[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]The Prison[/center][hr]

A long, muffled sigh of relief escaped Haakon's lips when the lock clicked from the door. Left to himself, Haakon's composure was let down, his mask of confidence and stoic determination gone for a moment. His sure to-be back-breaker had simply up and left him alone in the bloodied room in which he had to intention of staying in much longer. Not that he had a plan of escape, the door was locked and the prison was...well, full of people meant to keep people from leaving. Besides, what good would an attempt do? Innocent people didn't run away. 

Unless they were conspired against and feared for their lives. The thought did occur to the journalist...

Not long after, the interogator returned to his previous position, his facial expression just as unreadable as before. For now his attention was at Harry Walsh, not that Haakon was convinced it was better by now. But his composure had returned, leaving Haakon with a confident exterior. Especially with the man's insinuation that the journalistic occupation was merely thieving vigilantism. He wasn't about to let that get to him, even if he felt it as a slap across his face. [Color=DF0101]"He's not a fellow reporter, no. As a matter of fact, from what I understood his previous occupation was with the British Army. And like I said, he was given the key by the woman, so your guess is as good as mine."[/color]