Surefire was sure she’d been partying far too hard last night. Her head throbbed, her back ached, and it smelled like she’d fallen asleep in a pool of her own vomit — and maybe someone else’s as well. Squinching her eyes tighter produced a rumbling in her ears, but seemed to release some of the pressure that felt ready to burst through the back of the skull.
Well, she reflected, bracing herself for the assault of light from when she forced open her eyelids to face the day, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve ended up like this after an all-night bender. It’s funny, though, that I don’t remember anything about it. I usually have a few good, if hazy, memories to help me out of bed.
Finally, she let her eyelids peel back. Moments after that, all thoughts of parties gone by had gone bye-bye.
She was in a dingey concrete tunnel, lit only by a flicker of fire cast from somewhere out of sight. The vomit smells resolved themselves into far more unpleasant and unidentifiable odours. The throbbing in the back of her head flared for a moment as she remembered the impact of something hard and flat.
Right, she thought. Not a party. Not my kind of party anyway.