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"A-a-a-a-and let's start our show!" — the loud voice of the announcer rang in Martin's head, making him jerk as if he'd been electrocuted.
His eyes snapped open, but the world around him was nothing like he expected. He wasn’t in his room, not at the office, and not even at some bar where his friends might’ve dragged him after a good—or not-so-good—evening. No.
The scent of dampness, metal, and old concrete filled his nostrils. Wooden pallets, dirty cardboard boxes, and rusted pipes were scattered around. Light seeped through broken windows, casting long beams across the floor.
An abandoned warehouse.
— Wh-what the… — he tried to speak but coughed instead.
And then he felt it.
The weight on his chest, the tight fabric pressing against his skin, and something… swaying with every breath he took. He snapped his gaze downward.
— No…
His chest—or what was now his chest—huge, heavy mounds, squeezed by a sheer dark fabric. They weren’t just there—they had a life of their own, bouncing even with the rise and fall of his breathing.
Slowly, he lowered his hands...