I am soooooooo sorry I haven't updated for AGES!!!! And I know this is a short chapter but I haven't had much time. Lately I've had like 9 assignments due in 2 weeks and now I'm in the middle of half-yearly exams, so writing hasn't exactly been the first thought on my mind. But I'm trying to write in some study periods, and have ideas for what's up ahead.

Once again I apologise for the shortness of the chapter. And I will TRY to update as soon as possible. Also thankyou to those who reviewed last chapter.

The next day, Booth was nervous. He stood outside the cell in the heat, fighting hard to keep still. His mind was telling him to go along with the plan, do what he can to save the woman. But his heart was saying that he could NEVER hurt her. He had to somehow devise a way to disobey the rules.

He couldn't hear any noises from inside, which surprised him. He expected the woman to be in pain – she had to be, with a man like that guard beating her up. There should be some distressed sounds, cries for help, please for release. But there was only silence. That could only mean one of two things – she was being strong, or she was unconcious.

Booth thought he knew which one it was.

He didn't even want to think about another possibility.

The sweat began to slide down his temple. The heat was extreme. He was wearing a singlet shirt, but still he could feel the sun burning into him, threatening cancer. The other guard who had stood with him had left, so he was alone. The silence was as intense as the heat.

The sun took its time to slip behind the horizon. Shadows slowly began to emerge and bugs came out from their daily hibernation to create music in the darkening night. Booth waited patiently for his boss to relieve him, glad that the heat had disappeared. His feet hurt from standing up all day, but he though it best not to complain.

As soon as he was released, Booth ran back to his tent. He didn't have much time before he was meant to be back at the cell. He quickly put on a fresh singlet shirt and grabbed some food from the mess tent.

He arrived back at the cell with minutes to spare.

The guard grinned as he arrived. "Good to see you got here on time," he grunted. "That shows you're in this, newbie. But I have to be sure."

Suddenly, without warning, the guard grabbed the front of Booth's shirt and pulled his gun to Booth's head at the same time. Booth didn't move, just stared coldly into the guard's eyes.

"I need to know that what I show you tonight won't go through camp. This stays between us. If not..." He cocked the gun and the barrell pressed coldly into Booth's temple. "You die, understand? And it will be a painful death."

"Yes, sir," Booth replied.

"Good. By the way, this ain't pretty."

With that, he shoved aside the metal block that held the door closed. He threw it in the dust. He swung the door open and gestured his arms.

"After you."

Booth sauntered into the dank cell. The smell hit him like a slap in the face. At first all he noticed was a silver platter, completely empty, only the dull plated surface glinting at him from the moonlight filtering in behind him.

At one quick look around, he could tell that living in here would be hell. There were no windows, and the floor and walls were dirt. The weight of the air seemed to press down on him, making him want to run outside and breath the fresh night air.

He couldn't even tell she was there until the guard pointed to her.

She didn't look human. She was curled in a ball, her legs pantless, her shirt ripped to shreds by constant scraping on the ground. Her hair was matted, a brown tangle on top of her head. Her hands, arms and legs were covered in dried blood, scratches and purple bruises, and he could tell they were fresh. She looked like she hadn't eaten in days, her skin tight and shrunken.

Her face was unrecognisable. Blood, dirt, sweat and tears were caked in layers, and fresh blood was flowing from a split in her lip. From what little face he could see, it was colourless.

She wasn't moving.

He had been right. She was unconcious. But he could also tell she was strong. She would be in serious pain, and by the little groaning he had heard yesterday, she must be in enough pain not to even feel it.

He struggled to hold himself together.

"This is the little bitch," the guard growled.

"Did you do all this?" he tried to sound admired rather then horrified and disgusted.

"Yeah. Me and my friend Bruce. I'm Brason, by the way."

Booth didn't feel like it was the right time for friendly introductions, but he had to stay on Brason's good side.

"I'm Teddy," Booth said without hesitation. He felt bad using his mate's old name, but it was the first thing that had come to mind. He knew it was stupid to use his real name – if he did anything, Brason could easily track him down and kill him.

"Pitiful sight, isn't it?" He walked over to her and kicked her in the stomach.

She didn't move.

It took Booth everything he had not to either go down and help her or to attack Brason.

Brason saw the look on Booth's face, but misunderstood. "She's not dead," he answered. "Just a bit tired."

Booth once more struggled to resist the urge to tackle Brason to the ground, or just shoot him in the head.

"Who is she?" he asked.

"Some scientist sent here to look at bones. She's a nobody."

Booth was determind to save this 'nobody' from the clutches of Brason and his cronies. Already a plan was forming in his mind.

"Sure. A nobody."