Michelle grips the tray tightly and frowns as today's henchman -- what was his name, Dutch, Butch, something like that? -- fumbles with the security codes on the doorway
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The door swishes open. How punctual. Daniel's stomach had just started growling now, give or take about twelve hours.
He had been on the bed for who knows how long. The smell was awful but at least it was something, despite the hard mattress and scratchy sheets. He sits up, hunger cramps stabbing him as he does so and stares at her. "Who are you?" he mumbles.
Daniel stares down at the tray suspiciously, making his way over and crouching down beside it. There is a bowl of some oatmeal-looking... stuff, a plastic cup of water, and a tiny roll of bread.
He looks up at Michelle and scowls. "How do I know you didn't poison it?"
"If we wanted you dead, then you would already be dead." Her tone is no longer sharp, but her cold smile makes up for it. "I'll be back to pick up the dishes when I feel like it," she calls, strolling out the door. It shuts behind her with a whooshing noise.
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He had been on the bed for who knows how long. The smell was awful but at least it was something, despite the hard mattress and scratchy sheets. He sits up, hunger cramps stabbing him as he does so and stares at her. "Who are you?" he mumbles.
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He looks up at Michelle and scowls. "How do I know you didn't poison it?"
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