Take off your clothes

You don’t want her to smell you. If you can smell yourself, you are in trouble.

Because you were out in the rain for so long, you are soaked through. There is nothing remotely dry about your body or your outfit. You less take off your clothes than peel them, and you do it as slowly as you can, blind in the dark. Your eyes have not adjusted yet. As soon as you have the balled-up clothes in your hands, you hold your breath and try to decide what to do.

There’s nothing like walking around barefoot in a freezing, cluttered basement while wearing nothing but a soaked pair of cotton knickers.

You throw your clothes into the dark, where they land with an audible splat.

As you hoped, you hear another sound. A reaction from the killer!

You prowl forward, trying to use all your senses.

There’s not much light, but you see it gleam on the knife. From the knife, you can tell where she is. You lunge in, grabbing her wrist and bashing it on a table. The knife falls to the floor, and you kick it away.

The killer grabs for you, but her gloved hands just slip on your damp, bare skin. You punch her in the face, feeling something there… a mask. She crashes against the wall, and you hit her again.

Groaning, she slides down, probably seeing stars.

You kneel in front of her. Your eyes have adjusted now. You pull the hood down, then rip off the mask.

“Amy?” you say, shocked. But Amy has always been so sweet. You don’t understand. “What the fuck?”

She takes advantage of your surprise and kicks you savagely, right in the stomach. Groaning, you topple over backward.

Amy grabs the knife again, and you can’t let her do that, so you just go for and launch yourself at her. Your tackle rams her into the wall, and to your surprise, it gives way! Brick and masonry crumble like they’re nothing, and in a burst of dust and mortar, the two of you smash straight through the wall and into another room… a room that you never knew about.

The power is back on. Upstairs, the lights are on. You see little bits of yellow glow coming through cracks in the floorboards above you. It’s enough to show you the room that you’re in. It’s not a large room, but there’s stuff in it… weird stuff.

Chains and manacles hang on the walls, and there’s a wooden table that you recognize from horny anime: it’s pointed, like the roof of a house. It’s… BDSM stuff. Old stuff. Tons of it. Gloves, corsets, whips… Holy shit.

Coughing and **** on the dust, you both shakily get to your feet. Amy has lost the knife among all the broken bricks and stuff.

“Fuck me dead,” you murmur, looking around at the secret room.

“They walled it up years ago,” Amy replies.

Of course she’d know that. Amy knows everything about CCL history.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing,” you say.

“Don’t worry about it,” she replies.

“Do I look worried?” you ask, getting ready to fight.

Amy throws off her robe and gets ready as well.

“Consider this your initiation,” she says.

Kick this posh cunt’s narrow, American ass?

Or

Grab something from this room as a weapon and then try to do that?