Chapter 128. Get the Sniper

My head pounds with a blinding headache as if a thousand drums are beating inside my skull. My vision is blurred, the world around me reduced to a haze of shadow and pain. Slowly, I force myself to raise my head from the cold, hard floor. I can barely make out the figure of a man seated in a chair just a few feet away from me, his silhouette sharp against the dim light of this dark, cavernous place.

The chair he’s sitting on is simple—a study chair—but there’s something ominous about how he occupies it. The entire place feels like a warehouse, vast and empty, with darkness stretching into every corner, threatening to swallow me whole. The air is thick with the scent of tobacco, mingling with the metallic tang of blood—my blood.

“You are Sandra Puppet?”

His voice is calm, unnervingly so. There’s no malice, no anger—just a detached, almost clinical curiosity. It’s as if he’s asking my name to confirm something he already knows. I blink, trying to clear my