... Whumpee heard their footsteps coming down the basement stairs and at first assumed it was Whumper, until she realized that he probably hadn't grown extra pairs of legs. The group entered the basement with sweeping flashlights, occasionally illuminating Whumpee's malnourished, frail frame. She squinted at the harsh light, especially when one of them took out a camera and began flashing pictures. The group was dressed in business casual, and moved with a professional air about them. Whumpee couldn't tell if their disgusted faces were from the awful scene in Whumper's basement, or the distasteful hours they were working. She stood up and grabbed the bars of her cell, prompting looks from the group as well as several flashlights pointed right at her. She squinted, then spoke. "Um, who are you guys? Why are you here so late? Are you here to free me?" One woman, who wore a blouse, slacks, and low heels, who carried herself with confidence, responded. The badge around her neck identified her as Caretaker; the picture on the badge showed a smiling, eager face unlike the scowl she had since entering the room. "We're here to investigate after someone reported hearing torturous screams from this location. The Mr. Whumper who frequents this place already has a criminal record, so we wanted to know if something was going down." "That-that was me," Whumpee admitted sheepishly, though she knew none of what happened to her was her fault. "Those were my screams. I-I thought no one could hear me, I didn't think anyone was coming..." Whumpee started to tear up, old emotions rising to the surface. "It's alright honey," Caretaker affirmed, and her coworkers realized she was taking charge of the conversation and moved to resume their work. "Like you said, it's late, and we can't do much tonight. Mr. Whumper should return in a few hours based on our observations, and we'll need to be out by then." "You'll let me go right?" Whumpee was frantic. "I'm not going to be here when that happens? What about the cops, surely you let them know what's going on here?" Caretaker shook her head. "Do you know where the key is?" "No, Whumper always takes it with him-" "Then I'm sorry, we don't have the tools to get you out right now." To this, Whumpee started crying, silently. "And we're our own small private investigation unit, we try not to get the cops involved if we have to. You may already know, the cops around here are always busy and I've had some personally bad interactions in the past." Whumpee couldn't believe it. She slid down to a sitting position, and gripped the cell bars tightly, as if her desperation carried enough willpower to set her free. "I can't believe this," she whispered through the tears. The man with the camera finished taking the shots they needed and called out to the rest of the group that he was done. They took a penultimate look around the room, one of them jotting down a few final notes in their notepad, and turned to leave. "Wait!" Whumpee called out. "When will you be back?" The group turned around, with their eyes on Caretaker, expecting her to answer. She did. "I don't know, honey. Could be a week or two, or more." Whumpee didn't have the energy to beg for them to come back sooner. She watched with despair as they exited the room, climbing up the stairs and farther away from her. She curled up into a ball and sobbed into her knees, wanting this mess to all be over. ... After a night of restless sleep, Whumpee was awoken by someone pounding down the stairs. She rubbed her eyelids and Whumper came into view, with a busy, calculating look instead of his usual grin; charming to others, but not to her. She knew it as the grin of a monster. He skipped the pleasantries and teasing of what was to come that day and started firing questions. "There, were visitors last night, yes?" "Yeah," Whumpee replied.