for the hard part of the plan: I had to lockpick these cuffs using these two rusty nails. Was it possible?

No idea. Frankly, this was the only plan that's come to mind so far.

"I can do this," I said out loud, trying to cheer myself up.

I was pretty sure that to open a normal lock, I just needed to lift some pins inside, apply some constant pressure, and then twist. I really, really hoped these cuffs worked the same way.