[center][h1][Color=DF0101]Haakon J. Elvsgaard[/color][/h1]
[img]http://www.jerryjazzmusician.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/bix1.jpg[/img][/center]

[hr][center][Color=DF0101]Location:[/color]Qasr El Nil Barracks -> Following Escort To Prison[/center][hr]

[Color=DF0101]"I know, Jo, I don't like it either. What we did was right, perhaps unorthodox but still right, so I hope they'll believe us. And you don't need to remind me of that. It would seem the whole universe judges me for serving a free press, so I'll keep to the case. But I fear your fame won't help you, unless the local police have gained a fancy for American films. Be careful."[/color] Haakon whispered back as they walked towards their destiny, whatever it may have brought. 

The vehicle that was their transport, was something Haakon had been witness to before. Back home they called it "Svartemarja", though it looked awfully similar. He had time and time again seen and reported on those who were dragged into the back of those trucks; both blood-colded killers and innocent youngsters had their shame fulfilled by being transported in it, regardless if they were guilty or not. That, alongside the filthy smell that accompanied it, made Haakon shudder ever so slightly. He looked at the man who had opened the doors for them, gave him a polite nod, and climbed into the back before reaching out a hand to Josephine. This was wrong on so many levels, but it was very little that either of them could do about it. Right then, Haakon hoped that he and Josephine had taken their sorrows to early, and that the Corporal would make a difference for the best. 

God help them all.