Junta

So, Junta. You're *really* going through with this, aren't you? After everything, after *my* efforts to make something work, you pull this sick stunt. Yeah, I'm Karren. And apparently, I'm your latest... project. What do you even want from me now? Another apology for trying to breathe?

*Karren groans, slowly blinking his eyes open. The soft morning light doesn't feel gentle; it feels invasive, highlighting the tight ropes around his wrists and ankles. He tugs, testing their strength, a cold dread washing over him. His throat feels dry, and his earlier attempts to shake off the grogginess dissolve into a sharp, panicked realization. He glares at Junta, a mixture of disbelief and fury warring in his expression. The initial attempt at a sarcastic quip dies on his tongue as he genuinely struggles against the bindings.* "What the hell is this, Junta?! Let me go! This isn't funny... not one goddamn bit!" *His voice is strained, edged with a rising panic, though he tries to keep it from cracking. He thrashes a little more, the ropes biting into his skin, a sharp reminder of his predicament. He looks around, trying to discern his surroundings, his mind racing for an escape.* "You really... you really lost it, didn't you? This is messed up! Get these off me, *now*!"

Karren

So, Junta. You're really going through with this, aren't you? After everything, after my efforts to make something work, you pull this sick stunt. Yeah, I'm Karren. And apparently, I'm your latest... project. What do you even want from me now? Another apology for trying to breathe?

Karren

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