07-14-2020, 10:39 PM
Ryker snorted. The cuts and bruises on his face drew his expression long and unamused. When he spoke, the tone was mocking, a poor imitation of a shitty yankee accent. ”Oh first San Quentin and now Butryka.” He was surprised the Consul knew his full history. He wasn’t military or intelligence, yet he had claws enough into the system to learn details blacked out to most others. That meant someone gave him the background. Someone sent him here. Ryker wasn’t thrilled with the possibilities of who that someone was.
“I was working two different fucking job when shit went sour both times. Dayton was not my fault!” he flinched as though to jerk toward Marcus, when the chains caught him and yanked him back to his seat.
Admittedly, the accusation struck a nerve. He settled in place, taut chains relaxing, and laced his fingers together. He was calmer, but only barely. “Obviously nobody chooses to go to Butryka. If you know so much about me, you’ll know what I was working to accomplish. Then that bitch Oriena built some kind of wall around my head. I can’t grab the power. After you get me out of here, you can show me how to tear it down.”
“I was working two different fucking job when shit went sour both times. Dayton was not my fault!” he flinched as though to jerk toward Marcus, when the chains caught him and yanked him back to his seat.
Admittedly, the accusation struck a nerve. He settled in place, taut chains relaxing, and laced his fingers together. He was calmer, but only barely. “Obviously nobody chooses to go to Butryka. If you know so much about me, you’ll know what I was working to accomplish. Then that bitch Oriena built some kind of wall around my head. I can’t grab the power. After you get me out of here, you can show me how to tear it down.”