Chaos And Gunfire.
Lucas sat in the dimly lit room, his back against the chair, legs stretched out before him. His eyes were fixed on the floor, gaze unfocused. His hand, wrapped in a makeshift bandage, lay limp on his lap, a crimson stain spreading from beneath the cloth. The gunshot wound throbbed with a dull ache, but he barely noticed. His mind was consumed by thoughts of escape, survival, and clearing his name.
His blonde hair was disheveled, eyes usually bright and determined now sunken and defeated. His pale skin glistened with sweat, lips parched and dry. The room was silent, only the faint sound of his ragged breathing breaking the stillness.
"We never intended to harm you, but you took so long to comply. Now look at what you've done to yourself," one of the burly men remarked with a smirk.
"Are you certain you told the truth about the phone? Because if not, I dread to think what might happen to you next," another burly man added, holding his gun towards Lucas's head.