Tampa, Florida

July 1, 2019

Brett Howden sits across from Brayden Point at a table for two inside Oishi Sushi, a favorite restaurant of Brayden's. The minutes tick by as they sit, gazing at once another, deeply lost in a romantic trance.

Brayden is wearing a nice, neat, button-up white dress shirt with a solid black necktie and black dress pants. Brett is wearing a white bowtie with a salmon pink colored dress shirt and black pants. Very formal, for a casual dinner.

"What are you gonna get?" Brayden asks, finally picking up a menu.

Brett chuckles. "You know! What I always get!"

"I shoulda known...the Green Dragon, right?" Brayden remarks, reaching across the table to Brett. He brushes Brett's curly hair to the side, out of his eyes.

A waiter comes over to their table and takes their order, leaving them alone to gaze at one another. Brayden orders a Dynamite Roll with salmon, crab and asparagus that is deep fried with hot sauce and mayo while Brett orders the Green Dragon, a sushi roll with eel, masago, cucumber and avocado on top and drizzled with eel sauce.

"So, how's New York?" Brayden asks, after taking a sip of water. He glances around the place, taking in the Japanese style architecture and design of the interior. He looks at the entrance, where the namesake blue lit transparent block with holes in it is located. An interesting piece but super cool.

"It's going well. I'm getting the opportunity to play. You know Tampa's too stocked. Here, there's a chance for me to grow and thrive. But it's still not the same without you by my side with me." Brett rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and then puts his hand on top of Brayden's.

Brayden smiles sweetly at him.

Time ticks by, before the food comes out. They quickly eat it and then converse some more about their budding careers. Gradually, in the background, people file out of the place and the lights dim overhead.

"I guess we should probably head out of here, huh?" Brayden suggests, glancing at the door.

The lights dim more.

Brett nods. He gets up from his seat and heads for the door. But he freezes in place, his blood running cold.

Brayden puts his card back in his wallet and spots Brett. He is about to say something, opening his mouth up, his eyebrows knitting in curious concern.

Brett suddenly steps back, shaking in fright. "It's locked, Bray!"

Just then, three masked men dressed in all black burst into the empty restaurant. One of them holds a hunting rifle and another one holds a sword. The third one holds ropes, tape and other sketchy items.

Brett screams and backs into the table, grabbing it in his pale hands. "B-B-Brayyyyy!!"

Brayden jumps to his feet and darts around the table, standing before Brett. "What do you want?!" He clenches his fists and lifts them up, ready to strike.

Brett puts his hand on Brayden's shoulder and peers over it.

"I said, what do you want?!" Brayden repeats.

The man with the rifle stalks forward toward Brayden and, in a deep voice, says: "Mr. Masquerade sends an invitation for you both." He proceeds to speak the invitation and poem to them, eerily.

Brett steps out from behind Brayden and puts his hands on his hips, sassily. "We're not going to some silly, stupid amusement park!"

Brayden nods. "I agree. We have plans already. Thanks but no thanks."

The man with the sword steps forward, grinning from ear to ear. "Perhaps we forgot to mention the fine print of this invitation."

"No, it's pretty clear, it's creepy. Bretty and I, we're not into that creepy shit," Brayden retorts, frowning. "And if you three don't leave, I'll call the cops!" He withdraws his cell phone, dialing 9-1-1 and then hovering over the 'call' button.

"The answer can only be yes, Point!" The man with the rifle then pulls back on the trigger and lets a dart fly from the barrel, right at Brayden.

It hits him in the neck and he staggers in place. He grabs the table as a crutch, his vision blurring over. He drops his phone, which clatters onto the floor, the call to the police uncalled. He tries to speak, as he slowly sinks to the ground, going limp.

The man with the rifle spins the weapon in his hands and blows the smoking barrel, before looking and nodding, with a wink to the third man.

Brett gasps and screams, backing toward the wall.

The man attacks him, easily binding his wrists together with the rope and then applies two rectangles of the black tape over Brett's lips, pasting them together. He then forces Brett to sit down in a chair, binding his ankles together.

Brett screams into the adhesive over his mouth and squirms in place. What is happening?!

With his ankles secure, Brett is left for the sword guy, who sheathes his weapon and then scoops Brett up and hauls him over his shoulder, holding his bound legs.

The rope man heads to Brayden, binding him and then, with the help of rifle guy, the two of them pick his limp, bound body up from the ground. They carry them out of the dimly lit restaurant and out to a familiar car.

Brett and Brayden are placed into the trunk of this vehicle and the lid is slammed shut, trapping them inside of it.