You let your head tip back to lean against the cold, concrete wall of the old warehouse. It was eerily quiet, the only noise coming from the ventilator whirring above you and the senseless bickering of the villains outside, the slamming of car doors and the scuffling of shoes against gravel. Your wrists were bound tightly behind you, against a pipe that ran through into the ceiling to keep you trapped against the wall. You’d pulled at them relentlessly, but all you’d received in return was rope burn and a jarring stinging whenever you moved. They hadn’t even had the common courtesy to give you a chair - they had you sat flat on your ass in the freezing warehouse, curled up like a stray animal. It hadn’t been long since you’d been captured after an infiltration mission gone wrong, but it has been long another that the unpleasant ache of hunger lurked deep within you, eating away at your resolve.

You heard police sirens in the distance, and the bickering paused. Frantic and hushed whispers replaced the yelling, and you could hear them running across the gravel to their trucks, engines starting in a cacophony as the sirens grew louder. You barely let yourself hope, but a small spark of something flared up in your chest, especially as you heard the sound of cars pulling up outside. What you hadn’t expected, however, was for your partner to be the one kicking the door down and appraising his surrounding with his hands raised, locked in a combat stance. Typical Cellophane, always making an entrance. As soon as his gaze landed on you, his eyes widened and he was kneeling by your side in seconds, looking you over and hovering his hands over you as though afraid you’d break.

“Oh, gracias a dios you’re alright, I was so worried. What were you thinking going off on your own, man?”