<div class="floatleft">(http://img819.imageshack.us/img819/3311/filmnoir3.jpg)</div><strong>Drake Holland</strong><br/><strong>Age:</strong>35<br/><strong>Crime:</strong>Aggravated assault, torture, attempted murder<br/><strong>Location:</strong>2nd floor, Deli<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Brazil, Phaedra, Sarah<br/><hr/>Drake had been about to follow Blondie down the stairs out into the alley.  Her little temper tantrum with the monitor meant that she was the only one who knew where Dr. Hudgeworth lived.  While he may or may not have been able to extract the information from the tablet's data card,  he couldn't afford to take the chance.  So it meant that, like it or not, Blondie was stuck with him until they could break into the shrink's office or house and get some goddamn answers.<br/><br/>However, he froze when the sound of a police C.B. crackled up from outside, the chatter inaudible except for the occasional cop code.  He shuffled over to the nearest window and peeked out; to his dismay, he saw the telltale discs of light as sections of the alley were lit up by flashlights.  Frozen by fear, he could do nothing but wait as the cops inevitably drew closer...<br/><br/>He waited.  And waited.  And there was still no footstep in the deli below, no barked order to come out with his hands up.   What the hell was going on?  Did they not see the bashed-in door, the yawning hole?  Drake was left to simply wonder in bewilderment.  He felt like a man on the ocean on a life preserver, safe from the sharks around him but nevertheless trapped by them, forced to wait and float as he watched the telltale grey fins circle around...and around...and around...<br/><br/>He wasn't even aware that he had nodded off until he noticed the dreary grey light of day filter into the tiny room.  Had he seriously fallen asleep?  Yawning, rubbing his eyes, he staggered to his feet.  Apparently he had been dozing against the wall, slumped against it in a sitting position.  He couldn't remember passing out, and that distinct lack of memory chafed at his already frayed nerves.  He glanced at some of the others, who were also appearing to be in various stages of waking up.<br/><br/>"Wake up," said Detrius. "Someone's coming."  And, sure enough, there was the telltale of the rattle of a key in a lock--obviously the<em>front</em>door--followed shortly by the sound of footsteps.  Was it the police?  No, Drake couldn't hear any more radio chatter or sirens.  Then he saw Phaedra mouthing something and pointing to the door, which confirmed it.  They were about to be discovered.<br/><br/>Driven to action by panic, he quickly looked around the room for a weapon.  The only thing available seemed to be an ancient glass lamp, a relic, kept more for novelty value than for its ability to illuminate.  Drake ripped off the lampshade, jerked out the cord, and held it by the stem, wielding it like a club.  It was an unwieldy weapon, but it had a good solid metal base--with force, it could easily bludgeon someone's skull in.  He stood by the opposite side of the door from Phaedra, ready to smash the thing over the head of whoever came through.   He had no grievance against the deli's owner, but he simply couldn't be discovered.  Not until he knew what the fuck was going on with the voices.<br/><br/>Fortunately, the goth kid had a much better idea.    She mussed herself up, smearing her makeup, and pushed past him.  Drake  heard her spin her sob story, and found himself genuinely impressed.  For a moment, he felt the butterfly of hope flutter within his rib cage.<br/><br/>Unfortunately, the guy didn't appear to be buying it.   The butterfly shriveled and died, and he tightened his grip on the lamp.   He held his breath, waiting to hear what Sarah said next.