Daryl opens his eyes and is greeted by piercing darkness. He blinks, trying to clear the black from his vision, but it resides. He's never seen dark this thick. This opaque. It grips at him like the thick tentacles of an octopus, waiting to strangle and suction the life right out of his lungs.
He tries to move, but his hands are bound. They rest on either side of his torso, pinned down by thick leather straps. Someone did this. He did not happen here by accident - wherever here is. Not the dead, but the living. He was taken. He's being held.
He twists and writhes, but the restraints are too much for him to make headway. The tight quarters close in on him, and his heart beats a little bit faster. He's never felt claustrophobic before - the fear is new - but it's real and dangerous, and it might just drive him mad before he ever happens on a chance of escaping.
Suddenly, there's movement on the other side of his wall of darkness. Something beyond that shroud that lends possibility to his hope of light and freedom. There's a crack. A small creaking that's followed by a metal whirring. He prepares to be blinded by light, whatever the source, but several seconds pass in continued darkness.
Then, it happens. The door opens, and his location is finally revealed.
He's in a morgue.