Drake turned around, his eyes now betraying the signs of pure panic, the dawning realization that he was trapped here, alone, hit home. His hands began to shake, he closed his eyes and tried to recite some hot verses, but nothing came out. Fear crept in, where was his hot shit? He started to breathe heavy, frantically searching his memory for one bar, just one single bar, eventually even for just one coherent sentence, but there was nothing. Drake began to cry, his lop-sided eyes splashed tears in all directions, he turned around and hammered his soft fists on the door, screaming for help, but no-one would come. As the days would pass, a member of his entourage would have finally checked in on the missing artist. But Drake had already died of starvation. An autopsy would later reveal he had died due to a lack of common sense, as the door was never locked, and just needed someone to turn the handle.