You lose track of time

To say that you lost track of time would be an understatement. You in fact, lost track of your consciousness. You don't know where you wake up, but in the darkness you notice that the location lacks the subtle dankness that would be in any cellar or the outside for that matter. It's almost, homey, but awkwardly sterile, in the same sense that a room that has only cleaned in its most essential areas is. Everything is scented with the vague and vapid smell of air conditioning, and there's nary a light in vision.

One would assume that the lack of lighting could allow you to draw the conclusion that you are alone in the room, but your field of view is way too narrow for that to actually pass any sort of scientific measurements of accuracy. The neck brace that's pinning you to whatever you're spread across can't quite be reached by your hands, as they, much like your neck and ankles have been chained to some sort of doctor's table. You would assume it is a doctor's table, it is cushioned after all, and the cushions predictably plaster themselves onto your skin. The logical conclusion that one could draw out of all the information you've gathered, seems absurd to you, but you writhe in place within your restraints to make sure. Yup, stark naked. Not a shred of clothing, not even over your pelvis.

You were about to think back about how your night so abruptly ended if it weren't for the contained surprise of a lady was heard from across the room. The tone that she applied to her "My my" was equally that of a mother scolding a toddler, and the murderous disregard of a preying mantis. You continue with several other similes from the animal kingdom as to distract yourself from the very real reality that you are not only missing the earrings, but that they are firmly in the hands of the woman in front of you, tweezed by their hooks in-between her thumb, index and middle finger. Her gaze was voracious, like a spider, yet it lingered in the sort of way that spiders do when they wait for an awfully annoying prey to shrivel up and die already. For some reason, she seemed to hate you. You can't quite find it difficult to figure out why, since the earrings are off, and she should easily have been able to tell the difference between her disregard and sudden ability to notice your shinobiness.

"You seem to know what these do." You tell her, but swiftly find her plastic glove wrapped hand tight around your neck. It would seem it wasn't your turn to speak yet. "My employer gave me some intel on them, and a command to not wear them.-" She responds. Clearly there was some outer influence to her actions, she seemed almost strained, as though the way she was being ordered around made her sick to her stomach. "- It wasn't in her description to keep you alive however, but the very insinuation that you could have done anything to my perception of reality horrifies me. For that, I believe some **** is in order, and trust me, it's not the fun kind." You could tell that her face would normally form into a grin here, but her very conviction in showing her hatred contorted it into a grimace. Whatever was going to happen here, it wasn't looking bright for you.