Elizabeth had since made her way back to the hidden crevice that served as her home, a bubble left over from when the caverns making up the Slam had first vomited themselves up from the core of the world.  It was dry and free of worm burrows, and the crack leading into it was too thin for the cats or the larger prisoners and guards to slide through.  Being able to slip into places she didn't belong was a skill she prided herself on.  Being able to dislocate her bones when necessary just made her job easier.<br/><br/>She sat in the center of the basin, surrounded by various torches and makeshift lamps she'd managed to steal from fellow inmates and guards over the years.  The light reflected off the obsidian walls and set the entire space aglow, only the barest sliver of light visible from the outside.  At hand were all the possessions Elizabeth had to her name.  Smuggled items mostly, and reminders of a past life.  Others were gifts from another prisoner, a reclusive woman named Stiletto that had been there even longer than she had.  Rumor had it she had a thing going with one of the guards, making it all the easier to get contraband down to the cell blocks.  It was undoubtedly true; a woman used what she had to survive, and Stiletto had managed to retain a miraculous beauty despite all the scars she'd racked up from abuse from her 'caretakers'.<br/><br/>Rae was like her, finding methods that didn't involve flaunting sex around to all the slabs of meat.  There was a strength to her that wasn't fueled by desperation.  Assuming she had managed to escape the Flayer behind her, that woman would be the sort of person to ally herself with.  It paid to get close to those that still retained an ounce of humanity, especially if they possessed skill.  They'd both be on the Beast's list now.  Teamwork might very well be the only chance they had to avoid death by the whip.<br/><br/>---<br/><br/>Flayer sat in his quarters, alone.  The only lights came from the dozens of screens circling his head; he did not need any other light.  There were no furnishings.  No visible possessions.  Not even a chair.  Just a featureless room carved straight into the rock.  It suited the Beast perfectly.<br/><br/>Most enforcers were given access to one or two cameras, designated areas for them to keep careful watch of.  Flayer had plugged into all of them.  The Warden wanted results, and he was more than capable of keeping track of every little detail in the entire facility.  His windows into the minds of all the little men and women that provided endless entertainment.  A feature<em>not</em>meant to be accessibly by him was the speaker system, one that he thoroughly enjoyed using once the prisoners had gone to bed and their suggestible minds were frail from exhaustion.  It was truly remarkable what a constant whisper could do to a sleeping mind.  How a person could be twisted into a paranoid wreck after months and months of endless chattering.  Flayer's closely guarded secret.  Most prisoners simply thought they were going mad, hearing voices.  The distinctive crackle of the Beast's voice was utterly filtered out.  A perfect mask.