[i]Dojoville // 2200 hours // Distress Call[/i] [i]The night was dark, the sun having set a few hours back when the distress call came in. Three, loud beeps on the telegraph Alyssa hadn't used for years, left in one of the many cardboard boxes she had left lying around after moving into her new apartment room in Dojoville. Her apartment was a complete mess, papers all over the place, consisting of old essays, books, notes, and music pieces. It was a simple, three room place. A main room, with a round glass table in its middle, the floor cleanly polished wood. On the table was a violin case, unzipped and open, the dark violin inside it still having its shoulder rest on it, the bow not loosened, lying besides the violin. On the glass table were an uncountable amount of music sheets; everything from easy, Suzuki books, to all four movements of Dvorak's New World Symphony. Besides the glass table was a black, thick music stand, extended to about four feet ten inches, Vivaldi's Spring opened on it—the first movement, Allegro. To the right of the otherwise empty main room was the kitchen, black and white checker patterned, linoleum floor contrasting from the wooden floor of the first room. The kitchen was just as messy as the other parts of the house, the small coffee table in the middle of the kitchen having a small, circular, white ceramic dish in the middle of it. On the dish was a half-eaten slice of cheese pizza, an unfinished can of Pepsi besides it. Papers littered even the small coffee table at which Alyssa ate, alone, at, paragraphs of music theory besides lined paper full of Alyssa's neat cursive, rapid note-taking during a brief and quiet nighttime snack. Dirty dishes were thrown into the sink, some having not been washed for weeks. Cabinets were left wide open, revealing countless numbers of canned food, and her small refrigerator was ajar, full of microwaveable meals bought for cheap prices at the nearest grocery store. To the left of the main room was the living room, just as messy as the previous two rooms, if not messier. A white sofa was in the center of the gray carpeted room, and on the sofa was a quietly snoring Alyssa, her thick, round glasses set askew. Her face was covered with freckles, her thin lips slightly open, drool dribbling down her chin. Her shoulder-length, light brown hair was not tied in a ponytail as it usually was, rather laid splayed out around Alyssa's sleeping head. It was a wonder how she was allowed to live alone; Alyssa appeared to be around fifteen, even though she was twenty-three. The fact ignored her, and she always wished that she didn't always have such a childish appearance. Some found it cute; Alyssa could never separate those people from pedophiles or people that legitimately thought Alyssa looking like a child was "cute". Covering the sleeping Alyssa was a thin blanket, books all over the sofa. War and Peace, Dune, even Harry Potter, all lay on the sofa. A couple feet away from the sofa was a desk, with a small radio laying on top of it, the first movement to Dvorak's Cello Concerto in B minor playing quietly. Music discs were scattered around the radio, Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker Suite, Beethoven's Symphony No. 7 and his ninth, and Mozart's Violin Concerto in G major were the ones that could be seen, placed above the vast quantity of essays and letters, addressed to Alyssa's parents. The rest of the living room was littered with cardboard boxes, yet to be opened and unpacked. As the telegraph in one of the many boxes buzzed, three lines of morse code rang throughout the apartment, loud enough to attract anybody nearby. Three long, monotone buzzes, which meant "S.O.S." in morse. Alyssa woke with a start, opening her bright, green eyes clouded with sleep. She wiped the drool from her chin, rubbing the sleep from her stunningly green eyes as she set her thick glasses in a straight line, getting. She jogged over to the boxes, throwing one open as she began rifling through it, searching for the telegraph. She found it buried at the bottom, and pulled it out. It became obvious that it wasn't just a telegraph; when Alyssa hit the middle button of the ancient device, a large hologram appeared, and in bright, blue letters were the words "Incoming message. Unknown caller ID. Accept?" The woman touched the accept button, and the words disappeared, a voice recording opening. The voice was raspy and masculine, hoarse and sounding as though it hadn't been used for months.[/i] "Anybody who receives this," [i]It said.[/i] "I'm being held... tage in Wareh... 286. Bloo... kidnapped me... mation. I haven't given them... aren't pleased. Being t... for info. Se... elp." [i]The message cut off there, and Alyssa stood, silently shocked. The message was loud, ringing through the quiet night. Even those in the distant dojo could hear it.[/i] ((Open.))