3- Set up for failure (fingerprints / wrongfully arrested / I warmed you)
Carlos fell to the ground before he could feel the pain in his leg. His first thought was for TK, he had to get out of this, he'd never let anything happen to him because he'd tried to save him. He'd almost lost him too many times already, he refused to take that risk again, his life wasn't worth living without him.
"Run! Save yourself! Run!" he shouted again and again until the love of his life disappeared from his view.
He only moved to sit up, wincing as his leg was pierced on both sides by a bullet. He considered throwing himself into the river, trying to escape, but only had time to throw his wallet into the river. His leg hurt too much to move, and his assailants were already on him.
They grabbed his arms and forced him to his feet. Carlos stifled a cry of pain, but managed to stand, supported by his armpits by two guards. They forced him to walk, despite the pain that pierced his leg with every movement. They returned to the right bank of the river and forced him into a van where a dozen people were sitting, fists bound, black bags over their heads. It wasn't long before the policeman was forcibly seated between two other prisoners, bound and blindfolded.
He wondered what would happen to him, whether TK would make it, and then his thoughts turned to his mother and the rest of his family. He wondered if this attack had been aimed only at New York or also at the rest of the country. How could this country, which prided itself on being democratic and safe, have succumbed to a terrorist attack? Was it even a terrorist attack? Was the army involved, or had they been taken by surprise like them? Hypothesizing helped him keep his head cool, and he knew he had to stay calm if he was to seize the slightest opportunity to save his skin.
It seemed to Carlos that the vehicle rolled along for some fifteen minutes, slowing only to turn, before coming to a halt. Hands grabbed the policeman's arm and pulled him out of the van. His injured leg gave way as he hit the ground, and he collapsed with a grunt of pain. Laughter rang out around him, but he didn't react - even though rage was boiling inside him, he knew he was in no position to do so.
The terrorists roughly hauled him to his feet, forced him forward a few meters and removed his hood. He was in some sort of asphalt building, all dark. The only light was that coming from an open doorway, too bright for him to see what it was hiding. A dozen armed men surrounded Carlos and the other prisoners he had arrived with. They led them to a man holding a list, he had a gorilla mask on.
"Your name?"
"Carlos Reyes."
"Your profession?"
"Equestrian trainer."
"Door two!"
Carlos didn't know why he'd lied about his profession, he'd followed his instincts. He was pushed by the guards through the dark corridors, past numerous light doors until he was pushed through one of them. It took him a few moments to adjust to the brightness of the autumn sun and recognize where he was. A stadium. A stadium whose stands were divided by barbed wire. A stadium where numerous men, women and children were parked and guarded by men armed with machine guns. A stadium, no, it was now a prison.
A man in a monkey mask threw him onto a seat, leaving him shaking with pain, breathless.
"You okay, buddy?" asked a man in front of him.
"I'll be fine."
But this man, black and square in his thirties, wasn't satisfied with his answer. He helped him bandage himself with a piece of his shirt, whispering that he'd been there all morning. He'd been arrested as he set up shop at the market to sell his vegetables. He told him that in their section, they were all farmers. Next to them, they were doctors or veterinarians. He also told him that they had to avoid discussing in front of the guards or risk getting beaten up.
"Thank you," Carlos whispered when the bandage was finished.
"Adam."
"Carlos."
The wait began, with no water, no food, no chance to get up from his seat or go to the bathroom.
