Lights? Masks? Dear god is this some kind of dream? A half remembered fantasy as his fading mind slipped into the sweet oblivion of death? No, his people, his people had come back for him. It was a mistake, of course it was, it always had been. Already he was imagining how he would hug his fiancee and her father, after a short time in the hospital and sterilization chambers, and they would all laugh about the whole mess over a bottle of wine. In just a few short minutes he was certain, he would either be dead, or whisked back to a reality he should have never been forced to leave.<br/><br/>He opened his eyes wide, feeling his strength returning, and then, dropping. These were... these were not his people. Their gear was not standard, the direction they cam from not the drop hatch. Wrong, wrong, this was wrong. Ruffians, Savages come to finish off a wounded, sick animal. So naturally when they began questioning him instead of simply tearing into him like a pack of rabid dogs, he found himself able to do little but stare at them with his jaw hung in a comical expression of shock. He had heard that savages could not talk, could not articulate, could not... "I...I..." He swallowed hard catching his breath, the pain in his knee bringing him back to the reality of the sewer.<br/><br/>"I have been down here for two hours. I tripped" He said, nodding towards the dried red smear mark on the concrete where he had hit the ground. "Who are you? Are... are you here to kill me?"