"Holy shit Dillon! These are – wow," Harrison gawped as he flicked through the photos she'd taken.

"They're wow are they?" Dillon grinned, playfully snatching the camera from her friend. Harrison was one of the few, if not the only person she trusted enough to hold it. It wasn't really a matter of trust regarding theft or clumsiness though, more that it meant a lot to her, was part of her heart, and of course one only handed those pieces out to those deserving of them.
Harrison had always been there for her. Even when her father – passed. He'd stuck by her side, seen her through bad relationships, kept her going. It wasn't uncomfortable though. Undoubtedly, here and there, feelings for each other had become more than just friends, but they'd promised not to go further with it, because they were both a certain way, and that way – for now at least – was to remain single. Dillon had her flings but could never commit to anything. She was a loving girl, don't mistake that as a suggestion that she was a jerk. Dillon used to put everything into relationships, but after she lost her father everything became so complicated. It's like that one thing that hurts you so bad, you stop allowing yourself to be vulnerable ever again. Harrison discouraged it, but he understood it, and it was this that kept them close.

"Have you shown those to anyone?" He inquired, trying to continue viewing over her shoulder, giving up when she closed the screen.

"I've shown them to you," she shrugged.

"I meant someone who knows shit about photography, Dee. Like a fellow photographer or a company who deals with that type of stuff, I don't know. An agent?"

Dillon snorted. "An agent?!"

"Yes!" Harry exclaimed. "You know, those people that help hook you up with opportunities? Suggest your work and what not?"

She rolled her eyes. "Harry, I really don't think it's that good I –"

"You never think anything you do is good." It was a statement, more than anything. Dillon always shut positivity towards her work down. She didn't have low self-esteem, but often wasn't proud until she was truly happy with her work. Let's just say, that rarely happened.

"I do!" She scoffed. "Just – when I feel like it."

Harrison only laughed in response.

"I'm serious! And this time just so happens to not be one of those times!"

"You, Dee, are a strange kid. I'm going to make sure you get there though."

"Get where?"

"Your destiny!"

Something wet touching the side of her face woke her. Slimy and cold, it nudged her cheek inquisitively. Eyes flitted open and she found herself face to muzzle.

Realising she was awake, the Pitbull beside her began growling, the sound slowly growing until it was barking. Jaws gnashed together, drool spattering across her cheek as it attempted to push its head between the bamboo bars.
Terror rocked her to wide eyed silence as she stared at the sharp canines closing in for her jugular. Her body reacted before anything else could, shifting her to the side so her foot could come up and this was by far the most uncomfortable position she'd ever been in. Her hands were still tied, the rope cutting in even more now though the pain had faded, numbed during her sleep, allowing her to be unhealthily flexible. Her foot rose and she kicked hard, connecting with the dog's nose because a sharp cry rang out before the dog ran away.

Dillon lay there, limp against the bars. She was still exhausted, even after fuck knows how many hours of sleep she'd had. Hours, because the sun was now up, threatening to burn through any skin exposed to it. Carefully, she shifted herself back into her last position. It was then that she noticed the new cage beside hers, except this time, there's was someone alive inside it.

Moments passed before Dillon had calmed, finally capable of some form of speech. "Hey," she whispered, voice even more hoarse this time. It was another woman inside the other cage, older than Dillon judging by her appearance. Her hair seemed to be black, rich and full, hanging free down her back. Tan skin, like the pirate's suggested she wasn't American or English, but then again, how could you really tell. Either way, she was also a victim of abduction. "Hey!" Dillon said again, with more force this time.

The woman lifted her head weakly, her mouth also uncovered. She looked to Dillon, eyes clearly tired.

"How long have you been here?" Dillon asked.

"About – about two hours," the other replied.

So Dillon had been asleep for more than two hours. That was the most information she'd received in however long. "What's your name?"

"Amora," the woman rasped. "And – yourself?"

"Dillon. I'm Dillon." She didn't want to come across as too much, but it was so good to see a friendly face again. She didn't know this woman, so friendly might not necessarily be true, but anything was better than the pirates, right?

"That's – that's a nice name."

Her accent was also like the pirate's. Spanish sounding. "Amora, how did you get here?"

There's a pause. "I've been here for a while," she admits.

Dillon's brows rose. "How long?"

"I – I don't know." Amora gives a gentle sob. "More than a few days. I lost track of time. They were keeping me somewhere – somewhere else. Said they were having issues with the man that wanted to buy me, and so they moved me here."

The question begged to be asked, where is here? But Amora seemed to be struggling and Dillon didn't want to stress her out too much. At all, if she could avoid such.

"I take it you haven't been here long," Amora turns her gaze back to the floor.

"I think – maybe a day? I was out when I arrived, but I don't know how long for."

"Sí, you are young?"

She hadn't been expecting that question. Why? Did she look young? "I'm uh, twenty-three."

"I am twenty-nine."

Six years older and she too is being put through this shit? It wasn't an overwhelming gap but enough to make her wonder about the other ages being trafficked. The concept of teenagers, even children going through this – she felt nauseous again. "How did you – what brought you here?"

There was a longer pause this time, Dillon figured she was stepping on thin ice. After all, thinking about her friends and what had been is not something she wanted to do right now.

"I came here with my husban' an' some of our friends. We visited the island and they took us."

Dillon couldn't keep her expression from creasing into a frown. No one deserved this. "Do you – do you know what happened? To your husband?"

"They killed him in front of me." The reply was immediate, like she was going to tell her either way.

Dillon's frown tightened, her gaze glazing over as she stared at the other. This woman had witnessed the cold-blooded murder of the man she loved, then she was locked away to cope alone. "I'm so sorry," was all Dillon could muster. How were you supposed to comfort someone who'd experienced that? She'd also been sitting on it for however many days she'd been caged away too.

"Vaas," Amora muttered.

Dillon's fingers twitched in thought. "Sorry?"

"He killed him. Vaas was the one that killed my husban'."

She didn't know who Vaas was. Then again, she didn't know any of the pirates' names. The pirate she'd spoken to had mentioned someone called Benny, but aside from that she didn't have a clue. This Vaas, she could tell from the struggle in Amora's tone, he would pay. Dillon gritted her teeth, so exposed to the real world and disgusted by how well it hid itself. The world is fucked up, but it's nothing compared to what lurks within the undergrowth. "You need to get some rest, Amora. I don't imagine you've had much?"

Amora gave a weak shake of her head.

"I'll keep watch whilst you sleep."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. We need to – watch each other's backs. You're all I have right now."

"Gracias, Dillon. When I wake, we will switch, sí?"

"Deal." There was a smile that touched the corners of her lips, faint, but there. Even just having a conversation felt like a luxury in the current situation. The company was required if she was to get through this, although she couldn't see it in her future, she had to remain hopeful. Because there was someone other than just herself to care for now.

The heat was getting to her, the lack of fluid in her systems a partner in crime. The two together made her queasy with every movement, made her muscles numb and her brain hurt. Anxiety growing over when she'd next need to relieve her bladder and how she was supposed to go about that, what with being tied up. A familiar sound caught her hearing and she listened. Boots scuffing against the dirt, rounding the corner and she straightened against the pole because slumping made her feel even more tired, and if it was the pirate she thought it was, she needed to be somewhat lucid to deal with him.

She sees the red flash of clothing first, blue gaze travelling over his form, subconsciously lingering upon muscles before reaching his face. It was the man with the mohawk, wearing a smile Dillon wanted to wipe right off. She considered it, whether she had the power to do such a thing. What with his quick changing temper, she pondered whether she could manipulate his feelings – if he had any. He appeared to be interested in her somehow, should she test it?

"I would've come sooner," he stated, "but I had to deal with some business." Smug, his lips twitched, and Dillon had to question whether his choice of words were intentional, to make him sound like a busy man or something.

She remained silent, however, honestly uncertain of how to respond to that. Yippee? Thanks for coming by? No, if anything, she wanted to tell him how little he was missed, but her bladder dawned on her, and she really didn't want to go where she was.

"Really? No good afternoon? No hello?" If she didn't know any better, he sounded disappointed.

So, it was the afternoon? Good to know. Still silent, she hoped she could provoke more of a reaction. Many animals get frustrated and give up if they can't get a response, but this guy seemed the opposite. It only fuelled the concept of a challenge for him.

"I'm gonna get pissy if you do the silent treatment with me, Chica, it's fucking bullshit."

She'd hold off longer, but she was concerned he'd start shouting and Amora needed to rest. "What?" She bit back.

The pirate lowers himself into a squat. "You know, you've got some attitude problems, Chica, but I'm going to overlook that right now okay?" She feels like she's being scolded, his aura like a cloud of smoke, blinding you – throwing you off. "There's been a lot of interest in you."

"There has?"

He laughs. "You sound surprised?"

The compliment flies straight over her head as she delves into her thoughts. She genuinely was. Dillon had always been a pretty girl, complimented often. Many of the guys at her school had shown interest in her. She was what many considered the perfect girl. She was talented, pretty, had an attractive voice and laugh, had nice hair and on top of that had fantastic grades. Still, she never really acknowledged it. Never used it to her advantage. She just made friends with the three guys who looked beyond her appearance and got to know her for who she was. Why is she surprised though? If there were more like the pirates, sick fucks who were in search of slaves, then of course she of all people would be top priority. Petite, white, young and pretty. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Entertainment," he's quick to respond. "But in all seriousness, just to warn you, the sickest fucks tend to bid the highest."

"You would know," She spat, "I bet you're one of them."

Leering, the pirate's eyes sparked as bandaged hands wrapped around one of the bars. "Do you want me t' be one, Chica?" Taunting a tiger in its cage, were she not tied at the wrists she'd probably try something that would be liable to getting her killed.

"I want you to burn in hell." Yep, there she goes.

She doesn't know who the fuck is watching over her, but the other only laughs at her words. He doesn't snap at her, doesn't lash out. That alone stuns her back into silence.

"The world is a combination of heaven an' hell," he began. "There is no after life, no up or down. That's what we're living, right in this very second, Hermana. Life is – that final judgement, spread out over however fucking long we live for. Depending on the choices we make, it can be either heaven or hell. Whatever exaggerations you've heard about them are fuckin' rumours. This here? Is hell to you people. But me? I'm thriving." His voice is raised louder this time and he raises his arms to the sky. "I am fucking thriving!"

Enigma was indeed the correct label for this guy. He clearly had some sort of complex, keeping him in a perfectly protected circle of denial. This was hell, full stop. There was no justification. She didn't give a fuck about religious beliefs right now. This man before her was excusing his insanity.

"If you say so," she muttered, somewhat scared of the man. Things were happening inside that skull of his, things she already knew would keep her up at night.

"Do you not believe me, Hermana?"

"Dillon," she corrected bitterly. "It's Dillon. Why do you insist on calling me Hermana? I'm not your fucking sister!"

He seemed taken back by her outburst. That's the most he'd gotten out of her so far. She'd spat back like a wild cat and for a moment, he worries his wound exposes itself – I'm not your fucking sister! "No," he agrees. "You're fuckin' not. But seeing as you're at my fucking mercy, I'm going to call you whatever the fuck I want." Too defensive, he dials it back down to a friendly smile. "Can I do anything to make your stay here more comfortable, Princesa?"

Princesa. Because that's better. Ignoring the nicknames, Dillon does her best not to blush as she considers what she wants to ask him. "I um—"

"What is it?" He presses.

"I really need to uh – relieve myself…" She goes silent again. It's not embarrassing, the fact that she needs to pee, but it's more having to ask him for help. Having to ask for anything from her captor, it was humiliating.

The other is quiet too, though only for a moment before he springs back to his full height. It was only her and Amora there, and the latter was asleep. She wondered if he could just let her out, or if there was someone he had to check with. Did the pirates have a boss? "Normally I'd tell you to just piss yourself, but I'm feeling generous today," he grins, pulling keys from his belt.

Generous. Oh, thank you for not making me piss myself. What a fucking gentleman.

Nonetheless, he unlocks the door and opens it, before crawling inside. Terror grasps her by the ankle and starts yanking because he's coming closer. His arms extend above her head, muscular body hovering over her and she wants to kick out, strike him in the gut but she knows that'd only make him angry.

He slips a knife from his belt and she can't help but wriggle beneath him, attempting to scramble away but again, she's stuck in place.

"Would you fuckin' calm your tits, Chica, I'm just cutting the rope." As promised, the blade makes contact with the bloodied rope and quick work of it too.

"You could've just done this on the outside!" Dillon growled, suddenly very claustrophobic.

"Could've," the other hums in response, cutting through the last threads of rope, sending Dillon's arms down to her sides. At first, she realises just how numb they are, all sense of touch gone, but it doesn't take long for the burn to take hold, biting into her muscles and slicing right down to her bruised and shredded wrists.

Only a high-pitched squeal left her along with some muttered 'fuck's as she wrapped her arms across her chest and hugged herself. The pain refused to ease, the acrobatics she'd performed earlier to avoid the dog now enforcing the consequences.

The man looming above her took one of her hands. She tried to withdraw from his touch, but it was too painful. She could barely hold her arms up for long enough anyway. He was dangerously gentle, and it only made Dillon angrier. How could someone so fucked up be so lenient. It's a caring touch, finger tips grazing her wrists, stopping when she flinches. No! Not caring! This guy is a murderer! He's not stable! And yet, she finds herself leaning towards him, allows him to pull her out from the cage and she's once more shocked by just how weak she is, her legs giving way beneath her. The anxiety of the whole situation most likely only made things worse.

Get a hold of yourself, her conscience hissed. She was relying on this killer far too much. Not to mention how vulnerable she was making herself by letting him lead her. Muscles trembled as she gained her footing, placing a hand against the pirate's chest before she gave him a shove, which was more like a soft nudge. "Don't touch me," she warned. "I've got this."

He backed up slightly, hands raised along with a knowing smirk. "Alright, alright. Just over there, on your right," he advised, nodding towards a patch of grass. Absolutely humiliating, she felt like a dog.

Slowly, Dillon made her way over to the grass, stumbling every now and then but avoided any further physical contact with the asshole. Once she got there, she reached for the belt of her shorts but stopped when she found the other to be watching her. "Um? Can you turn around or something?"

"Are you asking me to do tricks, Chica?"

"I'm asking you to give me some fucking privacy."

He hesitates, fingers twitching irritably at her attitude but he turns away, checking his peripheral every few seconds to make sure she didn't try and run. She wouldn't get far, but he didn't want his men to be aware of a failure like that. Fuck that. "You'd better piss and that's it, Chica. Don't try anything fucking stupid."

In the time he'd turned, she'd crouched and relieved herself. She was surprised she'd only needed to go now and not before, but she'd guessed it was due to how little she'd drank. Whatever was in her system was being sucked back up because nothing new was coming in. She felt guilty for not being able to care for her body.
Sighing, she pulled her shorts up and stepped to the pirate's side, ignoring any attempt he made to steady her as she stumbled back to the cage. Granted, it was a disgusting death trap, but it was better than whatever the island's jungle held for her. She slipped in, scooting to the back before raising her arms.

He looked at her, still for a moment as though he was considering something. "Put your arms down," he said.

"What?" Of course she was confused, there was no way he'd leave her untied!

"I said put your fucking arms down, Hermana."

"I don't understand. Why?" Was she seriously questioning this? Thank you, Mr Pirate!

"Like I said. I'm feeling fucking generous." He pauses, meeting her gaze. The green is hypnotic, psychotic for sure but the colour itself was something she'd never seen. "I'll be right fucking back, don't try anything." He disappeared off around the corner and Dillon sat silent, perplexed by what the fuck had just happened. He just left her, completely free? Okay so she was still locked in the cage but with her arms untied she was certain she could find some way of freeing herself. It really wasn't long before the other returned, a cup in one hand and a thin towel in the other. He opened the gate and stepped inside, making sure to close it behind him. The keys were re-attached to his belt before he approached her space within the cage.
Dillon shifted, considering all options. She could kick out, grab the keys and run? Maybe even lock him in if she was quick enough? But then she'd have to have time to unlock Amora's cage and free her too because there was no way her conscience would let her live with leaving her. It was all too risky, and if they were caught? He might kill Amora as punishment or even her friends. She couldn't let her stupidity be the cost of another's life. Remaining seated, she studied the pirate's every move. He sat, crossing his legs, dropping the towel onto his left thigh. His free hand reached out for one of Dillon's and she hesitated.

"I'm not going to bite you, Chica," he reassured. There's a twitch in his lips. "Not unless you want me to."

"What are you going to do?" She asked.

"Just fucking give me a hand and I'll show you."

Hoping the shake in her right hand wasn't too obvious, she slowly moved it in his direction. He took her thumb in his grip, securing that part of her hand before tipping half of the cup's contents onto her wrist. The cup was placed onto the floor, exchanged for the towel which she soon found to be damp. He dabbed it across her skin, and although it burned, she realised his intentions. To clean the rope burn. Had she not twisted around so much, it wouldn't be as bad as it was, but now she could clearly see how much blood was being washed away and she's grateful he was treating the wounds before she got septicaemia and possibly died. Another shit way to go.

Dillon stayed quiet, hissing at the pain every so often as he cleaned the wounds. Once the other had finished, he manoeuvred himself back to the outside of the cage, locking the door behind him.

"…Thanks…" she muttered, entirely unsure of how to feel. How come he hadn't cleaned Amora's wounds? "Are you – are you leaving me like this?" She asked, holding her arms out to suggest that she'd not been tied back up.

"Don't make me regret it," he ordered, and before she had time to respond, he left, leaving her alone with her, even more so now, troubled thoughts again.

An hour had passed, the sun gradually fading, the sound of gunfire distant, carried closer by the deceptive breeze. The smell of blood had clogged her nose since she'd arrived and could be ignored now, her stomach had hardened just that little bit more. Amora woke with a start, breathless, she turned to check on Dillon and gasped to find her moving freely about the cage.

"Dillon!" She rasped.

Dillon only smiled in response, her thoughts still fogged. Even with all the time she had to just sit and think, it still wasn't enough to process everything happening to her.

"You are free? How are you free? The binds! They're gone? I don't understand!"

How the fuck was she supposed to explain that? It was more than likely that the pirate had helped her for another reason, not because he was being generous. If she told Amora, it might make her jealous. Angry that Dillon didn't ask for Amora to be freed too. Maybe Amora would lecture her about interacting with the pirate. God, she really didn't need that right now.

"One of the pirates cut me loose," she admitted. "He told me if I behaved, he'd let me stay like this." It wasn't a lie, merely selecting what information to give out. Amora didn't need to know about everything else that had happened. Although, she did feel terribly alone with it all. The weight that this pirate clearly had some sort of obsession with her. Even being aware that she'd somehow piqued his interest scared her. She was vulnerable. Amora already provided a motherly vibe, one that made her feel safe – though that wouldn't take much in a place like the one she was being kept prisoner in.

"This is –" Amora hesitated, looking Dillon over, studying just how much freedom she had before grinning. It was a real grin, one full of hope and that's something Dillon had been desperate to see. "This is great!"

"It is?" Dillon wasn't following. Maybe because Amora wasn't entirely on the same page as she was.

"Sí! Because now, when the time is right, we can escape!"

Escape!? How!? To where!? They'd have to loot some of the pirates' belongings and even then – it all seemed so risky.
Her conscience laughed hysterically. What are you talking about? You have to escape! What about your friends?

Her friends. They hadn't crossed her mind for a couple of hours. She felt guilty, because they were all she should be thinking about.

"How are we supposed to go about that?" Dillon inquired.

Amora shifted in her binds, attempting to angle herself towards Dillon to address her. "We will find a way for you to escape your cage. Then, you can unlock mine and we can escape this camp. We'll find a way."

Hope was something that had drifted from Dillon's mind. She'd set herself up for failure, prepared for the worst because she'd lost sight of what the point of an escape was. Amora reminded her. Brought her back to reality. She was incredibly thankful for that.

Time continued to pass, Dillon drifting in and out of sleep, but the two mainly conversed, discussing their lives, their backgrounds and hobbies.

"You do photography?" Amora had asked, following on from the mention of Dillon having a camera.

Dillon recoiled slightly at the question. Her camera was lost to her. She had no idea where it was, or if she'd ever get it back. "Yeah," she uttered.

"Are you good?"

Hah. If she had the energy, she'd laugh at the question. "My friend Harrison, he insisted I am."

Amora stopped, her expression showing that she was choosing her words carefully. "This Harrison, did you come here with him?"

"I did."

"We will find him, Dillon. I'm going to make sure we find all of your friends."

Dillon smiled. "The same with yours."

"Sí. I pray that they are safe."

Though it was so unlikely. Dillon mentally slapped her wrist. This was her problem. Pessimist.

I'm a realist, her conscience argued, but Dillon recognised her negative thinking. She had to snap out of that if she wanted to survive.

Dillon had managed to drift back to sleep, head resting against the corner of the bars. She would've slept lying down, but was disgusted by the idea that she might press her face into the blood and – no, no. She was good with the corner. Eventually, she woke again, evening upon them, signified by the looming indigo canvas. Would each passing day be a mere déjà vu?
She didn't wake by choice, however. She was woken by a voice, a familiar one at that. She glances to Amora, noticing that the other's gaze is directed in the opposite direction. Dillon follows her gaze, spotting her the pirate beside the empty cage – but it was no longer empty. What looked like two men occupied the space, their arms tied and their mouths taped over. The pirate was talking to them, his voice perfectly audible from where she was, so she listened.

"I like this phone. This is a nice fucking phone! So, what do we have here? Grant-" He whistles, followed by a tongue click. "-and Jason. From California huh? Huh? Well I hope your mama and your papa really, really love you, because you two white boys you look very expensive, and that's good because I like expensive things."

Dillon felt sweat beading at her temples. She realised, right now, she would witness more of the pirate. A side she hadn't seen. The testosterone side, the one she'd witnessed with Felipe on the boat with her boys. She'd already guessed the men got treated rougher than the women, something about who's dick is bigger. He liked expensive things. Well now there's a surprise.

One of the men, the one nearer to her, throws some muffled words – she's got a fair idea of what they are. Then, like he'd heard her inner thoughts, the pirate lashes out.

"I'm sorry what did you say? What did you say?" His voice raises, aggressive and violent and Dillon finds her back pressed to the bars behind her. "Did you want me to slice you open like I did your friend? Shut the fuck up, okay!? I'm the one with the fucking dick! Look at me. Look me in the fucking eye." From crouch to his full height, the pirate looms over the bound man, his head through the bars of the cage. "Ay! You fuck! Look me in the eye! You're my bitch. I rule this fucking kingdom. Shut the fuck up, or you die."

Terror swallows her whole. Slice you open like I did your friend. This guy, the one who only a few hours ago had been ever so gently cleaning her wounds, his touch so – so fucking caring. Partly, she felt betrayed. Lied to. Like every interaction she had with him was a façade to make him look good. Well he didn't. This guy was a lunatic. He was crazy, violent and aggressive. His voice echoes in her mind, his touch ghosting over her jawline. 'Don't make me break this pretty jaw, Hermana'. He could snap like a twig, snapping her like a twig at the same time. The lack of stability made her fear for their next interaction.

"What is it Jason? Jason, what is it?" He continues, now approaching the other man. "Why aren't you laughing now like you did up there? What, is this not fun anymore? Have I failed to entertain you?" His speech is fast, giving no one time to interrupt and Dillon finds herself intrigued. This guy seemed to be the kind who had a monologue prepared.

"You see, the thing is, up there? You thought you had a chance. Way up in the fucking skies you thought you had your finger on the pussy trigger. But Hermano, down here … down here …" his right hand is rubbed against the ground, picking up dirt. He raises it to eye level, allowing the dirt to drop from his fist, watching as it showers back down. "- you hit the ground. It's okay! I'm gonna chill, I'm gonna relax because you, moi –" his finger points to the other guy, accompanied by another whistle. "–and your tough guy brother, we're gonna have a lot of fun together while we wait for the money."

She starts to wonder about the whole waiting for money thing, if that's why she and Amora were still there, but her thoughts are interrupted, as is the pirate. It's a South African accent, the roll of his r's clear as day but Dillon is caught off guard. Who is this guy? Not only that, but his words cause her to freeze.

"Vaas! Stop scaring the hostages, I need you to take care of the rejects!" The new voice is fitted to a suited figure, but that's all she sees before he's gone.

Whoever he was, he'd called the pirate Vaas. A chill bites down her spine, the hairs on her neck standing to attention. Vaas was the name of the – the guy who – he – Amora's – oh god.

At least she had a name for him now. Eyes wide, she watches Vaas turn to leave, saying his goodbyes to the other victims before reaching for the guard's man-zone, as she called it. "Gets you every fucking time man," Vaas states. So that was a game he played? He's a guy, she can't say she's surprised. It's internal monologue though, because on the outside, she's a deer in the headlights. He passes her, his peripheral vision catching her shocked blue hues before he turns and leaves, swagger in his stride. She feels violated. That a disgusting menace like that had laid dirty hands on her. His hands had other's blood on them. Innocent people's blood! Amora's husband's blood and – her palms meet the floor and she can't keep herself from retching this time, choking on the lack of anything coming up. Amora's attention had apparently snapped back to Dillon, seeing as she was now calling out to her.

"Dillon! Are you okay?"

"Fucking disgusting bitch," the guard mused loudly.

I need you to take care of the rejects. The rejects? Who were they? It was pretty self-explanatory, but she didn't want to believe it. Unwanted people, being dealt with. Her mind flipped to Amora's husband. "Was he – was he one of the rejects?" Dillon uttered, turning her gaze over to the other.

Amora only nodded.

"Fuck," Dillon choked, wiping her mouth as she scooted back, as far as she could from the small amount of vomit she'd produced. Movement caught her eye, a distraction, and she looked over to the newly occupied cage. The man Vaas had shouted at was free and in the process of untying the other guy. "Look," Dillon mouthed at Amora, pointing to the cage. The older woman turned her head, eyes widening at the sight. The two men were talking, rushed conversation before they shuffled back to their previous positions, hands held above their heads. What Dillon witnessed next was pure improvisation. One of the men called out to the guard, causing the asshole to approach.

"The fuck? Eh! You guys shut the fuck up!"

In the blink of an eye, the other guy lashed out, grabbing at the guard's head, slamming it several times into the bamboo bars. Dillon pulled her knees to her chest, the sight more brutal than she'd been expecting. She felt nauseous again, her thoughts sadistic. He fucking deserved it. She felt relieved by the sight. It wasn't right, but she wanted to cheer. To thank the man. "Holy shit," she breathed.
The gate was then unlocked and kicked open. The two guys crawled out into the open and Dillon tapped the bars of her cage to quietly get their attention. One of the men, who wore a red t-shirt, continued on, more concerned about his plus one than the two women. The one in blue, however, glanced over at her. He met her eyes for just a moment, his own wide with terror and she could relate, but her stomach dropped when he turned away and continued on with red top. Dillon's brows rose and she looked to Amora who's expression revealed as much confused disappointment as she imagined hers did. "What the fuck!" She hissed out to the others who quickly disappeared out of sight. "What the fuck!?"

"Every man for himself," Amora mumbled, hushed.

"What the actual fuck!" Dillon snarled. "Are you fucking kidding me? They just fucking blanked us!"

Amora shook her head, but didn't encourage Dillon's aggression.

"I want out of this fucking cage. What the fuck, Amora? Why the fuck would they do that? Fucking assholes!" She's not used to swearing this much, but she's mentally exhausted and honestly? Bad language was the only thing she'd been hearing for the last twenty-four plus hours.

Dillon fell quiet, still in disbelief at what had just happened. A gunshot rang out through the air, followed by another and she jumped, hitting the back of her head on the bars. The throbbing pain was back, fire across her aching skull and she'd almost forgotten about that. Maybe it had been healing and she fucking knocked it again. "Ah!" She cried out, grasping for the back of her head, trying to keep still like last time. Another gunshot was fired, and she looked to Amora. Had they discovered the men? She noticed that Amora was paler than she remembered, her lips quivering, tears dripping from her eyes and Dillon blinked, shocked. The rejects! She'd forgotten Vaas was dealing with them and – that was the sound of them being shot dead. One final gunshot was heard, followed by dogs barking. An anger sparked within her, over how the two men had just left them. Ignored them. It was wrong, but a part of her? A flaring flame, hoped they'd come to regret it. Hoped karma would come knocking for them.

Minutes passed, and apparently the gunshots hadn't ended, because there was another. Distant shouting, commotion, and then the perimeter came to life with the sound of helicopters, gunfire and dogs barking. She guessed that the men had been found, though the continuous, violent sound erupting from the camp suggested death hadn't come yet. A dark hunger inside of her hoped it would.
Cerulean hues were cast to the side, catching Amora's gaze, giving her a brisk nod.
"It's just you and me," she promised.