That smell. It was the first thing he noticed, making his nose curl slightly in digust. It was the first warning that something was not right. It was a curious assortment of scents, and though his senses were not as keen as those of Zexion's, it was still obvious. Rust, blood, mingled with a hint of mold... As far as he was concerned, he had only been sleeping (or rather, feigning sleep) for a short period, not long enough for his quarters in Castle Oblivion to reach this degree.
Eyes snapping open, they rolled to either side of his head to examine his surroundings. His peripherial vision was enough to tell him that, true to his first instinct, he was not where he should have been. Presently, he had been laying in some crude form of a bed in what appeared to be a cell of sorts. Flat on his back, arms at his side, he was sure he wouldn't have been knocked out and transferred here to be placed in such a peaceful position. Waking up in such a good condition, both physically and mentally, it was too coincidental. Reaching a hand up to press the beds of his fingertips lightly against his face, there were no noticeable blemishes or lacerations, which helped him to determine there had been no struggle.
Sitting up slowly, his eyes narrowed slightly at his surroundings. A rusty cell is what he found himself currently positioned in. Smoothly, he slung his feet to the side of the bed and pushed himself up hesitantly. Mostly, it was annoyance and curiousity that plagued him as he stepped towards the door, looking out carefully for a moment before bringing a gloved hand up to rest against one of the bars, pushing slowly. Suprised and somewhat relieved, he found it unlocked, and it started to creak open slowly under the force he applied. Try as he might, however, the rusty hinges would not stay silent.
The most unnerving part was that while the visual and olfactory senses had been stimulated, his hearing senses lie dormant. Surely if he had been brought here by someone, there would be a guard, or something. The silence simply made him more cautious, straining his ears further to listen for any hint of activity. It could be a trap, or an ambush, and he was not prepared to set the alarm off so quickly.
Finally, the door was pushed open, and he stuck his head out slowly, cocking it first to one side and then the other, lips tightening with the tension. Nothing to either side. Setting one foot forwards, he stepped out into the silent hallway, deciding to head to the left. They didn't call him the Graceful Assassin for nothing, as his footsteps came lightly, no echo to follow them as he made his path forward into the unknown, keeping his senses alert for an indication of an ambush.