**Chris**
"Are you alright, Tara?" I asked, straining to crane my neck in her direction. The heavy chains shackled to my wrists and ankles made it impossible to see her clearly.
She hesitated before answering, her voice a mere whisper in the oppressive darkness. "I'm okay, Chris."
"You don't sound okay, Tara."
She let out a bitter laugh that quickly turned into a pained sound. "Well, I guess that's what happens when all your fingers on your left hand get chopped off."
"I'm so sorry..." I began, but trailed off as she interrupted.
"Why are you apologizing? There's nothing you could have done." She spat the words out.
"Let's try and survive," I urged, trying to inject some hope into my voice. "I know that very soon, my boss will come back for us."
"For you, perhaps," she sighed. "I don't think Razor gives a damn about me truly."
"Don't say that."
