<strong>Prisoner Kate Bartlett<br/>Outside Carl's Personal Suite</strong><br/><br/>Kate stumbled a little as a result of the sudden shove. So much for 'reasonable' she thought to herself. Popov's strides were long and she struggled to keep the pace such that she stayed a little ahead of him, which was clearly where he wanted her to be. His grip tightened around her upper arm as he attempted to hurry her speed but she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was starting to hurt her even a little.<br/><br/>"You don't care why Im here, but you think I deserve it? That's ridiculous."<br/><br/>She hadn't intended to say it out loud and certainly hadn't expected Popov to answer. It was more than clear that any desire he had for conversation had passed and his sole objective was delivery. When they came to a stop, he had pulled her a little closer to him as he had leaned forward and whispered to her. It was close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath on neck and she felt a shiver run through her - as a result of what he said and how he said. And then there was that laugh!<br/><br/>The door in front of her slid open, the ''swishing' sound of the pneumatic mechanism echoing a little in the empty corridor. And then she was pushed inside. By the time she had regained her balance and turned around, the door was closing and the last image she had was Popov stood in the outer corridor with a knowing satisfied grin on his face.<br/><br/>Kate moved to the door, tucking the towel which was now wrapped around the tooth brush under her arm, and using her now free hand to rub her upper arm where she could still feel the effects of Popov's grip. There was no window in the door. It was solid; metalic. There was no handle. Rather there was a small square glass panel just to the left hand side. No buttons or controls on it. She guessed that this was the 'mirror' of the one outside the door which Popov had used to open it. Knowing that it was a completely stupid and pointless action, she laid her had on it. She didn't expect the door to open... and is didn't. She turned around and began to look at where she was.<br/><br/>It was a white room; walls, ceiling, floor and she was vaguely aware of that fact registering in her mind. But the first thing she really saw was the black bench in the middle of the room. She found herself walking over to it. The bench top itself was about 7-8ft long, slightly padded and covered in a black leather. It was supported by a central solid metal pillar. Looking underneath it, where the pillar joined the bench, it was obvious to see that the bench could move. It could be tilted. Most disconcerting were the metal clips which ran down the side of the bench which she now saw at eye level. She felt her stomach flip. She didn't want to think about those... not now. She shook her head a little, stood up and looked around the rest of the toom. The large lights coming from the ceiling; not the main source of lighting, but additional lights... theatre lights... hospital theatre lights. There were six or seven monitors around the room; some attached to the walls, others hanging on arms from the ceiling. The screens of all of them were black. This was a medical facility. 'I'm not ill' she said to herself. 'Why would someone think I was ill. I shouldn't be here.' She kept scanning around the room. Only one wall had any kind of storage facilities; cabinets attached to the wall at eye level going up towards the ceiling, cabinets on the floor lined up side by side along the wall to create an additional bench surface at about waist height. She walked over. One by one, she tried the cabinet doors... the drawers... everyone of them locked. She started pulling a little harder. Nothing moved at all. The units themselves were solid and firmly fixed and the doors and drawers didn't even rattle on their locking mechanisms. She put the towel down on the counter top, turned around and leaned against it. Without thinking, she ran one hand slowly through her hair, taking a deep calming breath and exhaling slowly. As her hand moved through her hair, it came to rest at the back of her neck. She winced as her fingers moved over the spot on the back of her neck where the earlier violent injection had been made. Her fingers attempted to explore the spot, but other than the tenderness of the tissue, there was nothing to feel. She pulled her hand away, expecting see perhaps see blood - there was none.<br/><br/>'What the hell am I doing here?' she said out loud but only to herself. Her mind started to wander through the events of the day. Everything had moved so quickly. From being arrested at her home, the trial, the transport.... She shook her head. It wasn't about past events now. Nothing she could do could change those. She had to concentrate on the here and now. She pushed herself off the cabinet and turned to look at them. Maybe she should try again. Maybe she'd missed one. Maybe there was something in one of these cupboards or drawers that could prove useful. She started trying the drawers nearest to her again. They were as stubborn in their refusal to move this time as they had been before. Finally reaching the last of them, she stood back and let herself accept the fact that if there was something useful here, she wasn't going to be able to get access to it.<br/><br/>She looked around the room again. She wondered whether Popov was still stood outside. She walked back over to the door. She called through it. 'Popov... what am I doing here? I'm not sick.' There was no response. She banged on the door, called again, banged harder, slapping the palm of her hand against the cold metal door. "Popov!" If he heard her, there was no immediate response. "You son of a bitch.... " She closed her eyes and forced herself to take another deep breath.  Stepping away from the door, she started wandering again... not really with any purpose now, but trying not to focus on the table smack bang in the middle of the room. That in itself was no easy task! There was nothing to do but wait. And Kate was starting to think that the waiting might be as bad as whatever was going to come next.