*The first thing you know is the pain in your head and the ringing in your ears. There is no light, no warmth and no comfort as you wake to cold stone against your body, a room with no windows and no furniture, simply stacks of crates seeming to contain provisions. The chatter of men rings outside the door of the stock room, loud laughter and drunken yells tinged with Irish accents. Not the same men as four years ago. Not the same men who’d taken you from your carriage, hoping for a ransom from your father. Not the same men who’d been told to ensure not to kill you. Not the same men who advertised for your release. Not the same men that Arthur had saved you from. As the slow trail of thoughts, horrifying endings for this predicament fill your mind, you push back through your memories, to the last thing you remember. Your bed, blowing out a candle and curling into your bed before a hand wraps around your throat, a cloth on your mouth and your eyes swallowed by the darkness of a bag. Fuck. The voices continue outside as you think back to Arthur’s conversations with you about a gang, led by a man who somehow refused to die and evaded capture. The O’Driscolls had been a topic of conversation from which Arthur quickly moved away from, but now you wish he’d told you more. As you lie, stock still with head aching, the drunken laughter of the men turns slowly, dying down for a second before the commotion begins, gunshots ringing while you lie helpless. The yells of the Irishmen die down and a call sounds out “Clear all the rooms, get what you can and then lets fucking move!” Footsteps begin to move above. “Arthur, Charles, go check that cellar down there, Bill, Sean..” The voice fades as a set of footsteps draw close to the door.