[color=696969][center][url=https://fontmeme.com/fonts/punk-typewriter-font/][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/240122/96b51cbc48bd377db299e57ead156677.png[/img][/url][/center][b][color=634533]Time:[/color][/b] P.M.
[b][color=634533]Location:[/color][/b] A holding cell somewhere
[b][color=634533]Equipment: [/color][/b] Confiscated
[center][h3][color=634533]✠✠✠✠✠[/color][/h3][/center]

Time blurred. Vasco drifted in and out, the rag draped over his eyes. Sometimes a sound dragged him back. Footsteps echoing, a door slamming, some poor sap being hauled from another cell. Other times he came to for no damn reason, just long enough to register the drip of water and the damp cold seeping through the planks, before sleep pulled him under again.

Then the shakes started.

Hands trembled first, then jaw. The headache that had been sitting dull at the base of his skull sharpened into something mean, creeping down from his temples to his neck. His gut rolled.

Pushing himself up took effort, and the room spun the second he moved. Had to grip the edge of the planks until it passed. Got his feet under him eventually, but every muscle felt wrong, tight and loose at the same time.

The wall’s cold stone helped when he pressed his forehead against it. Lasted maybe ten seconds before the pressure built again, like his skull was trying to crack itself open. He turned, let the back of his head take over, teeth clenched.

Fists curled, released, curled again. Three steps to the bars. Three steps back. The pacing kept the worst of it at bay, kept his brain from crawling into that white-hot space behind his eyes. When the headache spiked, he planted both palms against the stone and pressed until his arms shook.

Didn’t fix anything. But it was something.

Took him a minute to straighten up. Chest heaving, a shape caught his eye in the far corner. The kid. Right. Vasco had damn near forgotten he wasn’t alone.

[color=C2B4A7]“How’d you end up in here, anyway?”[/color] The words came out rough, slurring slightly at the edges.

A mumble.

[color=C2B4A7]“Speak up.”[/color] He leaned against the bars. Didn’t trust his legs not to give out.

[color=LemonChiffon]“I was kidnapped.”[/color] The kid’s voice was quieter than before, flatter. [color=LemonChiffon]“I got away from them—thought I did, anyway. It didn’t… It didn’t take long for them to t-track me down. They threw me in here and that’s that.”[/color]

Vasco blinked, tried to make the kid’s shape hold still. [i][color=C2B4A7]Kidnapped. Escaped. Caught again? Damn. This resistance’s shot to hell if they kept losing the ones under their wing.[/color][/i]

He slid down to sit, back against the bars. The tremor hadn’t quit. The headache sat there, patient, waiting.

Didn’t look at the kid again. Just closed his eyes and counted the drips.[/color]