Darkness. Silence. Then a brief, abrupt shift, ending almost immediately with the sound of his body thumping against the wood. He screams, although it's clear from the sound that his mouth is covered by something. After trying to sit up, he immediately hits his head on something. He moves frantically, only to discover that he is trapped in something. There is a spark then a flame. He is lit by the flame of the Zippo which he holds in his hands tied together in front of him with a rope. A dirty, rolled-up rag is tied tightly around his head and stretched over his mouth. With great difficulty, and while still holding the Zippo on, Paul removes the muzzle from his mouth. " What... ? What is this?'” he asks himself as panic rises in his throat. Claustrophobia hits him immediately when he realizes his situation: “Oh my God! Help me!! Help me!!” He kicks and slams his hands against the top and sides of the coffin. Its violent movements cause small grains of sand to flow through the space between the sides and top of the coffin, as well as a small space that exists between one of the coffin's broken wooden planks. “Someone help me!” Please!!" It becomes clear to him that he is buried. He does his best to calm down, even though he is having trouble catching his breath. His eyes widen a little when he sees a nail rusty exposed. He desperately tries to use the nail to cut the old frayed ropes that bind his hands. It is not an easy task, the rope quickly breaks free of his hands. soon strangely silent. the silence is interrupted by a subtle hum. The dull sight of a strange bluish light flickers in the coffin, at Paul's feet. He lights the middle of the paper. filling the coffin faster, Paul removes the buttoned shirt from her body and stuffs it into the area she enters with the greatest volume. The sound of sand flowing steadily. Paul looks at the phone: it still holds a constant signal. However, the battery life is quite low. There is only one flashing bar left, indicating that Paul has very little battery left. He frees his hand from the pile of sand that now covers it and looks at his watch. It’s 8:31 p.m. Paul tries to control his breathing, realizing very well that he won't be able to breathe much anymore. He then calls Dan Brenner. After a few rings, Brenner answers. Paul? Yeah ? We triangulated the signal from the phone number you gave us, three F-16s leveled parts of the city a few minutes ago. I know. I felt it. --