A sack is thrown over their head in the middle of the night , before being thrown into the back of a transit van.

When the bag comes off , they are strapped to a chair, eyes clamped open, clockwork orange style.

Blinded by the torrent of sweat pouring down their face , they see a dark shadowy face, dimly lit by embers of a cigarette.

The ends of the cigarette bounce off their forehead in a hail of sparks.

They watch me emerge from my shadowy corner:

"You leave here when you succesfully complete a trade on Bisq" .