Quoted By:
“Right there with ya–should be easy to follow.” Jun nods. “Number 2: you’re bein’ watched. I’ll give you two a little space, but this ain’t no conjugal visit–Lars an’ I will be right down the hall.”
Before you can ask who Lars is, your question is answered when you pass by an <span class="mu-g">EXOSKELETONED GUARD</span> with his feet propped up on a desk. Barely looking up from a magazine on <span class="mu-b">VINTAGE CARS,</span> he taps one of his massive boots on a button built into his desk that opens a gate in front of you.
“Lars.” Jun mutters, earning a middle finger from his coworker. Passing through the newly-opened portal, you and Jun pass by several rows of thick, metal doors that look like they could withstand a missile strike. Barren save for two tiny shutters: one to speak through, one for food, the doors seem to go on for miles until your escort pauses in front of one in particular.
You hear familiar sobbing echoing from beyond the door long before Jun starts shoving keys into the door’s several locks. We can’t just, y’know, <span class="mu-i">leave</span> her here, can we?
“Let’s grill her first–then we’ll talk.” Ly answers thoughtfully. Works for you!
“Number 3:” Jun concludes as he starts opening the door, “try to go easy on her. Girl clams up if you so much as <span class="mu-i">stare</span> at her wrong."
Yea, yea, you mutter, waving him away, you know how to deal with this dork! Giving you one last shrug, Jun shoves the door open, filling the hallway with an unearthly shriek of metal! Hissing in displeasure, Stanley takes refuge underneath your <span class="mu-g">FUR COAT</span> and stays there long after the sound fades away. Taking a few cautious steps into the dark cell in front of you, it doesn’t take long for you to follow the uncontrollable sobbing over to the shivering mess in the corner wearing a sweat-stained orange jumpsuit.
“<span class="mu-i">S-S-S-ST-STAN?!</span>” Denise blubbers, wiping a mixture of snot, sweat, and tears onto her jumpsuit’s sleeve, “<span class="mu-i">I-I-I-I d-d-didn’t do anything…</span>”
That remains to be <span class="mu-i">seen</span>, you growl as you loom over the nerd with a stern look on your face! What the hell happened to her anyways?
“<span class="mu-i">W-W-Well,</span>” She mutters, “I w-was checking on th-the chemicals like y-you ASKED me to, b-but they f-found me, and-”
Not <span class="mu-i">that</span>, you dweeb! What’s with that crap under her eye? Did she <span class="mu-i">draw</span> that?
Touching the three black teardrops drawn under her glasses, the scientist gives you a sheepish grin. “<span class="mu-i">Oh! R-right! I’d read th-that pris-prisoners all over the w-world communicate all sorts of th-things through t-tattoos, s-so I g-gave myself a f-few t-to be safe! Th-they say y-you have to establish y-yourself on the first d-day, o-otherwise someone w-will make you their…</span>” It takes a moment for the dweeb to work up the courage to say the word: “<span class="mu-i">B-b-B-b-BITCH…</span>”
You should have traded her for a cigarette <span class="mu-i">AGES</span> ago!
>CONTD.
