How much longer would he wait in that dark, dank room? It'd been three days since a guard had seen to him, and since then he hadn't heard a noise. Normally he would hear soft remnants of the commotion in the rest of the facility, but even those were nonexistent now.
Something must have changed. . .
And then he realized: he was the only one left in the facility now.
Locked in this chamber with little light, and no food. He had one sip of water left. If he couldn't find a way out soon, then he'd die in this cell.
One thing gave him hope. There'd be no repercussions for trying to escape if there was no one left to discipline him. So with intense determination he set to finding a way out of his cell. His focus was clear without the worry of stealth, and ideas flowed to him as they hadn't since he was incarcerated.
After much inspection, he realized he could work to remove the air vent to his cell. Though too small for him to fit inside, the vent itself was made of metal, and he bent and separated each fin of the vent into a pile. Working against each other, he filed grooves into each fin and created for himself a pile of makeshift hacksaws.
From these hacksaws, he first worked against the joints of the food opening in the door. When he had removed that, he could fit his arm through, reach over and work again the joints in the door itself. It took a long time, which he had plenty of, but he was tired, and thirsty, having finished his water. The only thing he could do was persist, and eventually he severed each of the hinges connecting the door to the frame.
He kicked the door out, and a part of him braced for seizure by the guards. As he predicted, though, no guards came.
The corridor was empty.
What happened?
Time to figure that out.
After a drink.
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