#interrogation tw

[replicae]

Squinting against the bright light beaming down on him, Zeno maintains a steady gaze with the man standing before him. His expression is one of calm neutrality he does not feel against the visible frustration of his assigned interrogator, currently holding a glass of water in front of the clone's face. Not that Zeno could reach for it anyway, not with his arms bound behind his back and in restraints designed to contain B.O.W's stronger than him.

The ringleader, one of four men asking today's questions paces around the room as his compatriots mutter to themselves about this being a waste of time. "Wow. You really must not be thirsty if you're still keeping quiet. How much longer can you hold out until you give in? All you have to do is answer a few measly questions and maybe you can have a sip. Try again." The glass of water is held before his face again, so close he could stick his tongue into it if he could lean a little closer and it's damn effective, Zeno barely able to resist looking away. His mouth is so dry. He hasn't had anything to drink since he'd been dragged here, not since his last mission went awry and led to capture at the hands of the DSO. The contact he'd been assigned to meet had been fake all along, a long game played by the authorities to lull The Connections into sending one of their best assets which had naturally been him. That had been well over 36 hours ago if rotation shifts are a given here. Hard to guess when you were locked up in a dingy cell and prevented from sleeping but it was just as Zeno wasn't human, not really. He'd been through worse, got roughed up a little too but could hold out longer if necessary, especially if they continued holding back water like this. One of the men pipes up in a low voice. "You know, this freak isn't human. Heard he's got some weird healing powers. You think if we beat him up some more, he'll finally talk? We could just say he was freaking out..." He suggests and for a second, it looks like they're actually considering his words. The sound of footsteps approaching the cell door puts a halt to any such plan however, the newcomer's arrival distracting everybody including Zeno whose look of surprise is the only real expression he's shown since he's gotten here. His interrogators seem just as taken aback, two of the men looking uncertainly at each other while the ringleader addresses the newcomer in a falsely cheery voice. "Oh, Ms... Harper, is it? Are you here to help this guy loosen his tongue? Hasn't said a damn word since he's gotten here and we're running' out of options."

Zeno only rolls his eyes in response. What did they expect? If they didn't kill him once his usefulness was at an end, it wasn't as though his masters would be any more merciful. Failure wasn't tolerated and his inability to elude capture would be down to him. Still, if he was worried about the men before, his apprehension only rises when he looks up to meet Helena's gaze, the clone licking at cracked lips. "Hello, Helena. Nice to see you again, though it would have been nicer under different circumstances." He manages to get out, tongue dry as the sahara desert. @harperhydra

[doyouevermakeasound]

Whumptober Day Four: "I see the danger, it is written their in your eyes."

TW: torture mention, interrogation, death

Being the one that people turned to for all of your afterlife needs got a little boring sometimes.  Necromancy was a dying art (No pun intended) and those who practiced, such as whumpee, got asked for consultations.  A lot of consultations.  You would be shocked at the amount of guilt people carry after a loved one dies.  Occasionally they would get something different, someone wanting the last word in an argument or wanting to know where something was stashed.  That led to some awkward encounters.  

Whumpee entered their office and flicked on the light.  Three people were there to meet them.  “You didn’t have to wait with the lights off.  You can spare the dramatics.”  Whumpee chuckled as they took off their jacket and hung it on the coat rack next to the door.

The person sitting in the chair set whumpee’s nerves on fire but that was par for the course with the clientele that walked in.  The person shrugged, “I like keeping an element of surprise.”

Whumpee walked to the other side of the desk, sizing up the two bodyguards that flanked the person in the chair.  “Fair enough, how can I help you?”

The person leaned forward, meeting whumpee’s eyes.  “I need your utmost discretion.  Nothing we speak about leaves this room.  Capisce?”

“I understand.  Confidentiality is one of the things that I pride myself on.  What can I help you with?”

The person in the chair held out a hand and the bodyguard to the right handed them a manila envelope.  “I would like to make this clear.  I will know if you talk about this.  Before I show you what’s in the envelope I need you to understand that I hold a lot of power in this town.”

Whumpee didn’t care for thinly veiled threats but it wasn’t the first time someone had waltzed into their office like this.  They always charged extra the more threats sent their way anyways.  “Yes, I can see that.  What do you need?”

They unclasped the envelope and pulled out a photo.  The body was a mess.  The person’s face was busted beyond repair, burns, cuts, and stab wounds laced the majority of the bodies skin.  Whumpee subconsciously held their breath but forced themselves to release it.  They met the stranger’s eyes.  “Interrogation gone wrong?”  They tried to maintain a jovial tone.

“I have some questions that they still need to answer for me.”  

Whumpee tried to read the stranger and when they came up short they entered into their usual spiel.  “If you’ve got the body still and you didn’t move it, that makes my job easier.  If you’ve already disposed of it, blood or other artifacts can help.  If you’ve just got the photo, it’ll be difficult but not necessarily impossible only if I can go where the interrogation took place.  Depending on the ghost, they fight like hell to stay away from me but it should be doable.”  They handed the picture back to the stranger.  “I do have to say, if this person didn’t want to talk while they were alive, what makes you think that they’ll talk after they’ve died?”

“From what I’ve heard, sometimes a necromancer can be more persuasive than someone with tools while that person was alive.”

They shrugged, “That’s where the whole ‘the ghost sometimes fights like hell’ comes in.’ I can do what you need but I need to get some supplies first.  Do you have the body?”

The stranger nodded, “We haven’t even mopped up the blood.  You were the first stop when we got a little carried away.”

That was a little extreme for getting carried away, thought whumpee.  “Address?”

“I would prefer I leave one of my guards here with you to escort you to the place once you’re ready.”  They nodded towards the bodyguard on their left, “I don’t want you to be able to find the place again if you decide to cross me.  Of course, if you cross me, you can expect to look like that poor fool in the photograph.”

Whumpee put their hand up in defense.  This person definitely thought that they were the first to threaten them.  “You’re not the first person who requested that.  It’ll cost you extra but I will go along with your requirements.”

The stranger stood, “I just want to be clear that I’m not someone to double cross.”

“I see the danger, it’s written there in your eyes.”  The jovial tone slipped from whumpee’s voice.  

The stranger chuckled, “Good, then you know not to cross me.  How does fifty thousand sound?  You know, some extra for your… discretion.”

Whumpee extended a hand across the table.  “Done.”

[lionsonjupiter]

psychology time! : arguments backed by emotions

i am not a doctor

-----

i ended up responding to this comment, but i really didn't have to. just by reading the preview, i could tell that it was going to be irrational and clouded by anger.

when we argue, we're often ruled by emotions. we rely on anger to fuel our responses. we don't stop to think what people are saying.

when people say that being a cunt in an argument isn't going to make them change their opinion, they're not lying. insulting people is a good way to show that your point is weak, poorly supported, or backed by questionable sources.

when we give a point that we know is flimsy, we go on to attack someone's character, not their argument we start to put up our defenses and strike out at different views, and it leads to the classic "i should have said this!" in the shower at night. you aren't thinking, you're just feeling.

attacking someone's character to further your point is a common tactic in police interrogation, it's an amazing way to break someone down into giving something up. but when there's nothing to give up or confess to, it goes from good to shitty.

it takes maturity to not argue with emotion. it takes control and self awareness.

if the person in that comment is reading this, i know this post won't change your mind. i don't give a shit if it does, it's not like your opinion is going to make a big difference.

anyways, here's a meme

[jbhofstee]

Fictober Day 2— “You have no proof.”

Entry Type: Original, PSI Files

Character(s) Featured: Todd Anderson

Note: I’m using these prompts to get myself back into the writing realm with my characters. None of these are canon to my stories unless I decide to include them at a later date.

              He had allowed him to sweat for a while. The religious items would have weakened him during his time locked up in the chamber. Todd figured with the dawn here, now would be the time to start the interrogation. He was a younger vampire, born during the 1900s, so that would mean the sun could kill him. That meant Todd had to keep him in a darken chamber of a forgotten fortress the Bureau utilized now.

              Running a hand through his unruly dark curls, he began his descent down to the dungeon, stopping at the door where the beast awaited. Perhaps he took a little too much pleasure in this, but it was his nature. The smirk which came to his lips flashed his longer canines. He could feel the vampire’s discomfort and fear and it was exactly what he wanted. He listened as the struggling paused. Good, he knew he was here.

              With that, he opened the door and watched as the pale man shrank back in his seat slightly. Todd took in the vampire. Male, roughly 5’10”, sunken cheekbones and sunken eyes making his blue eyes darker, well cut medium blond hair. Todd watched as the apprehension sprung up in his eyes, going against his aggressive body language. Like a wild animal cornered and expecting extermination.

              “Good morning,” Todd greeted in mock friendly tone as he made his way to the table in front of the vampire. The chains were still keeping him in place with their prayer beads wrapped with the silver metal. Todd could see the burn marks on the young vampire’s arms. “Not too fond of my decorations?” Todd made a wide motion to the various crucifixes around the room. He had been raised Catholic, so that was the best symbol for him to utilize.

              “Shut your mouth, half-breed!” The vampire snapped. “You’ll regret it if you don’t release me now!”

              That earned a chuckle from Todd as he settled into the chair across from the vampire. His hazel eyes locked with the vampire’s, his canines flashing in a smirk again, this time longer than what they had been outside and his eyes flashing slightly red.

              “Do you really think your threats worry me?” It was a mocking question. The vampire could smell his blood and the ancient line which ran through it. “All you are is a small-time, low-ranking bloodsucker. You’re a pawn, someone easily replaced.” Todd leaned back, running his tongue along his teeth. “I know you’ve been stalking and killing your prey. The Budapest Accords of 1899 strictly state vampires are no longer to stalk and kill, but to either have willing donors or wipe their prey’s mind and let them go.”

              “You have no proof!”

              That earned another chuckle from Todd. He shook his head a bit, pulling out the folder from his bag. He set it down in front of the vampire, clicking his tongue.

              “Oh, Peter,” he said, with mock pity, “you know what’s great about the digital age? Digital images can catch images of vampires now. So every digital photo, every digital recording, you’re on it. It’s a similar reason why you can see yourself in modern mirrors and not in older mirrors backed with silver.” Todd opened the folder, revealing the vampire hunched over a victim in an alleyway. If the vampire had had any color on his face, it quickly drained. “Another fascinating piece of modern technology is DNA testing. Once the Bureau got our hands on this, and altered it to not cause mass hysteria, is the fact we have been able to utilize a similar technology to track down the vampirism gene you left on your victim from the bite and trace it to your brood.”

              Todd slammed the folder shut, causing the vampire to jump in his seat and look up at him in terror.

              “How do you think we found you so quick?” Todd asked. “Your brood gave you away. They view you as trouble and a liability. In fact, I could wrench your heart out right now and they wouldn’t give a damn.” Todd flexed his hand on the table to make his point, causing the vampire to swallow in fear. “Luckily for you, the Bureau would care. Whether you live or die depends on the outcome of your trial.” Todd leaned forward, resting a hand on the folder. “But with the evidence I’ve gotten, your lack of cooperation, and the testimonies agreed to, you’re more than likely going to be destroyed. Which is fine by me.” Todd paused, hearing the footsteps coming down the corridor to the room. “And that would be the Bureau’s Apprehension Team, coming to take you and lock you up. It’s been a nice chat.”

              With that, Todd picked up the folder and rose to a stand as the door opened and the members of the Bureau filed in.

              “Silver chains with prayer beads? Holy items everywhere?” One remarked to Todd, looking over to him. “Don’t you think sometimes you take it to far?”

              “Not for vampires,” Todd remarked. “I’m the dhampir here, you’re the bluecap. We have very different skillsets.”

              “If you say so.” The bluecap went to the others, nodding and creating a circle around the vampire. Todd watched as they vanished through a created portal, knowing he would have to head to Headquarters for the trial. He turned to start removing the items he’d hung up and froze, his senses feeling something lurking nearby. The hair on the back of his neck standing on end, he let out a low hiss.

Looks like he had something to lose before he continued on to Headquarters.

[just-horrible-things]

‘Verse: Unlikely Salvation (@whump-sprite) Timeline: The end of Jo’s stint as a trainee with the feds Cowritten with @khalwrites, Jo is hers

---

Minhas

The witch’s head lolls. Blood drips from her lips. Riven backhands her casually to see if she’ll stir, but her head just tips to the side, then back to the centre. “Are you in there, Amir?” he calls, sing-song. “Rise and shine, no sleeping on the job.” When there’s still no sign of consciousness after a few more seconds, he sighs and unchains the prisoner from the wall, letting her flop to the floor. Maybe she’ll come round with her head at floor level. Ideally he needs to hold off another day or two before getting the healer back in, or Bright will be breathing down his neck again.

“Anyone home? Come on, wake up.” He nudges a badly displaced fracture with his foot, then kicks harder. A low groan reveals that she’s starting to come round. “Rise and shine, Amir,” he taunts, crouching down beside her to get a better look at her face. She’s well past being able to lash out. “Don’t you have some more clever words for me. Hey, look at me. Amir. Ami-ir?” Her eyes are still unfocused. Even her scowl is slack, just a hint of a curl in her lip and some residual tension between her brows. “Jo-lan-i?” Riven sings. Her eyes find his face. She doesn’t hide her fear as well when she’s dazed like this. It’s almost cute. “Can you hear me, Amir?” No response. “Jolani,” he calls again. She makes a tiny sound somewhere between a whimper and a growl.

Interesting. A little suspicion stirs in his mind. Probably it’s nothing. But it won’t hurt to investigate.

“What’s your name, little bitch?” he sing-songs. “... Jolani…” she mumbles. No back-chat. He likes her better like this. “Uh huh,” he prompts, “Is that it?” Dark eyes blink slowly at him. The more swollen one sticks closed. “What’s your name?” “Jolani,” she repeats. A hint of stubborn irritation is creeping into the confusion. “Is it really?” “... did you… forget… already?” Riven puts a knee down hard on her back to make her convulse and cry out. “What’s your name, bitch.” “Jolani,” she snaps. “What’s your name, Jolani?” “Jolani,” she repeats, utterly confused. “No, you stupid witch. Jolani what?” She is silent, looking baffled, and Riven’s anticipation spikes. “What’s your last name?” “... Jolani?” He pushes a thumb into a burn, not hard enough to make her whimper, but hard enough to make her face scrunch up. “Have you forgotten?” he teases, gleeful. “That’s a funny thing to forget, your own last name. If I didn’t know better I’d think… maybe you made it up.” “My name’s Jolani,” she insists. “Jolani what?” “Jolani Minhas,” she tells him. Riven’s grin grows very wide. “There we go,” he purrs. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

For a few seconds she stays confused, frowning up at him like she doesn’t understand what she’s said. Then her eyes go absolutely huge. Riven laughs delightedly at her whimper of pure terror. “Amir!” she blurts out. “Amir!” “Too late, Minhas,” he crows. “I told you we’d get there, didn’t I. Shall we find out what else you’ve got to tell me, hm?” “Amir,” she stammers, “My name is Amir.” “That’s a lie, witch,” he grins. “And liars get burned.” “I’m J-J-Jolani Amir...” There are tears streaming down her face now. Riven delights in the sight. He didn’t mind really, that she wasn’t telling him anything. It’s all the same to him. But the slip-up means she’s breaking.

There’s a spring in his step as he paces across the cell to the toolkit. His hand hovers over the blowtorch, then grabs the soldering iron instead. Harder to go overboard by mistake. “You’re going to tell me everything, Minhas,” he gloats. “You know you are. It’s just a matter of how much fun I get to have between now and then.” “G-go to hell,” she snarls, “go t-t-to hell. I’m not a --” pausing to take deep, sobbing breaths “-- not a goddamn spy.” Riven laughs, kicking her idly. The bitch groans, but finds the breath to repeat “My name is Amir.” “Scream for me, Minhas.” 

She tries not to. She gasps, groans, and chokes on her cries, but they get louder and louder as he works the hot iron across her whipped back. He knows she’d be screaming already if he hadn’t told her to. Her stubborn insistence on doing the opposite of whatever he says is hilarious. “It’s -- Amir --!” she protests, over and over between yelps and sobs. “I’m -- Amir -- I’m n-n-not -- a traitor --!” The cracking screams, when they come, are just icing on the cake.

“Amir --” she sobs “-- don’t want -- mhnhh! -- m-magic --” “That’s three times in a row you’ve said that,” Riven teases. “You’re losing it, Minhas.” She glares up at him, and tries weakly to spit blood from her split and swollen lips. “W-w-wo-n't break--” gasp “--bre-ak m-m-me.” “I am breaking you,” Riven purrs contentedly. “Just look at you.” She sobs harder, and he pauses just to watch. “Gonna k-kill--” she stutters “--kill you.” “Oh, I’m so scared.” Another jab with the soldering iron, digging it deep into her back. She gasps for air, but she growls through the pain. “One -- one day. You. Will be.” Riven laughs at her conviction. “You’re never getting out of here. Unless…” he grins.. “Who’s coming for you, little spy?” “Not a spy,” she responds instantly.

It’s not useful, how she keeps falling back on the same handful of answers. But it sure is funny.

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

( Andrew Milton ; closed starter )

                  ❝ We've been expecting you, Ms. Carpenter. Been trailing your band of vagrants and degenerates for months now. It was only a matter of time until we would catch up with you. ❞

                 The room was dark, the curtains loose from their bindings and covered the windows. Not like anyone was going to stop by and witness all of this anyway, barely anyone other than people of high authority and some scared townsfolk, ever graced Milton’s doorstep. If it was any townsfolk, it tended to  be witnesses from the Blackwater Ferry job, one of the biggest schemes the gang has ever pulled in their whole criminal career, or those who overheard a nearby robbery that’s speculated to be Dutch and his group. 

                 His polished shoes scrapped the floorboards as he made his way to the front of the room. He bent down, his eyes meeting hers. His cold gaze and hardened eyes kept their focus on hers, his hands resting on his knees as he was at her level now. ❝ Frankly, we ran your file, nothing of importance came up, no link to any crime-- unfortunately. Which only means the only charge we could charge you with is accessory. Allowing the gang kill and steal as they please, damn the consequences. Letting Mr. Van der Linde run rampant throughout the territories. ❞

                  ❝ But you have information to spill, ❞ he kept a steady eye on her as he slowly rose up to his own level and proceeded to his desk,  ❝ and I got plenty of time. ❞

@notsoinnocentlittleangel​​

[whumppmuhw]

Whumptober Day 19: Left behind, "Why wasn't I enough?"

Part of my Friends To An End story (masterlist)

tw: malnourished, held in a cell, bad caretaker, interrogation, long post

... Whumpee heard their footsteps coming down the basement stairs and at first assumed it was Whumper, until she realized that he probably hadn't grown extra pairs of legs. The group entered the basement with sweeping flashlights, occasionally illuminating Whumpee's malnourished, frail frame. She squinted at the harsh light, especially when one of them took out a camera and began flashing pictures. The group was dressed in business casual, and moved with a professional air about them. Whumpee couldn't tell if their disgusted faces were from the awful scene in Whumper's basement, or the distasteful hours they were working. She stood up and grabbed the bars of her cell, prompting looks from the group as well as several flashlights pointed right at her. She squinted, then spoke. "Um, who are you guys? Why are you here so late? Are you here to free me?" One woman, who wore a blouse, slacks, and low heels, who carried herself with confidence, responded. The badge around her neck identified her as Caretaker; the picture on the badge showed a smiling, eager face unlike the scowl she had since entering the room. "We're here to investigate after someone reported hearing torturous screams from this location. The Mr. Whumper who frequents this place already has a criminal record, so we wanted to know if something was going down." "That-that was me," Whumpee admitted sheepishly, though she knew none of what happened to her was her fault. "Those were my screams. I-I thought no one could hear me, I didn't think anyone was coming..." Whumpee started to tear up, old emotions rising to the surface. "It's alright honey," Caretaker affirmed, and her coworkers realized she was taking charge of the conversation and moved to resume their work. "Like you said, it's late, and we can't do much tonight. Mr. Whumper should return in a few hours based on our observations, and we'll need to be out by then." "You'll let me go right?" Whumpee was frantic. "I'm not going to be here when that happens? What about the cops, surely you let them know what's going on here?" Caretaker shook her head. "Do you know where the key is?" "No, Whumper always takes it with him-" "Then I'm sorry, we don't have the tools to get you out right now." To this, Whumpee started crying, silently. "And we're our own small private investigation unit, we try not to get the cops involved if we have to. You may already know, the cops around here are always busy and I've had some personally bad interactions in the past." Whumpee couldn't believe it. She slid down to a sitting position, and gripped the cell bars tightly, as if her desperation carried enough willpower to set her free. "I can't believe this," she whispered through the tears. The man with the camera finished taking the shots they needed and called out to the rest of the group that he was done. They took a penultimate look around the room, one of them jotting down a few final notes in their notepad, and turned to leave. "Wait!" Whumpee called out. "When will you be back?" The group turned around, with their eyes on Caretaker, expecting her to answer. She did. "I don't know, honey. Could be a week or two, or more." Whumpee didn't have the energy to beg for them to come back sooner. She watched with despair as they exited the room, climbing up the stairs and farther away from her. She curled up into a ball and sobbed into her knees, wanting this mess to all be over. ... After a night of restless sleep, Whumpee was awoken by someone pounding down the stairs. She rubbed her eyelids and Whumper came into view, with a busy, calculating look instead of his usual grin; charming to others, but not to her. She knew it as the grin of a monster. He skipped the pleasantries and teasing of what was to come that day and started firing questions. "There, were visitors last night, yes?" "Yeah," Whumpee replied.

"Private investigators, right? What can you tell me about them?" Whumpee hesitated for a moment, not wanting to give away the details of the people who could save her. But they didn't, they left her here, and she was more scared of what Whumper would do if she didn't answer. Caretaker and the others didn't do much for her, what did she owe them? "Um, they came down here pretty late. There were like, four or five? of them, and they looked pretty professional. They were taking pictures and notes, and one of them, Caretaker, might have been the leader, she seemed to be the one taking charge." Whumper was nodding along, and wrote down Caretaker's name. "Did you see a company name? Did they talk to you?" "No, it was too far away for me to see their badges, other than Caretaker's name and photo. She was the only one to talk to me." "What, exactly, did she say?" Whumper hovered his pen above the paper, ready to write. "She said that they were hear to investigate you and this place after someone heard my screams." Whumper started jotting, and made a low mmmmm noise, making a mental note to soundproof the basement. Whumpee continued. "They didn't stay long, only a few minutes, and said they would be back in a week or more. They also said that they wouldn't get the cops involved. Apparently Caretaker has a bad history with them." At this, a brief smile crossed Whumper's face - with the cops out of the picture, his job became easier. "Anything else?" Whumpee was silent. Whumper noticed this, used to hearing a "no" or seeing her shake her head when she was done; silence meant secrets. "Tell me, Whumpee, I'm not going to play games right now." There was no mistaking the impatience in his voice. The confession came out slowly. "I...I asked them to free me." Whumpee paused to look at Whumper, hoping he wouldn't be angry. "Caretaker asked if I knew where the key was, and I said 'no, you always keep it on you,' and she said she didn't have the tools to do it then. Then, they-they left me here," Whumpee finished as she fought back tears. "Hm. I thought you enjoyed it here," Whumper stated sarcastically. "I don't," Whumpee said under her breath, then noticed him giving her an inquisitive look, and she spoke up. "It's just- why wasn't I enough? If they're the good guys, why didn't they help me?" Whumper shook his head. "I don't know why, Whumpee, but I'm glad they didn't. And besides, you're enough for me, and I'm sure both of us will be relieved when we never have to see them again." He reviewed his notes, jotting down a few ideas he had. "Forget the usual routine, today I'm going to have to take care of this. I'll come check on you later, I'll be busy." "W-what about breakfast?" "Later, Whumpee. Thank you for the information though, I'll give you a reward of some sort. See you later." With that, he left her alone, her lamenting yet another rejection. All she wanted was to be free, and far away from Whumper. And breakfast.

[whumppmuhw]

Whumptober Day 24: Failed escape

tw: locked inside somewhere, handcuffs, implied interrogation

...

Whumpee knew the house like the back of their hand. What they didn't know was what lay beyond the front door. They had never been outside this entire time and clearly Whumper didn't want them outside; they had put locks on both the inside and outside of the door to keep intruders out and Whumpee in.

Tonight, that was going to change.

It had taken Whumpee months to come up with a plan and figure out how to undo the locks on the door. It wasn't complicated; it had taken so much time because Whumper was around most of the time and when they weren't, Whumpee had to be quiet as a mouse and make sure they weren't caught or they didn't leave any evidence of their plan behind, like a hair pin or scrap of paper with scribbled details.

Whumper had left a half hour ago. Whumpee left a window of time in case Whumper came back for something forgotten, but they didn't. Time to begin.

Whumpee retrieved the screwdriver they had hid and used it to remove the doorknob of their room. They gently nudged the door open and crept out into the hall.

Technically, there was no reason for them to keep silent. Whumper was gone for both the practices and the real thing, and there were no cameras or sound detectors. Whumpee didn't know why, but they felt safer when they were quiet. Maybe it made them feel calm and in control, maybe they were worried someone would hear them. Whatever the reason, Whumpee moved slowly and deliberately and tried not to let anything creak.

They made it to the front door. There were six locks, and Whumpee made quick work of unlocking all of them. Three required lock-picking, one of them a number typed into a keypad that Whumpee had learned after a week of catching fragments of Whumper typing it in and converting it to memory, two were as simple as turning a small knob.

Whumpee breathed a sigh of relief. Everything had been building up to this moment, and now they could escape and get far away from Whumper and the events that had happened here. They didn't know what would happen after now, but anything was better than here.

They turned the doorknob and opened the door, which swung towards them.

Before they could process it, they were shoved to the floor on their stomach, letting out an oof.

"I have to admit, that was impressive."

Whumper.

Whumper was kneeling on top of Whumpee, pulling their hands behind their back and slapping on some handcuffs. Whumpee didn't resist, feeling utterly defeated.

"What- how- you left-"

"I didn't leave. I never do."

Whumpee was in shock, unable to process it. "Why were you there-" They let out a groan as Whumper pressed their knee into their back.

"I can't tell you all my secrets, but you sure can! You're gonna tell me exactly how you prepared to escape, and I'll use that to make sure you never try to leave again!"

Whumpee felt sick, a sense of dread washed over them. They didn't feel lighter when Whumper stood up, and didn't fight back when Whumper pulled them to their feet and led them to the room they used for interrogation.

Freedom was so close, just out the front door, and yet so far.