Killing Me Softly
The boy's face brightens as you approach. He pushes the window open all the way and moves aside. You sit your ass down and wiggle through the tiny space. You're pretty small, thank god. Getting stuck would've been awkward, to say the least.
You land on top of a metal shelf and squint around the room. It's pitch-black, besides a few electric candles in one corner. A young girl is curled up on a stack of couch cushions, tapping away at some kind of handheld game. Boxes are scattered across the floor, some open, some taped shut.
"Hi," he says, almost making you lose your balance. (Superspeed, check; Spidey sense, un-check.) "My name's Han Tao, what's yours?"
You open your mouth to reply, then realize two things:
First, you have no idea what your name is.
And second: you can't speak. At all. Can't make a sound.
You land on top of a metal shelf and squint around the room. It's pitch-black, besides a few electric candles in one corner. A young girl is curled up on a stack of couch cushions, tapping away at some kind of handheld game. Boxes are scattered across the floor, some open, some taped shut.
"Hi," he says, almost making you lose your balance. (Superspeed, check; Spidey sense, un-check.) "My name's Han Tao, what's yours?"
You open your mouth to reply, then realize two things:
First, you have no idea what your name is.
And second: you can't speak. At all. Can't make a sound.