He looked around the room.
His secretary was missing too.
He was just about to call someone when a voice—smooth, slow, and dripping with amusement—sounded behind him.
"The assassins failed. Is that news enough for you?"
Oran froze.
He turned halfway, but before he could complete the motion, a strange weight settled over his mind.
His knees buckled.
His vision blurred.
"What… who… who are you?" he slurred. "What are you doing to me…?"
An intense fear washed over Oran.
The voice continued, now almost whispering directly in his ear.
"Relax. I'm not here to kill you. Not yet, anyway. You still have a bit of use left."
Oran tried to fight against the sleepiness, but the lethargy was too strong.
His thoughts began to slow down. It was as if someone had pressed down on the brakes of his consciousness.
"You'll sleep now," the voice said gently. "I've made a special dream just for you."
He collapsed onto the ground. His eyes remained half-open, full of fear.
