[Rabbit takes the other side of the door, taking out his Halligan and fitting the prybar into the hinge of the door. He looks up at Lindianne, the quad-nods hiding the look in his eyes - but his mouth is grim, drawn into a thin line. He's ready to finish this.
He wrenches the bar, shattering the lock. Metal dents underneath his foot as he donkey-kicks the lock, sending the door flying open.
The inside of the room is bathed in red light from a handful of jerry-rigged bulbs overhead. From the layout, this seems like a combination of darkroom and detention center - a few pens like the kind you might keep a large dog in are in the center of the room. Off to one side, a few exposures of what looks like homemade porn hang from clotheslines, and an exposure bath and some development chemicals lie beneath them.
On one side of the room, a young man stripped down to his underwear is handcuffed to a radiator. His face is bruised and covered in dried blood - he looks more like a tomato than a person. Knots have formed on his cheeks where it looks like someone took a pipe or sock full of batteries to his face.
Rabbit takes a knee to check his pulse.]
Postman, Neptune Two. We have one more for the EMTs. Blunt-force trauma, possible brain damage.
Copy, Two.
[The young man opens his eyes - or, at least, something moves on his face. His shoulders heave with panicked breaths as he squirms, like a caged dog backing away from a man with a whip. Rabbit is gentle as he lays a hand on his shoulder.] Hey, take it easy. We're JTF. You're safe now.
[He takes out his multitool and gets to work on undoing the cuffs.]
What's your name?
[Nothing but whistling air sounds. It takes a few false starts through bruised and swollen lips for anything intelligible to come out.]
no subject
He wrenches the bar, shattering the lock. Metal dents underneath his foot as he donkey-kicks the lock, sending the door flying open.
The inside of the room is bathed in red light from a handful of jerry-rigged bulbs overhead. From the layout, this seems like a combination of darkroom and detention center - a few pens like the kind you might keep a large dog in are in the center of the room. Off to one side, a few exposures of what looks like homemade porn hang from clotheslines, and an exposure bath and some development chemicals lie beneath them.
On one side of the room, a young man stripped down to his underwear is handcuffed to a radiator. His face is bruised and covered in dried blood - he looks more like a tomato than a person. Knots have formed on his cheeks where it looks like someone took a pipe or sock full of batteries to his face.
Rabbit takes a knee to check his pulse.]
Postman, Neptune Two. We have one more for the EMTs. Blunt-force trauma, possible brain damage.
Copy, Two.
[The young man opens his eyes - or, at least, something moves on his face. His shoulders heave with panicked breaths as he squirms, like a caged dog backing away from a man with a whip. Rabbit is gentle as he lays a hand on his shoulder.] Hey, take it easy. We're JTF. You're safe now.
[He takes out his multitool and gets to work on undoing the cuffs.]
What's your name?
[Nothing but whistling air sounds. It takes a few false starts through bruised and swollen lips for anything intelligible to come out.]
S-
S-
S-
[A determined swallow. Then:]
S-S-Sam.