There's a moment where the music stops and then starts again, repeating the same song, like it's coming from an iPod or something. Nate's never been part of a cult, but he's pretty sure the music is meant to be more ominous than that, and he rolls his eyes. His head throbs in protest and his vision swims and he regrets that quickly enough, groaning.

"Seriously, you couldn't even fork out for better audio?" He's almost offended. If he's going to be kidnapped and ritually sacrificed, the least they could do is make it a proper enterprise. "I've gotta say, this is the worst kidnapping I've ever been a part of. You guys could take tips."

It's maybe not the worst ever, because at least they've succeeded so far. Maybe Rameses was more of an asshole, maybe Marlowe was infinitely more threatening, but he still can't move, so they've done something right. Apparently insulting their operation is the last straw though, because the man with the knife moves forward and Nate feels the cold blade along the side of his neck. He doesn't flinch, he won't give them that, but he does feel his heart-rate pick up.

Somebody else moves from behind to roughly pull a gag behind his teeth, and oh, Nate thinks. Apparently his running commentary is no longer welcome. The rag is tied off too tightly, sending a lancing pain through his skull, but Nate ignores it, trying to work out instead how he can use the closer proximity to his advantage. He could throw himself backwards and hope to take them by surprise, but the knife at his throat stops him.