You wake up in a dark room. It smells damp, stagnant.
Your head is spinning, it's hard to remember how you ended up there, and worst still, where you are.
Because if there's one thing you know for sure, it's that this is not your house. Without even needing to turn on the lights, you realize it.
Perhaps it's the sense of impending doom that makes your heart beat faster. Perhaps it's the goosebumps all over your body.
Perhaps it's the fact that you can't recall a single thing about where you went to last night, or why you're lying on that bed.
Jumping to your feet, you stretch out your hands and search blindly for a switch. It takes you a few frantic instants, but finally, light floods the small room.
The paint on the walls is faded like it's been abandoned for a long time. There's a thin layer of visible dust all over the furniture, except for the bed you were sleeping on.
There's a door a few feet in front of you, as well as a desk flooded with hand-written documents and a large bookcase filled to the brink with books.
Other than that, the bed behind you, and a tattered chair, there's nothing else you can set your eyes on.
No paintings, no other decor. Of course, the desk's drawers could be full of knickknacks and answers to the many questions rushing through your mind. Who knows?
Standing in the middle of the room, you ask yourself... what should you do first?
Do you try to open the door?
Do you try to open the desk's first drawer?
Do you try to open the desk's second drawer?
Do you try to open the desk's third drawer?
Do you read the hand-written documents on the desk?