Anna's unconscious form is warm, soft and heavy in Elsa's arms. She hates to admit it, but it's not unpleasant. It stirs a memory deep within her. When she was very small her parents got her a fluffy white puppy for Christmas. She was so obsessed with it, she took it everywhere. When the poor thing was too tired to walk, she would carry it around like a baby, even through the shops, nuzzling her face into its fluffy little belly. She even snuck it into school one time, under her jumper. Even at a young age, it seemed, she had a proclivity for smuggling contraband.

She shakes the memory - and the sickening urge to nuzzle something - from her mind. To be fair, this is more human contact than she's used to - inflicting violence doesn't really count. It's usually only the boys who get the sedative treatment, as they tend to be more aggressive. And she doesn't carry boys into base bridal style like this. Not because she couldn't, if she absolutely had to. She's ridiculously strong, despite her slim physique. But dragging them is faster and there's less risk of a back injury. Elsa takes occupational health and safety very seriously.

The others raise their eyes curiously from their laptops and stand as she makes her way through the main room, like a new mother bringing her baby for display. They note her unconscious state and bound ankles in surprise. 'Didn't pick this one for a trouble maker.' Patch says.

Elsa just raises her eyebrows affirmatively because Anna isn't exactly a "trouble maker" in the way that that term is usually used around here, but even if she could explain what exactly Anna is, they probably wouldn't believe her.

'What poor little poppet do we have here?' Redback strokes Anna's cheek with the back of his hand and it turns Elsa's stomach. She shifts away from his reach. Just because they're the bad guys doesn't mean they have to be creeps as well. Elsa is determined to find dignity in her villainy.

'Did you cross check her ID?' Patch asks.

'Yes.' Elsa rolls her eyes. It's a valid question but his tone is irritating. She's not the one who makes sloppy mistakes around here. 'Is someone going to come and unlock the door for me? My hands are kind of full.'

Redback and Patch look at each other as though that's a really odd request. 'Why don't you just put her down for a minute?'

That's a good question. Normally she would just dump them on the floor while she fiddles with the lock. She could put Anna down for a minute. But as a matter of principle, she doesn't have to justify herself to them, 'I've just driven five and a half hours from Melbourne and you guys are too lazy to walk ten metres and unlock the cell…'

With still no offer of assistance, she shifts Anna into the over-the-shoulder position, grabs the keys and stomps down the hall.

The sharp scent of disinfectant hits her nose as she enters the cell. At least Patch got off his lazy ass and cleaned the place. The last hostage was a nervous spewer.

They call it "the cell" but really it's just a secure multipurpose room that used to be a laundry at the back of the old colonial house which now functions as one of their many bases. At one end is a toilet and a large metal sink - useful for cleaning up bodily fluids should the need arise. A thin foam mattress lies on the floor. A window faces out into the wilderness, with bars drilled onto the outside. And of course, there are two secure metal doors - one leading into the house, another leading outside.

She lays Anna down on the mattress and stands back to inspect her for a moment. She looks so small and vulnerable, all floppy, breathing softly. The sweaty sheen of her big Saturday night still clinging to her freckled skin. Skinny, bare legs poking out from that tiny dress with little polka dot bruises on her knees so classic of drunken clumsiness. Little scratches on her face and palms from when Elsa tackled her to the ground. A nasty graze on her elbow.

It's ironic. The more dramatic and spirited their meltdowns get, the easier Elsa finds it to tune them out and laugh it off.

It's quiet moments like these, with just the black starry sky outside as her witness, when she is struck with the gravity of what she's doing. What she is becoming. Even if her hostage apparently isn't, yet. Sometimes, on very rare occasions, it threatens to surface and she finds herself gripping the sides of the metal sink, swallowing down guilty bile and willing herself not to feel the shame and horror and remorse. Not to feel anything. She can't afford to let her emotions cloud her judgement. Can't let her guard down, not in this kind of environment.

Get it together, Elsa.

She has no choice. There is no way out.

Just suck it up and be the terrible person you have to be!

She positions Anna so that the ankle bindings are showing, and her hands are behind her back as though they're also bound, and snaps a quick picture on her burner phone.

She's about to cut the ankle tape but then her brain runs through all the catastrophic scenarios that could play out if she somehow managed to wiggle through that door and try playing a silly, horny game of tag. Regretfully, she leaves it on, covers her with a blanket, and departs for the night, truly exhausted. After a few hours of paperwork, she eats a sad microwave dinner for one while the cold blue light of her phone illuminates her pale face, and scrolls through mediocre memes in a dark corner of the arms storage room. And then, under the watchful eyes of about one hundred and twenty illegal firearms, parts and accessories, she goes to sleep on the foldout sofa bed, with the cell keys still on her person. She always keeps them on her when it's a girl, and the girl is unconscious. It's not that she thinks so low of her associates, necessarily. They're all professionals, for the most part. Doing what they have to do, for their own reasons. But at the same time, all people are capable of things you'd never expect.

Plus, she might be a hardened criminal and a cold blooded killer and all the rest of it, but she's still a girl. And girls have to look out for each other in this terrible world, in whatever small ways they can.

The next morning Elsa makes herself a coffee and follows the sound of laughter into the main room. The guys are going through Anna's bag.

'Hey, Snowflake, what flavour do you prefer?' Redback holds up two condoms in different coloured packets, 'Blueberry or Watermelon?'

The two guys burst into laughter like they're bloody thirteen years old.

'Yeah, I guess the concept of safe sex must be really bizarre to a couple of repulsive, unfuckable worms like you two.'

'Aw, fuck off!' Redback says, 'I smash heaps of gash! Come out with us for drinks some time, you'll see.'

'I'll take your word for it.' There's absolutely no way any woman is touching that disgusting sack of phlegm, meth teeth and misogyny. Elsa would rather shoot herself in the foot than go out for drinks with him.

The contents of her bag, spread on the table, are mostly unremarkable. Old receipts, mints, chocolate wrappers, hand sanitizer, sunglasses, nail file. Eighty-five dollars cash. Her dead phone in its red glittery strawberry case. A credit card. About a gram of weed wrapped in foil.

The edge of plastic catches Elsa's eye beneath the pile of junk and she picks up a tiny baggie with at least eight colourful pills, holding it up for a closer view. They look like pretty shitty quality. It's depressing to think that the beautiful clear brown crystals of pure grade MDMA they painstakingly smuggle into the country gets turned into this shit. All those baggies swallowed and buttholes sacrificed just to be cut with mephedrone and laundry detergent.

'Why so many?' Patch says. 'Think she's sellin' it?'

'Why?' Redback says, holding up the credit card, 'It's not like she needs the money.'

'They just do it for the rush, sometimes. These rich kids. They get bored.'

Elsa says nothing. Having known Anna for about three hours, she's come to understand that there may be no rhyme or reason as to why she does anything. She's just… different.

Patch grabs a handful of makeup and holds it out, 'You should learn to use this stuff, Snow. Maybe you can get laid then.'

'Yeah! Even I'd have a poke!' Redback cackles to himself.

Elsa has the urge to stab the lipliner into his eyeball and watch the jelly spurt out. This profession is ruining any faith she had left in humanity. She decides to go and check in on Anna. If she's going to be sexually harassed regardless, she'd prefer it's at least coming from someone who doesn't smell like unwashed ass, laugh at condoms or use words like 'gash' and 'poke'.

After a shower, breakfast, and another coffee, Elsa steals ten minutes outside, to look at office memes and daydream about having a regular, boring office job. An ergonomic chair. Unnecessary emails. Company Christmas parties. Appropriate conduct policies. Sick leave.

She unlatches the deadbolts, then slides the key into the lock, punches in the six-digit code, twists the key and she's in.

'You've completely fucked up my circadian rhythm, you know that?' Says the girl who frequently dances until the sun comes up. She stands at the window with her face pressed up against the bars.

'My deepest apologies.'

'I woke up in the middle of the night! With no phone! Nothing to pass the hours. Just alone with my thoughts. Do you have any idea what kind of messed up things go on inside here?' She points to her head. Elsa shudders to imagine. 'And not to mention I was starving. I feel like my stomach's eating itself.'

'Would you like to be put through to our formal complaints department?'

'I would like- what-' She fumbles through her words for a moment then lets out a real, genuine laugh. A definite first in this room.

Hm. Firsts are not a good thing in this house, and Elsa has the ominous sense there will be more of them.

'Oh, that's funny! Funny and beautiful. An abductee could do worse, I tell ya.'

Elsa leans against the secure door and takes in the autumnal tones of the silly girl. The surprisingly healthy (considering her lifestyle) glow of her skin and golden highlights of morning sun on her fiery hair. She looks almost archetypal, with her youthful cheek pressed up against the bars, and wistful acceptance in her eyes. Like a princess, locked in a tower. Blissfully unaware of the powers that be which have landed her here.

Elsa guesses that makes her the wicked witch.

'So do you guys like, feed me mouldy bread, now? Or do I have to get on my knees and beg? That's it, isn't it? Nothing worthwhile ever came easy in this life!' She hops over on two feet like a kangaroo, with her ankles still bound, and drops to her knees on the hard tile floor, holding her hands up like she's praying, 'Oh, please! Please, my all-mighty sovereign captor. Please grant me but a meagre crust of bread, for I grow so weary and I fear I will soon wither to dust!'

As if this wasn't already a massive violation of Elsa's personal space, Anna's whole body then falls forward, flush against her legs, head nestled against her soft pouch of lower belly, arms snaking around her back as she continues her mish-mash monologue, 'If you cut me, do I not bleed? If you drug me, do I not sleep? If you- ooh. What's this? Is this a gun in your pants or are you just happy to see me- Wait. Nope. This is definitely a gun. Right next to my head. Of course it is. Don't know why I thought it could possibly be anything else. You're obviously a woman. Well, I'm assuming that's how you identify, correct me if I'm wrong-'

This is just entirely too much, and Elsa grabs her by the hair and holds her at a distance. She prefers to grab people by the scruff, normally. Better control and less chance of serious injury. But the dress doesn't allow for that. Instead she points to the mattress, like one might scold a naughty dog, and simply says, 'get.'

Anna shuffles over to the mattress with hesitantly pursed lips, like she's deciding whether to be cheeky or contrite based on Elsa's next reaction.

'I'll go get you that mouldy bread, then, Shakespeare.'

'Thank you! Coffee and a ciggie would be nice, too.'

Elsa places her hand on her hip and looks down at that polite, expectant smile for a minute, 'You know this is not supposed to be a comfortable experience for you, right?'

'Yeah, and if it was an AirB&B, I'd have some significant concerns. But seriously I really need the coffee and a smoke to get going, if you know what I mean? If you think I'm a handful now, just wait 'till I'm constipated-'

'Okay! That's way more than I needed to know.' Elsa shoves the key into the lock and punches in the code as Anna's cheery voice continues to ring out, 'What brand is it? It better not be-'

Elsa interrupts and they call out in unison, 'International Roast.'

'Aw, come on!' her next words are muffled through the closed door, 'I'm a human being, you know?'

In the main room, Redback looks up from his laptop 'Stink Eye's made contact with the parents.'

Elsa grabs the smokes from the pile of bag contents on the table. 'They got the photo?'

He nods.

'No response?'

'Not yet.'

The laptop screen shows that the message has been viewed and the image has been downloaded.

Soon they shall find out whether the whole family is equally deranged, or whether they just got lucky one time. Of course, they already know the father is crooked. Millions in embezzlement, fraud, tax evasion and illegal offshore accounts. More than anyone could reasonably spend in a thousand lifetimes. It's like an addiction with these white collar criminals. The brother's probably hiding something similar. He doesn't put a foot wrong on social media or any searchable records. Bachelor of Political Science, graduated with honours, Masters of Law, just got elected to local council. Social media full of charity runs and wine tastings. Things that seem too good to be true usually are.

She ponders this and more as she heads into the kitchen again, grabbing two slices of cheap bread. Whacking the kettle on and pulling a paper cup from the cupboard (the mugs are too heavy, they can be used as weapons). As she heaps two teaspoons of revolting International Roast into the cup, she ponders how someone who considers a cheap coffee inhumane can keep such a sunny disposition while bound and locked in what's basically a subgrade prison cell.

Something just doesn't add up, and it's making Elsa nervous.

Elsa's own reaction is also unnerving her with its oddness. Giving in to three demands at once. Actually checking the bread for mould and actually buttering it. Letting her have a cigarette - usually that doesn't happen until the third day. She tells herself it's just because Anna has been such a good sport . Yeah, that's gotta be it. So brave, like a kid who doesn't even cry when they get a needle. You gotta respect that at least a little. Gotta give them the lollipop after.

Back in the cell, Anna takes a cigarette and lights it urgently, muttering under her breath about the bad coffee.

'So, why are you packing so early in the morning?' Anna sips at her inhumane coffee, 'You take out a few hits before breakfast just to stay sharp?'

'Never know when we might get surprise guests.'

'Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.' She winks at Elsa, 'Smart. Prepared. I like it. Were you a girl scout? Are you good at... tying knots?'

'Are you even a little bit, you know, upset about this?'

'It wasn't how I'd planned my week to go. But clearly there's not much I can do about it. Sometimes you just gotta make the best of a bad situation, right? Attitude of gratitude. And you know, judging by the smell, this place has been cleaned. So that's something. And we must be facing exactly east because I got to see the sunrise through the trees. It was beautiful. It was like, violet, then it was pink, then it was sort of peach, then it was yellow, and THEN it went bright orange like a fire and the clouds were purple. It was amazing.'

An attitude of gratitude? That seems like the kind of coping strategy you'd hear from someone struggling to make ends meet. Someone who's lost everything and is just starting over. Not the daughter of millionaires, with the world at her fingertips. Whose shoes cost more than most people's rent. There must just be something Elsa is missing.

'I thought you might keep me in a basement under the ground which would have been an issue because I cannot do fluorescent lights. That's why I'll never do an office job. Also, because I don't want to. But anyway, I really appreciate the window. Isn't it risky though? Someone could find me. Or hear me.'

'It's a very big country we live in.' Elsa gives a hollow smile. The kind you give to strangers in the street. 'Plenty of space to hide. Plenty of little dirt roads you wouldn't even notice if you weren't looking.'

There's a definite flicker of genuine fear on her face. It only lasts a moment, but Elsa is trained to see these little signs. The constricted pupils. The slightly shallower breathing. She hides it impeccably well, though.

'The police might-'

'The police won't. They won't ever hear about this. Your father isn't in a position to be contacting the police about anything.'

'So it's true.' Anna flops down on the mattress and lights another cigarette, 'Daddy really is a crook. I thought Hans was just messing with my head again!' Her eyes roll up into the corners of her eyes, like she's seeing something play out in her mind, 'Mum will want to call the cops, though. He's gonna have to tell her the truth- Oh my god! They might finally get a divorce! Do I dare to dream? A house without constant screaming and plates smashing. I might go home more often, if they do. I really miss my horses. And my dogs and my cats and my ferrets. Oh, and my lizard! Do you have any pets?'

Once again, Elsa is dumbfounded by this girl's completely upside down, back to front way of viewing the world. Parents breaking up is supposed to be a bad thing! But if it's as bad as she says, well, it explains her nerves of steel. It explains a fair bit, actually.

Anyway, Elsa doesn't have any pets. She's thought about adopting a rescue cat or something. Just to soften the utter silence and solitude of her lonely, dreary little seventh story flat. But it wouldn't be fair to them, given how much she's away for work. Plus, does someone with a dark and marred soul like her doesn't deserve the unconditional love and affection of an innocent, devoted furry friend.

'No, I don't.'

And on that note, she takes the lighter and leaves.