You’re rudely awoken by a jostling that covers you in what is now pretty much just sludge. You spit, dry heave a little, and wipe that disgusting mixture off your face. Whoever ate you is now moving, and although you can hear complaining, you can’t quite make out who it is.
“Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that,” a voice whimpers, “Maybe breakfast’ll help.”
As your captor begins moving again, you realize who it is.
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