Word Count: 762

Amphitrite had been listening, quivering in her chair with a mixture of anticipation and fear. Something was happening. She couldn't hear everything, but there was shouting, and she could hear negaverse officers barking orders to each other and barreling down the hall outside.

She licked her lips and took a deep breath; either stay quiet, and hope for the best, or... "Hello?" she called, straining against her bonds with a wince. The noise was just getting louder, and her spirits soared in spite of herself. She hoped, prayed, pleaded that this meant at long last, after what felt like an eternity, help was on the way.

"I'm in here!" she shouted, her voice scratchy and hoarse from all the screaming and sobbing she had done over the past week. But she had to shout; no one knew her. No one would come to save her if they didn't know she was here. "Can anyone hear me?! I'm in here! Help me!"

The door began to open, and even though the figure was shadowed, Amphitrite felt relief wash over her like the waves of the ocean. She was that much more crushed when the figure stepped towards her; a general. A second negaverse officer was close behind. "No, " she breathed out, sagging against the chair as though she were a ragdoll.

They didn't even seem to care that she was awake; the second made a disgusted sound deep in his throat, staring at Amphitrite as though she were less than the refuse stuck to the bottom of his boot. "They're getting closer." They - the senshi, she thought, vindication swelling through her. She'd been right. Maybe she still had a chance -- "Just kill her and let's go - she's not worth the trouble."

If she felt sick when she heard that, it was nothing compared to the surge of nauseated panic that swept over her when the general shook his head and responded simply, "Seems a shame not to get anything out of this - it's been something of a wash, and she's got such a pretty face, " he mocked, tracing his fingertips over the side of her swollen jaw with a slow smirk. "I'm sure someone can find some kind of use for her."

The other officer rolled his eyes, but complied, stepping past the general to go help fetch her from the chair. At first, Amphitrite didn't know what to do. She remained limp and wide-eyed, staring as the general stepped back and the other guy released her legs. He took her arms next, one at a one, binding them together in front of her and ignoring her yelp of pain as he wrapped the chain too tight around her broken wrist.

Maybe it was the pain that finally overwhelmed the shock; her legs were weak, wobbling, but they were free and she was forced to stand on them. The perpetual blanket of fear shifted, and the smallest of embers lit inside of her, the same as when she had shouted at the negaverse officer who had snapped her wrist like a twig. "Let me go!" she shouted, and it was his mistake for binding his hands in front of her instead of behind; a bellow escaped her, more agonized than triumphant, as she slammed her chain-bound fists into his shoulder. It was enough to throw him off balance and release her, and that was all she needed.

Stumbling, she flung herself towards the door, only to be thrown as the general simply swept a leg under her own. She fell heavily to the ground on a mess of limbs, but still made a desperate bid for the door. "Help me!" she shouted, desperation and terror peppering every word. The general laughed as he reached down to grab her, hauling her back to her feet. She thrashed, kicked, did everything she could to break away. "Don't let them take me! Please! For the love of god, anyone! I'M RIGHT HERE, HELP ME!"

The general's amusement was obvious, but his patience was thin, and time was little. Amphitrite's eyes were locked on the door, on any chance she might find for salvation from this hell she'd tumbled into. One blow to the head was enough; all she remembered was a jolt of pain, and then the light of the door fading into dark as she fell unconscious on the general's arms.

By the time anyone would ever get there, the room would be empty save some a barren chair, quickly growing cold -- and a shard of a shell, bloodied at the edge, lost and forgotten.