Trust the system

Samantha badly wants to just get away. To crawl into the dusty rabbit hole and escape this nightmare, but she knows that if she ran now it could only be interpreted as an admission of guilt. Samantha was the victim here, she was not going to run from Mr. Abrams not as long as there were people willing to help her.

She returns the panel to the wall clumsily, her hands fumble with the screws now that Rhiain is no longer helping, but it didn't take long to get the job done. She climbs to her feet, replacing the multi-tool in her pocket and waits to see what happens next.

A look through the small glass window makes her question her choice; she can see a half dozen men and women in brown uniforms converging on the nurse's station. There is no mistaking that these are security troops, they wore body armor and riot helmets over same brown top and trousers that Samantha had taken from Mr. Abrams and carried a variety of deadly looking weapons in their arms and strapped to harnesses.

What did they think they were dealing with, Godzilla? Samantha almost laughs at the tactical skills used by the squad to secure the safety of the two nurses and approach her door. When the door opens, she gives no resistance but finds herself face down on the ground none the less. Her wrists are pulled behind her and secured by some sort of high-tech handcuffs (Igutech PR-430's, Rhiain helpfully provides. Personal restraint devices used by both IS forces and private security, no way to get these off without a lot of specialized equipment.) Her pockets are emptied and the contents whisked away.

Only then is she lifted to her feet and marched out of the cramped nurses' waiting room and into the hornet's nest of activity that is the nurse's station. The first thing she sees is Mr. Abrams dressed once again in the brown security uniform waiting impatiently as a doctor tries to run a scanner over his neck and shoulders area. As soon as the crop-haired man sees Samantha he twists free from the attending medic and pushes his way forward.

To her left Samantha can see the two night duty nurses being questioned, the younger one meets her gaze as she is pushed through the hall.

"I'm sorry." The nurse mouths silently and then looks away quickly before Samantha can respond. But then she is rushed past the two women to where Mr. Abrams is scowling at her. His squat build and heavy brow remind Samantha of a Neanderthal but there is no mistaking the intelligence in his eyes as they scan her body hesitating only briefly at the swell of her breasts.

"Take her to the security offices." He barks, his accent less prominent than before, but there is no mistaking that voice. "We need to find ou whaz going on here."

"Wait!" A second voice stops the guards as they take their first steps. It is a voice of authority, one that is used to being instantly obeyed and the two security guards stop in mid stride. There is something familiar about the deep baritone timbre of the voice, but Samantha is too stunned by the sequence of recent events to place tall dark-haired man in an expensive tailored suit who steps between her and the head of security.

"This is a security matter Doctor Marque." Mr. Abrams identifies the handsome man for her, "I will brief you as soon as we find out who dis woman is and whaz she was doing in the hospital." Abrams is respectful but insistent as the two men face each other in front of Samantha.

The contrast between the men is profound. The brutish muscular Abrams with his slurred speech and sharp eyes facing off against the urban, cultured doctor who towers above him like a knight from a fairy tale.

The two warriors are locked in a battle of will, silently fighting to determine who will control the situation and Samantha is the prize. Her knees tremble as she awaits the outcome of this duel; will she be rescued by this gallant gentleman or handed over into the interrogation chambers of the thuggish Abrams?