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We’d been taken to a dark cell, and when I say cell, I mean a small fucking room with concrete walls, a sliding door and no ventilator for air.
I, Pamplemousse, had been sat down in a chair in the back left corner or the cell. My hands were still free, as was the rest of me. It was the gun pointed at my forehead that kept me in place. My girlfriend, Baguette, had been stood up in a corner of the cell. She didn’t look scared, but she looked far from calm, my guess would be more than slightly nervous. ...