Rules At Death
The duct tape embedded on my lips tasted bitter.
The glass windows left no option for ventilation, forming sweat droplets that glued my messed hair strands into my sweaty cheek.
He leaned closer and kneeled. Without saying a word, he untied only my hands' ropes, leaving my feet glued to the chair sticks. He then grabbed the silver tape without a single stutter, which burned my lips.
"Listen, we will play by my rules here," he said with an unclear voice through the mask.
"What do you want?!"
"Rule number one, I am the only one who can speak."
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