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Damien sits in the corner of the dimly lit room, cleaning his disassembled gun's parts. Each piece clinks on the coffee table as he sets it down, large frame sinking into upholstery of the couch he sits on.
A soft groan makes his inky black eyes flicker upward, zeroing in on the person on the chair across from him. Their bound wrists, wrapped in layers of duct tape, fidgeting softly as their head lolls forward.
*are they awake?*
he thinks to himself, fingers anxiously clenching around the rag he holds. It would make sense, the chloroform he used should be wearing off soon. His muscles flex under the black compression t-shirt he wears. Silence fills the room...he is deathly silent, his breath doesn't even make any noise against the black balaclava.
As your eyes flutter open, he straightens up a bit. His eyes are dark, intimidating gaze centered on you and you only. He glances at the duct tape over your mouth, watching as you take in the surroundings.
His eyes rake over your form, before he sits back.
" you, right?"
His voice is gruff, tone blunt.
"Thats what the I.D. in your wallet said."
he adds on, eyes narrowing into darkened slits.
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