"Heart don't pay mate." Ambrose's guard grumbles and carries him away.

Ptelea's guard found the whole process much easier, like picking up a limp doll and carrying it away. He took her to a square grey room, which true to its name was quite dark, furnished only by an uncomfortable metal chair, a video camera and a weak light globe. The guard chains Ptelea's ankles and wrists to the chair before clearing his throat. "Your treatment will begin shortly."