'Mr DeWitt! Mr DeWitt!'
My eyelids flutter open. My face is pressed into a dirty grey carpet; the smell of dust is heavy in my nostrils.
'I know you're in there, DeWitt!'
I haul myself to my feet, watching the room swim sickeningly.
'Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt!'
I seize the door-handle and pull hard. It swings open soundlessly, and I take a step into -
'Booker!'
I jerk awake. I'm lying on my back, staring hazily up at a filthy ceiling that climbs into shadow above me.
'No, no, Booker, please -'
A voice.
A female voice.
Elizabeth?
I try to sit up, to see where the voice is coming from -
- and my chest bursts open with pain. I collapse back onto the stone floor, gasping, feeling blood pooling around me.
'Booker!'
I turn my head slightly; see the bars surrounding me. A cell.
Elizabeth is clutching the bars to my left, a jagged scratch running from her temple to her jaw, her face terrified.
'You're hurt,' I croak.
She wipes her sleeve across the cut. It comes away red.
'You should get that looked at,' I gasp. 'Don't want to let it get infected.'
Her face crumples. 'Your chest...'
I look down. My shirt and waistcoat are ripped beyond repair, and I can just see four gashes, perhaps two inches deep, running down from my shoulder to my waist. There's blood everywhere.
'Goddam,' I say quietly. 'That ain't a pretty sight.'
It's then I realise that there are shackles around my wrists and ankles.
'Elizabeth - where are we?'
'Comstock House,' she says. 'Songbird took me here, and after a while a Handyman appeared with you. Oh, Booker,' - she reaches a hand through the bars - 'I was so scared... There was blood everywhere, and you're so pale...'
I stretch out my own hand, trying to ignore the searing pain that jars my chest, and take hers; it seems so small and innocent compared with my bloodstained, scratched and burned hand.
The sound of a door slamming echoes through the room, and Elizabeth backs away from the bars, fear etched all over her face.
Six guards march into the room, machine guns resting on their shoulders, thick armour plating covering their bodies. I squint painfully at them, watching as they halt in front of my cell.
'So,' says one. 'You're the False Shepherd, are you?'
'I left my crook at home,' I say. 'I gather I'm easy enough to recognise without it.'
The guard sneers, narrowing his eyes. Then he turns to the man beside him. 'Knock him out.'
The second guard unlocks the door and steps inside, hefting a heavy wooden mallet in his hands. I feel a stab of unease.
The man raises the mallet high above him, his face lit with a manic grin, and brings it down hard. An explosion of pain erupts in my head, and I see bright lights popping before my eyes. Elizabeth is screaming, the sound ringing painfully in my head -
'Shut her up!' yells the first man's voice.
'Get your hands off of me!' Elizabeth cries. Then she screams - one, long, agonised sound - before it cuts off entirely.
'Elizabeth!' I roar, and the blackness that was slipping across my vision fades away as I throw myself at one of the guards. Devoid of any weapons, I draw my fist back and sink it, as hard as I can, into the man's gut. He doubles over, gasping in pain, and I drive a kick to the back of his head that sends him crashing to the ground.
I turn, intending to go for the man who clubbed me - when the loud bang! of a gun firing slams into my eardrums, and agony stabs my side.
I look down, my heart hammering.
Blood - fresh, not the dried red blood from Songbird's attack - is slowly blossoming on what remains of my shirt.
I give a grunt, and drop to one knee. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, the pain of the bullet wound is sharpening, and I can feel the blood pulsing sluggishly out of my body with every beat of my heart.
'They may call you 'the False Shepherd',' comes the voice of the first guard, 'but you're a fool. You hear that? A fool and a coward.'
I shut my eyes tight, clamping my hand over the bullet-hole to try and quell the flow of blood.
'Take him.'
Something seizes my upper arm in a tight grip. I struggle for a few seconds, my breath coming in painful gasps, before my head droops forward and I fall still.
Coward, a voice hisses in my head. You didn't even try to save Elizabeth.
'Where's - Elizabeth?' I choke out.
The first guard laughs. The sound reverberates eerily around the dark room.
'The girl? Don't worry about her, DeWitt. If I was you, I would be worrying a little more about myself.'
'What - have you done - with her?' I gasp. 'Where is she?'
The man laughs again. 'If you're going to be complaining the whole way, DeWitt...'
'Where is she?' I cry, but my voice is weak. 'What have you done with her?'
- and something slams into the back of my head.
The last thing I see before the blackness takes over is the first guard, his head thrown back, his teeth bared as he laughs.
