David McIlhenny, Chief of Security for Moon House, chuckled as he watched Angie cry over her shitty ham and cheese sandwich and plastic cupful of lukewarm water. He was sitting in front of a bank of screens connected to a closed-circuit television system. The screens dominated one wall of the cramped observation room, which perpetually smelled of mildew and body odor. McIlhenny didn’t mind the smells. The drama playing out on the screens was too good to miss.
Better than Let’s Make a Deal!
The crying woman looked eerie through the night vision cameras set up around her cage. But McIlhenny liked it. He liked her.
If Holybear gets his way, I’d be first volunteer to get to know her better.
He chuckled again.
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