(no subject)
The room was empty, but he could still feel a presence lingering.
He stepped into the room, saturated with stale air and fine dust, and looked around. There was only one window that had been barred from the outside, like something out of a prison cell. The room was on the top floor of the building, and even though he had only been standing in it for thirty seconds, the heat was sweltering and he could feel his hands grow clammy inside his rubber gloves.
The room itself, essentially a ten foot cube, was sparsely furnished, with a mat against the far wall, a toilet and sink in a corner and a small lap desk. Curious, he strode over to the desk and sat down in front of it. Running his fingers over the surface, he felt the grooves of a writer pushing hard on the paper with the pen or pencil in an attempt to get the words out. He noticed hinges at the top of the desk and opened the writing surface. Inside were a few sheets of paper filled with words beyond capacity. some were written in pencil, and some were written in black ink. He skimmed the sheets, noticing the elaborate way the person obviously held captive poured out their soul.
He stood up slowly and slid the papers inside a folder in his bag, careful not to rip or bend them. A routine inspection of the other items inside the cell proved nothing worth keeping, but when he got to the door, he noticed that the walls were actually covered in cloth. He reached inside his jacket pocket and took out a small cell phone. Opening it, he pushed in the necessary buttons and waited for someone on the other line to pick up.
"Yes?"
"I need a team out here," he said tersely. "Send seven, but enough equipment for eight."
"They're on their way."
He closed his phone, and looked around. This was going to be a long night.
A/N: this new update page is weird. I liked the other one better.