| C2's Opal | 18:11 | xx49.07.29 | [LUS]

I am wearing a dark blue sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. Beneath these, I have on a suit of light, flexible armour. It's uncomfortable and unfamiliar, but at this moment I am glad to be wearing it. I do not have my gun. I do not know where it is. There is a knife concealed in the armour on my left forearm. There is a second knife concealed in the armour on my right forearm. They are made of a hybrid material, I am unfamiliar with the composition. The blades are protected by retractable sheaths.

I have taken seventeen knife-fighting lessons.

I would feel more comfortable, at this moment, if I had taken eighteen knife-fighting lessons.

I would feel more comfortable, at this moment, if I could avoid fighting and/or cutting anyone.

I would feel more comfortable, at this moment, if Charlotte was here with me.

Note: When communication is resumed with Daniel, query about the possibility of an LUS-initiated text messaging system.

"You say something, bitch?"

There is something over my head. I cannot see. Hearing is difficult. I am presently standing. My hands and legs are unrestricted. I am in a building. I was brought here by car. There seem to be many men and women around me. One of them is close to me. He just spoke.

"I said, you say something, bitch?"

I suspect this may be a trap. I suspect that I am faced with an impossible problem; there may be no way for me to avoid being hit.

I am correct.

"I said, SAY something, bitch!"

I'm on the floor. I landed badly. Curiously, I feel no pain. Perhaps I have been drugged. My senses are dulled. I'm being picked up. I'm being set upon my feet. Once more, I am standing. Whatever has been covering my head is removed; a thick black hood. The building I am in is in a state of disrepair. There is no glass in the single, large window. Now that the hood has been removed, I can feel a slight breeze. It is cool, but not unpleasant. It is night. I can see the glow of the sky; grey-blue grey-orange grey-purple. It is beautiful. This room is high above the ground; perhaps four storeys, perhaps five storeys. This room has been made large by means of destruction. Many of the walls have been partially or fully broken down. The floor is a synthetic material brown in colour. There was once carpet over it. The walls are dark blue, a pleasant shade. There is graffiti in many places. None of the graffiti I can see holds any meaning for me. There are many men and women around. They are drinking, talking, eating, laughing, appreciating music. I was previously unaware of the music. I don't recognise the song or the artist but the style is familiar; deep rhythmic beat, repetitive chanting, simple acoustic instruments, mostly percussive. Female singer with a hard, guttural voice. I cannot understand the lyrics.

I am not sure who took the hood from my head. I cannot identify the man who spoke to me and then hit me. I stand alone in a corner, near a couch. It was once red. Now it is faded pink. I can see where the sun's light passes over it each day, a clear division between faded-by-age and faded-by-sunlight.

A woman laughs, suddenly and loudly. I don't know why.

My attention is drawn to one of the partially-destroyed walls. It leads through to a kitchen. The kitchen is more crowded than this room. Someone is cooking something. Frying something. Onions. Meat. A spice that I am unfamiliar with.

"What you staring at?" a young man asks me.

"The remains of that wall," I reply.

"Yeah? What's so interesting about it?"

"I think it may be a retaining wall. I think it may have been a bad idea to destroy it. The ceiling is sagging. How many floors are there above this one?"

"Dunno, two I think."

I wonder if that information will be useful to me. The young man who spoke to me is perhaps close to my own age; fifteen or sixteen years old. Half of his face is covered in a tattoo. It is reminiscent of a chessboard with the white and black squares rearranged into an abstract pattern. Many other people in this room have similar tattoos.

Now he is gone. He looked across the room, and then he turned away from me and walked away from me and became obscured by other people. Perhaps he was given a signal. Do not talk to the prisoner.

I wonder if I could escape. My chance of success seems slim. I would be caught and held. The gang's leader, Little Mercy, is scientifically promoted. Some kind of kinetic 'blast'. She seems to be able to direct these 'blasts' with precision. She caught me and held me in place. Continuous application. Perhaps two opposing 'blasts'; one pushes from in front, one pushes from behind. The target is held in place. Increasing the force of the 'blast' behind and decreasing the force of the 'blast' in front would result in forward momentum. This is assuming that two 'blasts' can be created at one time.

I am allowing myself to become unfocused. I should correct this.

I do not appear to be in any immediate danger. The reason for this seems clear; they want to exchange me for the two bags. Correction: they want to use me in order to coerce Charlotte and/or Mr Johnston/Motoplasm and/or Mr Donovan/The Force and/or the armoured stranger who attacked them into giving them the two bags. I suspect that they would not feel any responsibility to honour their side of the arrangement. I suspect that this is the reason the armoured stranger attacked them. I suspect that he knew that there would be no exchange. I suspect that he may be Chass, a vigilante known to operate in Powerstone City.

"Heeeeey, sweet."

Another man has approached me and talked to me. He is big and he is bald. I think I like the deepness of his voice.

Now he is gone, the same way as the young man from before; he looked at someone I cannot see, and he left. I don't understand what is going on. Perhaps this is a deliberate attempt to confuse me, but I cannot think of any reason that they would want to confuse me.

"You ready to say something, bitch?"

The man who hit me is back. His face seems surprisingly pleasant.

"Are you planning to hurt me?" I ask. He slaps me, but not hard enough to push me over.

"Shut up."

I suspect that he enjoys hitting me and confusing me.

"Is it possible for me to use your bathroom?" I ask. He hits me again, harder than before. I almost fall.

"Stand there and piss yourself."

I cannot make myself look at him in the eyes. I cannot make my voice strong, as I know Charlotte would be able to.

"That would be unpleasant for everyone," I say. "Unless you would enjoy watching me suffer such a loss of dignity."

"What the hell you talking about?"

"Or perhaps you have some kind of sexual fetish—"

My head hits against the floor.

"Carl, what the hell? You beating on her? What did I say?"

The voice is Little Mercy's. She pulls me up. Despite her size, she is strong. The man who hit me, I assume his name is Carl, is now gone.

"You okay, sweet?" Little Mercy asks me. Her words are kind but I suspect that she is not. "You ain't damaged?"

"I feel sick. And I need to use the bathroom."

"Yeah, sure, of course you do. Just gotta ask you some things first, that cool?"

I nod. "I'll answer any question you ask me. I don't want to be hurt."

"You ain't gonna be. You don't gotta worry. Just answer what I ask and you're gonna be okay. You think your friend's smart enough to keep that creep Chass out of this?"

"If he offers his help to her, she may accept it. But Charlotte doesn't like Chass. She has made several negative remarks about him in the past."

"Yeah? Okay, that's good. Just want this to go clean, you know what I'm saying?"

"You want to trade me for your two bags."

"Yeah, you got it. You're smart, you know that, sweet? You want me to show you the bathroom now?"

I nod, and Little Mercy takes my arm and pulls me through the room. Nobody stands in her way. Everyone hurries to move out of her path.

"Don't be too long now. Don't make me get suspicious."

Little Mercy opens the door for me. I step into the bathroom. Little Mercy closes the door behind me as I switch on the light.

There's a sink here, with a mirror above it. The mirror is partially covered with mould. My face is pale. There's very little colour in my lips. I raise my right hand, and then pinch it as hard as I can with my left hand. I repeat this action. And again. And again. I raise my left hand, and then pinch it as hard as I can with my right hand. I repeat this action. And again. And again.

I examine my hands.

I examine my face.

There is a knife concealed in the armour on my left forearm. There is a second knife concealed in the armour on my right forearm.

I flush the toilet, wash my hands, and walk out of the bathroom.