You grab the large turn-knob on the door and pull.
The door swings open and you stare down the help-desk at the local branch of your bank.
You’ve committed to exploring this vault, and as odd as it is, at least this place looks familiar. You walk forward and a voice says “[your preferred honourific] [your last name], Miss Henderson will see you now.” You recognize your last name and probably freak the fuck out.
How do they know who you are? Did they know you were coming? Why is this bank here? DO they have gas? More Frank Zappa records?
Your local banker Miss Henderson comes out of one of the back rooms and smiles at you gesturing to her office. By sheer force of habit/reflex you follow her gestured invitation.
You sit down in the chair in Miss Henderson’s office. She sits down across from you. Suddenly her smile fades from her face and she says. “your credit score is no good anymore. We’re going to have to hold you here until someone pays back your student loan.” Then she smiles again. A wicked smile. Her teeth have blood on them and you realize her fingernails don’t have red nail polish, it’s blood! A small door opens behind her desk as the one behind you slams shut.
You’re trapped in a dungeon. Your car abandoned, your aunt’s Frank Zappa records sitting in the back of your car. Lost forever. Who could possibly find you. Miss Henderson pounces. Everything goes dark.
