"What the fuck..." The Laborer whispered to himself as the ceiling pulled itself away and a ladder opened the way out of their dingy, would-be cell. He thought of an attic, somewhere in the murky past, of ascending into musty darkness in search of something, or to hide something away forever. 

Thoughts and hazy memories ceased when he witnessed the sheer bounty available in this room, though. Rations, water, medical supplies; more than enough for the three of them to gorge themselves. There were two things that caught his eye though - the boltcutters, resting innocently against the singular cot, and the first-aid kit on the wall. The boltcutters would be perfect to loose those sturdy chains from their cell beneath, in preparation for a circumstance somehow even more dire than their present one; the first aid kit he sought for the bandages and gauze safeguarded within, able to definitively stymie the wound on his head that still persistently drip-dripped blood across his brow.

He looked at his co-convicts, registering at once that the three of them were neither safe nor in immediate danger; this room seemed to be a purposeful respite, a preparation area for them to steel themselves against whatever awaited them through that door. The laborer was assured in his own mind now that this was some elaborate punishment, but to what end, in recompense for what crime? In his belly he felt a spark of something both frighteningly alien and comfortingly familiar; feral, desperate indignation at his present condition, and in that feeling was the decision to seek his own punishment against whoever had put him here.

First things first, though. He moved to the first aid kit, cracking it open in search of something to patch his head with. Then it was boltcutters and retrieving the chains from the cell below. He was already thinking of various ways they could apply misery unto his mysterious captor.

>Collect