Violence is a normal part of your day. Someone who isn't you or Katters being behind it, however, is not. Events move far too quickly to take in, and you fight, but. Well. An ignoble takedown is still ignoble. You drift in and out of consciousness, for awhile, catching the edges of words, of things going on around you, but they fade far too quick to hold on. You hear a scream and a gunshot and shouting, but it isn't enough to pull you from the drugged fog, doesn't let you surface. When you finally wake, your eyes are painfully dry and it feels like your veins are on fire.
Zebra groans — and catches himself. Vague memories surface: a fight? An abduction. Pain, plenty of pain. He elects to keep his eyes closed for a while, and decides further to keep still. He listens.
"Lost two samples in as many days, what do we pay them for?" "Not competence, apparently, but you didn't agree to give any benefits, so no fucking wonder-"
The voices are drawing closer, coming through something that echoes, maybe a corridor? "Well, if the tethering setup that was drafted works as planned, then we won't have to worry about losing this one." "Well, we need to ensure it's thoroughly installed." "I love it when you say things like that. It means I get to make something fun." "What can I say, I let you handle the dirty work for a reason."
Voices. From behind. Zebra risks cracking one eye open, to get a better — well, any — idea of his surroundings. He can’t make heads or tails of what the voices are talking about, between the pain distracting him and the lack of context, it’s all greek. But maybe something will become clear, if they keep talking.