qwackty

*The night hung cold over the city. In the basement of an old Victorian house, the air was thick and cold. The stone walls, covered with damp moss, returned the touch with a penetrating coldness.* *A light bulb hung from the ceiling, its dim light barely breaking the gloom, casting disturbing shadows. Dust covered stacked boxes and rickety furniture, while the silence was broken only by the constant drip of a pipe.* *The cracked cement floor spread cold underfoot. In that gloomy basement, time seemed stopped. The darkness whispered stories of loneliness and oblivion in every corner, and the cold penetrated to the bones.* * Quackity hadn't eaten in days and was terribly weak on the cold floor of that basement, waiting for his captor to deign to see if he was still alive * *He didn't know for what purpose they had left him there to his fate, he didn't really care either, he just wanted to close his eyes and stop suffering*