Nicholas Rush (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lottawork) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bigapplesauce2015-03-28 01:44 pm
lottawork) wrote in bigapplesauce2015-03-28 01:44 pm
Entry tags:
don't place faith in human beings; human beings are unreliable things [closed]
The lights are not kept on a circadian rhythm schedule, nor any schedule. They simply glare continuously, irradiating and fluorescent, blazing into every corner of the square-walled concrete room, illuminating the stark, hard-angled edges. Rush has prowled every spotless, unremarkable inch, the cot deadbolted firmly to the wall opposite the door, the camera riveted in the upper corner, too far beyond the reach of straining fingertips.
His confinement is, as suspected, impenetrable.
Fring does not tolerate failure.
He does not tolerate incompetence.
They have that in common.
It is a slight, minor victory that of the two of them, Rush was the one caught, and not Asadi, she of the highly advanced prosthetic and ability to form interpersonal relations, bearing the phone of another registrant whom ROMAC doubtless would have been forcibly involved regardless of situational relevance. No, no; far better it was Rush. Fewer connections. No leverage. ROMAC may boast advanced technology, but he doubts, largely, that they are capable of doing anything to him that has not already been done.
Rush amputates that thought. He twitches with nervous energy, darkened and bereft. He has not slept or ate for some time, for a duration unknown to him, but it is insignificant.
He paces. He rubs his wrists, the dark, reddened grooves deep enough to scar. He cannot sit, nor sleep, nor consider either of those possibilities to pass the time as Fring settles upon what method of interrogation he wishes to implement. Rush can only circle his prison's perimeter with tense, ironclad anxiety, and wait for the cold click and slide of a bolt that will herald his fate.
His confinement is, as suspected, impenetrable.
Fring does not tolerate failure.
He does not tolerate incompetence.
They have that in common.
It is a slight, minor victory that of the two of them, Rush was the one caught, and not Asadi, she of the highly advanced prosthetic and ability to form interpersonal relations, bearing the phone of another registrant whom ROMAC doubtless would have been forcibly involved regardless of situational relevance. No, no; far better it was Rush. Fewer connections. No leverage. ROMAC may boast advanced technology, but he doubts, largely, that they are capable of doing anything to him that has not already been done.
Rush amputates that thought. He twitches with nervous energy, darkened and bereft. He has not slept or ate for some time, for a duration unknown to him, but it is insignificant.
He paces. He rubs his wrists, the dark, reddened grooves deep enough to scar. He cannot sit, nor sleep, nor consider either of those possibilities to pass the time as Fring settles upon what method of interrogation he wishes to implement. Rush can only circle his prison's perimeter with tense, ironclad anxiety, and wait for the cold click and slide of a bolt that will herald his fate.