Time passes since the murder of the unlucky victim. Without a clock, Crash only has the sky to gauge how long he has been held captive. He scratches a mark into the crate. 'Eight,’ he thinks. 'We've been here for more than a week.' Crash sighs. He curls up onto the dirty floor. With his gaze towards the front door, the disheveled teen waits for the return of his unnatural capturers.

"If only I had my bag." He shakes his head. "Then I could call for help."

He gulps with a dry ...