Font Size:
They need me conscious.
That tells me everything.
The vehicle smells like rubber, metal… and cologne.
Expensive.
Controlled.
Someone who cares how he’s perceived.
Someone who thinks this is clean.
It isn’t.
I take a slow breath.
Then another.
Panic sits at the edge of my chest, waiting.
I don’t let it in.
Panic is what they want.
I test my fingers.
Numb—but responding.
Good.
I shift slightly, just enough to feel the floor beneath me.
Metal ridges.
Cargo van.
No interior finish.
No sound dampening.
I listen.
Two men in the front.
One driving.
One on the phone.
“Yes. We have her.”
Pause.
“No resistance.”
Another pause.
“Yes. The system is secure.”
