â€œDamn. Feels like I got hit in the head with a metal pipe,â€ he muttered to himself, as a loud noise coming from outside woke him from his deep slumber, followed by a pain in his chest. â€œThe hell happened..?â€<br/><br/>He was breathing heavily, slowly, his heart racing, and he wasnâ€™t sure why but he felt angry. He dug his claws into the bed he was laying on â€“-which was, oddly enough, lacking pillows or a blanket, and even the bed sheet was missing. He was just lying on an old mattress like he had been deliberately placed there, not to be comfortable-- and took a deep breath to calm himself down. Head hurt. Each breath he took hoping to calm down made the pain in his chest worse. Eventually it irritated him, being someone who doesnâ€™t like pain. And it wasnâ€™t just his chest, but his whole body seemed to ache, making him feel a little irritable.<br/><br/>He closed his eyes and sighed softly, trying to remember what had happened the night before. Unfortunately his memory seemed to be failing him â€“-just where in Samâ€™s Hell was he and how did he get here?<br/><br/>He looked around the room which appeared to be some kind of hotel room. The room was in such sad shape that it made him wonder why this place hasnâ€™t been condemned: there were a good many clothes scattered about, even some rotten food left in the refrigerator, which had its door left wide open. Whoever had stayed here before him made sure they left in a hurry. There was even some graffiti on the walls; various pictures and quotes from famous poems or anecdotes from famous books that he recognized. Normally Yosarin would take some time to read those quotes, but now he wanted to get out of this room. Out. As soon as possible. There was a lamp on the bedside table. He tried it, but it didnâ€™t work. Huge surprise, he said to himself. This room was soâ€¦ neglected. Seriously, why the hell didnâ€™t anyone bother to clean this place up?<br/><br/>It took him a moment to find his balance and when he tried to walk he stumbled forward a bit. Though it wasnâ€™t long before the pain from the wound in his chest (which he noticed had been stitched up) caused him to drop to his knees, and that was also when he noticed the necklace hanging around his neck. Which brought up another question: why was he half naked? He could have sworn he was fully dressedâ€¦ what the hell was going on? Temporarily forgetting about that as well as the pain, Yosarin gazed at the dog tag necklace for a moment, holding it in the palm of his hand â€œThatâ€™s right. Iâ€¦ I think Iâ€™m a part of this clanâ€¦â€ A vague mental image appeared in his memory, showing a bunch of other foxes, similar to a picture. He knew them he swore he did, but nowâ€¦<br/><br/>He also discovered something dull and shiny out of the corner of his eye. When Yosarin turned his attention towards the object it turned out to be a dagger; a peculiar dagger that belonged to an assassin, he noticed. He recognized the very structure of it. So, the clan he belonged to was an assassin clan? But who has ever heard of foxes being assassins? It just sounded silly. But even sillier was the message that was written on the dagger, seemingly in blood, that said:<br/><br/>THERE IS A TRICKSTER AMONG YOU<br/>ONE LIES FOR THE SAKE OF LYING<br/><br/>â€œTrickster?â€ He cocked his head to the side and rubbed his chin in a thoughtful manner. â€œNow what exactly could that mean, I wonder...â€ He picked the dagger up and stood up, holding it out to the light that shined in through the torn window curtains. Perhaps the message and the dagger were associated with each other? Further investigation lead him to a dead end as the dagger seemed to not be associated with the message after all. He also wondered if the person who left this message was the same person who cut him up with that dagger. At least that seemed to make senseâ€¦ right? Just who would do this to him? Could it have possibly been this mysterious â€˜Trickster?â€™ Or was it a more psychological thing, something along the lines of â€˜not everything is what it seems?â€™<br/><br/>He could be thinking too much into this, and so early too. It made his head hurt. For now Yosarin tucked the dagger away safely in his boot, it seemed natural, and began to focus more on getting out of this room and finding out where he was.<br/><br/>There was a brochure sitting on the bedside table that caught his attention. Perhaps it would give him some information on where he wasâ€¦ Oh and curiosity kills the cat indeed, even if he was a fox. Apparently, he was in some island, a resort city of sorts, seemingly in cut off from civilization. This was a hotel, called the Golden Laurels, so that made sense. For some reason reading through this brochure made him feel uneasy and Yosarin knew he had to get the hell out of here. He tossed it onto the floor, feeling very compelled to step on it, and he did, then looked towards the door.<br/><br/>â€œThis room is on the fourth floor, eh?â€ He groaned, glanced over the fire exit map tapped to the back of the door leading out of the room. The door looked like it would openâ€¦ once he left that would be it. However, he couldnâ€™t just leave like this. Yosarin took one of the old shirts off a hanger in the closet and put it on so he had something to hide his wound. It was a hideous blue shirt that was not his color at all but he decided it was better than nothing. What bothered him about it was this: the shirt appeared to have been intentionally placed there for him to find. As did the brochure, now that he thought of itâ€¦ this was all so strange.<br/><br/>Reluctantly, he opened the door and exited the room.