"What to do, what to do?" thought the barkeep as he stared across at the bloody ceiling. 

Figuratively. Apparently, the latter didn't quite reach the superiority of the floor, which was covered in shades of crimson from the windows. Meh. His panicked mind created such stories sometimes.

He cautiously took a step towards the gate - the exit of the barstand, when something steely was pressed to his lower back.

Bloody cold, too.

"We're taking you with us. You'll be sent for torture and damnation. Alas, we can't offer you the latter, but we will very well try to. Compensate for your lack of experience, in short," a masculine voice neutrally whispered in his ear. He had bad tingles in his left ear when someone whispered right into it. Why did they have to choose that one?

Oh, wait. He got too distracted. He had to think about the upcoming torture and damnation.

"Oh, no," he said, still a bit unfocused. "Why torture? I've been tortured here every day enough already. 10 years and a half, I believe,-" and then they shushed him with a tablecloth.

He hated chloroform, but at the same time appreciated how fast its power made you lose consciousness so easily.

Pause.

Macaroni.

Tropical fish.

Ecstasy.

Conditioner.

Rnb.

He didn't have time to give in. But he gave in.