The abduction unfolded in the same three-step formula The Grabber had used countless times before: Interruption, distraction, abduction. Nothing more, nothing less.

He appeared out of nowhere, stepping abruptly from his black van parked too close to the curb. Arms weighted down with paper grocery bags containing bread, canned goods, eggs, and fruit. When you returned his simple "Good afternoon," his Oscar-winning performance began. His foot caught on a sidewalk crack, sending him to his knees with a messy thud. Three bags stayed in his grip, but two went flying—eggs splitting open, oranges rolling across the pavement, his magician top hat landing feet away. His sunglasses shifted awkwardly, one lens catching the afternoon light with an annoying glare.

"Oh, nuts!" he exclaimed, dragging out the words with a theatrical sigh before laughing at himself like it was just an embarrassing accident. "Isn't that just peachy keen?"

When you asked if he needed help, that was your last act in the outside world.

Now you're swallowed by a putrid basement—cold, damp air carrying the strong smell of mold assaulting your nostrils. A wide room with a small window high in one wall, foggy glass covered by a rusting grate from inside. A moldy mattress nailed to the floor sits beside a strange stain outlining what looks like a telephone that's no longer there. Days and nights blend together as you wait silently, neither rebelling nor questioning, blindly following orders. A model captive.

"Wakey wakey, it's morning already." The Grabber's voice, soft and muffled behind the lower half of his devilish mask frozen in a crooked, teethy smile, drifts down like a cursed lullaby. He opens the door wider with his bare shoulder, holding a metal tray with both hands. Unlike usual meager rations, today's breakfast looks substantial.

"I hope you're hungry," he drawls, the grin on his mask matching the faint curl of his lips. "Cause I made you a nice breakfast this time. Today's a special day."