<hr/><div align="center"><strong>Group 1</strong></div><hr/><br/>The group of misfits looked even more bedraggled and pathetic than before. With more than half of them injured one way or another, everyone wore a sullen expression on their faces as their capture sank in. Sam's thigh throbbed where the bullet had grazed him, blood darkening the bright orange of his pants as the rough cloth stuck to his skin. Nigel was conscious again, having come back to his senses sometime during the short ride in the squad car. The gash on his forehead was no longer bleeding, leaving a mess of dried blood matching the dribbling trail down his chin from his lost tooth. Jung's burned left calf looks as awful as it had just minutes ago, the pain still searing whenever she tries to put any pressure on it. Next to Jung's horrible burn, Alice's twisted ankle was nothing. Having used it recklessly during her attempt at escape, Alice's ankle was now visibly swollen. Out of the group, it seemed that Isaac -- who was no longer coughing -- Kenzie -- who had been tossed a spare shirt from the lockers and was no longer shivering -- and Winter had come out nearly unscathed.<br/><br/>As they were escorted to their cells, a glimpse of the clock on the wall read 6:18. Currently, the group was in the basement of the station, seated within the jail cell at the end of the hall -- the only high security cell the station had. Two other cells were next to them, only empty cots stared out through the iron bars. Apparently, only the seven were lucky enough to grace the station's cells tonight. The front of the hall had a small booth for the officer on duty and stairs led up to the entrance floor where the offices and visitor's lounge were situated. Archives and an interrogation room were in the basement with the cells as well. A door beneath the staircase led to a small locker room.<br/><br/>Instead of bringing the prisoners to the interrogation room one at a time as they were brought in, the group had simply been shoved roughly into their cell. The minutes ticked by in a dejected silence as the individuals within the glass and concrete box sat lost in thought. A few were seated on the cots and others were slumped on the ground with their backs against the wall. Was it self pity, despair, anger, or simply a slow shock settling in as they dwelled on their current situation? Sam's punch to the glass broke the heavy silence, yet it resulted in nothing but a soft resounding thump that attested to the clear wall's solidness. His soft curse cut through the quiet even as muted laughter could be heard from down the hall.<br/><br/>There was no telling how much time had passed as the seconds felt like minutes and the minutes seemed to melt into hours. Eventually, booted footsteps could be heard approaching from down the hall. A slot in the metal door opened automatically before the officer even arrived, the controls were probably located at the guard booth. A plastic bag was tossed in through the slot, the cop called out an affirmative back down the hall and it promptly closed. Grinning scornfully through the glass, he made a tsking sound as he looked them over. There was no pity in his eyes, only a deep satisfaction at seeing them imprisoned.<br/><br/>Turning with a wave of his hand, he walked back down the hall even as he spoke over his shoulder. "You guys are lucky, y'know that? Bread from Rosetta's is always good, even if it's a few days old." The contents of the plastic bag had spilled out onto the floor. Three buns wrapped in individual packages had slid out across the smooth cement, two bottles of water rolled around aimlessly.<br/><br/>As the group processed the amount of food, the gravely voice cooed soothingly in their minds. It was a vast difference from the usual sarcastic comments and furious roars that the attempt at easing their minds only stirred more unrest. "Don't worry, it's fine. You'll get out of here soon enough, they'll let you go before you know it. They have to. You didn't do anything wrong, and they've got nothing to prove you guilty." The voice cracked near the end, and with it the entire facade fell apart as it broke into raucous laughter. "HAH! As if! You're fucking screwed is what you are. Good job taking one step closer to the grave."<br/><br/>"Don't listen to him." The female snapped, "They<em>will</em>let you out, because they<em>don't</em>have anything to prove you guilty. Anything could've set that place on fire.<em>Anything</em>. And the doctor's death was purely accidental, they can't blame that on you. Just be patient. As the old saying goes, patience is a virtue." Her argument sounded weak and feeble next to the smoker's and yet, it sparked a small flash of hope.<br/><br/>All too soon, the regular thump of footsteps returned and the same officer was soon standing in front of their cell door again. However, this time three others stood behind him. A lopsided grin curved his lips. If not for the hardness in his eyes, he could have been considered attractive. In a light conversational tone, he asked, "How was dinner?" The door to the cell slid open and the three muscled cops filed in, one of them roughly grabbed Winter's wrist and tugged her forcefully off of the cot and away from Alice and Kenzie. The other two stood on either side of the cell door, hands on their weapons, bodies tensed and ready for action if required. Still standing outside, the first officer glanced at the buns lying miserably on the ground, one of them now flattened in its plastic with a visible boot print, and tutted regrettably. "Ahh, haven't eaten yet eh?" To Winter, he smiled as she was dragged out of the cell. The guard's grip on her arm was like a vise and he paid no heed to her furious resistance. "Well, seems you'll have to have your share later. Better hope your friends save you a bite."<br/><br/>Once Winter had been removed from the cell, the two officers followed and the doors slid closed again. The sound of footsteps retreated down the hall along with Winter's fierce struggles and angry screams demanding her release. Smiling warmly at the group even as he glared at them with cold loathing, he waved and followed the others. "Don't you worry about her. She'll be back in no time...probably." It seemed that Winter had been the first pick of the litter to experience the interrogation room. Or at least that's what was presumed. There was no way to know what exactly was going to happen to the white haired girl. They could only hope that she would soon be rejoining them in the cell...or perhaps she had been the truly unlucky one of the bunch and was meeting with their unknown fate first. Would it be a life imprisonment? Solitary confinement? The death penalty? The crushing reality of their fate bore down on any fickle hope of getting away with a lighter sentence.<br/><br/><hr/><div align="center"><strong>Group 2</strong></div><hr/><br/>Detrius started in both surprise and pain as Brazil's fist became acquainted with his face several times, all without his express consent. Most stung as they glanced off his face, and soon his arms as he shielded himself, but a lucky blow and a sickening crunch brought tears to his eyes even as his nose began spurting blood. So much for trying to be helpful, he certainly wouldn't make the same mistake again. Cursing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to straighten the fractured bone and save himself a crooked nose. The effort only blinded him with more tears. Grinding his teeth from the pain, he turned blindly towards the sound of heavy footsteps as Tim passed with the clank of metal and stumbled after the sound to the rest of the group.<br/><br/>By that time, a loud bang and a dull crashing thud sounded as Tim managed to shove open the back door of a ramshackle deli only to land on the ground in an unseemly heap when the door suddenly gave way. The back door of the deli creaked noisily closed behind them with a tired groan as the ragtag group filed in, a sliver of light still trailing in from the alley. Thanks to Tim ramming the door open, it no longer closed entirely by itself, standing slightly crooked as it sagged down due to one of the hinges coming loose. As Natalie rooted blindly through the drawers, the cold steel handle of a hacksaw found its way into her grasp. Dropping it in her surprise, the jagged blade ripped through the soft flesh of the palm of her hand even as it clattered onto the ground.<br/><br/>The dim lighting that the dark alley had provided soon changed to nearly complete darkness broken only by the small blips from nearby electronic appliances. Green numbers showed 6:18 on a digital clock. The night was still young, yet outside the faint but constant wail of sirens sang out restlessly as the police cruised the streets. Occasionally, the crackling of a hand radio's static could be heard passing through the alleys. Breaking into the deli had been a close call. There was no doubt that the streets would be crawling with feds until morning.<br/><br/>A low buzzing hum from the refrigerators broke the short spans of relative silence among the group. One side of the deli was taken up with the usual expected shelves of chips and the like, followed by dark refrigerators with rows of assorted drinks lined up neatly behind the glass doors. Two small tables and sets of chairs made the small deli's standing space even more cramped. The other side was the darkened display case for the deli meats, cheeses, and other dishes. Behind the counter was a small kitchen and grill, a large steel door led to the freezers and it became evident that the deli was a butcher shop as well.<br/><br/>Bright light suddenly sliced through the darkness of the store as Sarah opened the refrigerator. Having left the fridge door wide open to provide enough light to make her sandwich, a small staircase at the side near the back door could just be made out. Upstairs, the group would find a small office, sparsely furnished. A worn cot, a small desk and chair, and an ancient computer were the only things in the room besides a single file cabinet in a corner of the room. A sliding door with frosted patterned glass near the back opened into a bathroom the size of a tiny closet, so small that it would be a tight squeeze for the men. Besides a toilet and sink, it seemed to double as a shower stall as a shower head and knobs were situated along the wall above the toilet.<br/><br/>On the cot, a large set of crinkled clothes -- a blood stained apron, a shirt stiff from sweat, and a pair of shorts -- and a musty towel had been thrown carelessly. They were the perfect fit for a large, heavyset man. The computer at the desk turned out to be an old desktop, so old it was practically an antique. Further investigation would show that several additions, such as a slot to read a micro SD memory chip, had been made to it so that it could perform the simplest of functions. While internet access was available, the connection was so slow it required the patience of a saint to wait for simply the home page to load completely. On the other hand, it seemed that simple programs such as reading files, worked just fine albeit slower than a more up-to-date computer.