John woke up in a cold, sterile room. He was lying on a narrow bed, with no memory of how he got there. A figure loomed over him, its face shrouded in shadows.
"Where am I?" John croaked, his throat dry.
The figure didn't respond. Instead, it handed him a note with a single sentence: "The work has begun."
John sat up, rubbing his eyes. What work? What was he talking about? The last thing he remembered was... the fire. The fire!
John's eyes widened as he scrambled out of bed. He stumbled, his legs weak, and fell to the floor. The figure loomed over him, its presence cold and menacing.