Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 117

The door swung open to reveal not a Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory, complete with flaming Bunsen burners, banks of voltage meters, and a table with the sewn together body parts of a hideous monster, but a rather antiseptic, generic-looking examination room, not unlike my own doctor's. The only anomaly in the room was a chair with leather straps on the armrests. It looked like something out of a mental institution.

The next thing I remember was waking up with a severe headache, a lump on the back of my head, and my arms strapped to the arms of the chair...