[out of game]

Nina was losing track of time. How long had it been since these superstitious idiots had figured out that her hands were somehow dangerous? She stared down at her arms, which were bound together, from her elbows to her fingertips, like she was praying, with duct tape and rope. When she'd tried to bite through the tape around her fingertips, they'd put some over her mouth. It hurt, and she couldn't even heal herself like this. She could offer no comfort to her fellow prisoners.

She noticed that their number dwindled, too. Men would come, take someone, and leave. Nina imagined they were selling them off. They were saving her, she could only imagine for who or for what. She tried not to think about it too hard, just tried to wait for a chance. Maybe if they sold her, they would pass on a warning. Maybe they wouldn't.

She didn't know. The not knowing ate at her.

One night - and she wasn't even sure if it was night time - something woke her from a dead sleep. The cells all around her had been empty for days. She heard noises: men yelling, gun shots. The door burst open and someone fell through it, scrambled across the floor to get away from violence happening in the other room.

What was happening?