The cold water hit Julien's face like a fatal blow, shocking his consciousness awake.
He gasped, his lungs breathing in air with dust and grease.
His vision blurred for a moment before focusing on the surroundings.
He was bound to a heavy wooden chair in the centre of a massive, abandoned factory floor.
The high windows were shattered, letting in hints of the red light from the apocalyptic sky outside.
His wrists were tied with chains to make sure he could not move an inch.
The Feather Potion had completely worn off by now, which made him suddenly dizzy after getting his weight back.
Directly in front of him, sitting casually on an overturned wooden crate, was Cobra.
The syndicate boss looked more like a corporate executive than a slum warlord, dressed in a sharp suit that stood out absurdly against the ruined factory.
