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"Heiress Goes Dark!"

When the headline first broke, it set conventional and social media ablaze. Outlets and individuals had been doggedly following Cassandra Mannsbury - inheritor to the fortune and operations of Atlas Developments, and a voice of elitism heard nationwide. A voice that, in the wake of another in a long line of interviews addressing her scathing disdain for the lower class, was suddenly silenced - with no indication of why.

Few took to the buzz about Cassandra's disappearance more than her own social circle - who had likewise been blindsided by her scarcity. Though the... Masses made wild assertions about her cruelty and unfriendliness - Cassandra Mannsbury was not a woman without companionship. She was a known quantity among the London elite - known to galavant about clubs and high-rises among her ilk; among whom her beliefs rang true... Whether they were vocal about it or not. More important to them than her ideological standing, however, was her fortune - with her companionship being a transitory path to it.

Though willing to flirt about those who only saw her as a walking bank; she surrounded herself with a different caliber of companion. Among her most intimate friends were those she connected with on a personal level; women of the elite that, in her scrutinous eye, were worthy of standing as her peers.

Among the closest, in this regard, were two women in particular - Michelle Rossi and Hannah Averies. Michelle was the daughter of an Italian art dealer; whose fortune lied in the galleries they owned worldwide, and the auctions they conducted. Michelle herself was largely divorced from her father's business - choosing to reap its benefits, and enjoy the life of the idle rich; one he was more than happy to provide for her. Hannah, on the other hand, was the daughter of Argos Security's CFO. As her mother before her, she was being groomed as a woman of business - beyond her friendship with Cassandra; she had her sights set on a comfortable position within Atlas... One she finds herself vying for her foremost concern amid her friend's disappearance.

Their relationship with Cassandra had provided them with a sense of confidence in their relationship with Atlas - one they came to realize, following Cassandra's disappearance, wasn't as close as they thought. They found themselves in the dark - their inquiries to the company and its executives were rebuffed; the same as everybody else's. It was at that point that they came to realize something was wrong - if Cassandra had any say in the company's actions, they wouldn't be treated like everybody else.

Of course - the two of them did have more resources available to them than most. Money, to them, was disposable - and they were quick to dispatch it in the interest of getting to the bottom of this anomaly.

It had been a month since Cassandra's last interview before their efforts finally bore fruit. Having sunk somewhere in the neighborhood of £100,000 into private investigators, payoffs, and quid-pro-quo arrangements with a select few... Morally flexible members of the public - they managed to reconstruct Cassandra's last day in the public eye. The two understood that she was under a great deal of stress - so neither of them were shocked to find out that she paid a visit to her favorite boutique; but after leaving, she didn't seem to return home.

They managed to track her from the west side of the city to the east; and while they didn't pretend to know her daily routine - the fact that she was travelling so close to areas where she'd typically want to... _Revitalize_before visiting made them suspicious. When CCTV footage of her vehicle ceased - GPS data tracked her to what became her final destination. The two were confident that having her location would help drive their investigation forward - hopefully to its end.

It wasn't long after this discovery that they were contacted by a representative from Atlas. Though the timing was convenient - they were told that the company was finally willing to speak about Cassandra; to them, and them alone.

Unwilling to let such an exclusive invitation pass them by - Michelle and Hannah were arranged to be picked up for a private meeting that evening...

However, as they were driven, they came to realize that they weren't going to Atlas' offices, or the Mannsfield estate - or anywhere they anticipated to meet. Rather; they found themselves driving ever-eastward...

But this realization was secondary to the sudden scent of gas in the back seat of their ride. Finding the doors locked, and the driver silent on the other side of their sealed window - the two were helpless as they drifted off to sleep.

Michelle awoke slowly. Her drugged slumber didn't yield its grip upon her consciousness easily - keeping her trapped in the aether between sobriety and dream. She had lapses of awareness - if not clear registry of her surroundings, then a distinct sensation that stood out against the void. Fabric rolling across her skin. A sharp chill pressing against her back. Tightness around her. A blur of light and shapes. Sensation stood disconnected from thought - further dazing the drugged woman until it ceased; until it provided for a chance for her to acclimate to her surroundings.

The first thing she noticed was how cold she felt. Her skin was dry and riddled with gooseflesh - she could feel her nipples standing stiff and perked atop her breasts. It was this chill that made her aware of her nudity - something that made her lazily thrum and attempt to cover herself...

However, this action came with a revelation of its own. Trying to lift her arms prompted them to strain against a form, smooth surface; binding her wrists to something firmer. Opening her eyes, she found herself beholding her own body; seated upon a silver chair. Upon her wrists, and around her upper arms sat a set of black restraints - testing them again; she figured they had to be leather. Experimentally, she attempted to sit up - only to find her ankles and thighs bound similarly.

With this came a modicum of sobriety - battling back the grog of slumber. Her heartbeat began to quicken as she began to panic - her eyes moving quickly from gazing lazily at her environment to hastily leaping from landmark to landmark.

Michelle's seat seemed to be the focus of wherever she was - set beneath a glaring white spotlight. Any attempts to look upward burned at her irises; forcing her gaze down and away. A perfect, even circle of light illuminated the grey floor around her - covered with textured rubber that clung to the soles of her feet.

At first, she thought she was alone - but she picked up on a soft murmur behind her.

"Hey- h-hey, who's out there?" she yelps; her voice briefly turning shrill.

A mumble serves as her initial response - followed by a somewhat husky query. "... Michelle?"

It doesn't take the posh woman any longer than a moment to recognize the voice. "Hannah?"

Quietly, Hannah mumbles an affirmative "Yes." After a moment of silence, she continues. "I-... Ah... Where are we...?"

Furrowing her brow, Michelle spits "Don't know. Too dark to tell. It's- whoever picked us up brought us here. It wasn't Atlas-"

Scoffing, Hannah interjects "How astute."

"Oh, piss off." Michelle hisses. "I'm just catching you up. You sound like you just woke up."

"I'm still working on that, actually." Hannah grumbles. "I just need to get my strength back and-" She yawns lethargically. "we'll be well on our way out of here."

Rolling her eyes, Michelle sits back. "Yeah?" she challenges. "What're you going to do, bore them to death? Think about this for a second- who the hell are we dealing with, here? A gang? Terrorists? A slavery ring? For all we know, these could be the same people that took-"

Before Michelle can finish, a chime resounds around the room - a soft, synthetic rendition of a bell. The two women reflexively look up; but are once again stymied by the lights above. As they're reeling from the brilliant light - a new voice joins the conversation.

"Greetings and salutations, Ms. Rossi and Ms. Averies." Droning and androgynous, the voice seems to spread evenly through the room - not echoing or reverberating; giving no hint as to the scale of their present surroundings. "We hope you slept well, and we apologize for any discomfort you have experienced or are presently experiencing."

"Piss off," Hannah spits. "don't waste our time with hollow apologies - where the hell are we, and what the hell do you want with us?"

"And where are our clothes?" Michelle continues. "I don't know who you are, but my blouse alone is worth more than your salary. If you so much as tore a single _fucking_thread of it-"

The enigmatic voice continues over Michelle's threats. "We appreciate your pragmatic demeanor, Ms. Averies. As expected of a woman of your stature." it thrums. "If your acquaintance would be so kind as to behave, we will gladly explain the situation at hand."

"Behave!?" Michelle shouts indignantly. "You kidnap me, and expect me to just play along? Do you know who I am - do you know who my father is!?"

"Michelle!" Hannah chides. "Just- shut the fuck up for a second and listen."

Biting her lip, Michelle growls. "Fine! I'll let the fucking robot talk."

Promptly, the voice replies "We thank you for your cooperation." As Michelle glowers in her seat, the synthetic voice continues. "As we explain; we implore you to think of this situation not as an unfortunate product of chance; but rather as a product of causality - a destination your actions have delivered you to."

Michelle scoffs, and Hannah utters a soft "Shut it."

"And yet, to contextualize your situation in such a way urges us to more deeply examine those actions - what has been done, and why. Those whom we represent have carefully followed your... Curiosities, of late; and have found them to be, in a word... Noble. We have deduced that your investigation was prompted by the disappearance of Ms. Mannsbury. Motivated by friendship, you both have undergone great financial and temporal expenditure in the effort of locating her and, failing that, exacting retribution upon those involved in her disappearance. The fact that this has come from a place of kindness has been taken into consideration, and as an aside, is something we are sure Ms. Mannsbury would find rather flattering."

Quietly, Michelle mutters to Hannah. "I don't think they were involved. Clearly they don't know Cassie very well." Hannah chuckles softly - but she's interrupted as she finds her seat lurching beneath her. Michelle gives a dizzied "Whoa-" as she feels the chair move forward - guided, along with the spotlight above - across the floor. A mechanical whine reverberates through the room - underscored by displeased murmurs from Hannah, who she can hear is getting slightly further away. Eventually - the chair stops, and jarringly jolts to one side; prompting the woman to rock in her seat as it begins to spin.

Looking around, Michelle quickly notices something else coming into her field of vision - standing starkly out against the otherwise all-consuming darkness of the room. She sits up in her seat as she recognizes what it is - Hannah; bound to a seat much like her own. By the time the chair finally stops moving, the two find themselves staring opposite one-another... Which, though initially comforting, quickly becomes distinctly uncomfortable.

Michelle quickly tries to avert her eyes from Hannah - though is already unable to purge the sight of her nude friend from her memory. It was plain for all to see that Hannah was a rather pale woman - with dark hair and a slight frame... But she saw quite a bit more than she'd bargained for. Her alabaster skin extends nearly across her whole body - save for an occasional mole. Just like the one that rested beneath her lip - a beauty mark, Hannah was keen to assert - Michelle caught sight of one beneath her left breast. Her breasts, of course, weren't anything to write home about - it was an old jab of Cassandra's that Hannah always looked better in a pantsuit than a cocktail dress. Her thighs, however, were a little supple - Michelle just wished they weren't spread; the last thing she'd wanted to see today was her friend's bare pussy.

Hannah, on the other hand, wasn't so phazed by her friend's state of undress. In fact - she was a little more focused on it; be it a misplaced sense of suspicion or a dulling of her wits under the influence of the sleep drug. Michelle's skin had a rich, olive tone - she tanned well; something she was always eager to flaunt. She'd always been curvy - another point of pride - but she'd always asserted she it was just her birthright to be beautiful. From her luscious curves to her chestnut-toned hair, she insisted she was all-natural...

But looking over her breasts; standing suspiciously weightlessly upon her chest... And was that a shadow, or were those scars...? "Oh, you lying bitch." Hannah whispered. To say she'd been envious of Michelle's figure - even Cassandra's - was an understatement.

"Huh?" Michelle murmurs, looking carefully back to Hannah; trying to keep only her face in her field of view. "Did you say something?"

Before her friend had a chance to respond, the voice returned. "Despite the nobility of your actions, those whom we represent feel as though there is a message worth conveying to the two of you." it resumes. "Ms. Mannsbury became the subject of a public outcry as a result of her moral and social shortcomings, and as such, has been granted a chance at rehabilitation - a sabbatical, if you will, which we are confident she would not wish to be interrupted. While this does come at the expense of your companionship - this is not entirely undesirable for both parties. In fact - your bonds were, in part, a result of a shared fragility within your moral fiber."

Having gotten just a little more used to the light, Hannah looks upward. "You're not making any sense."

"Ah - perhaps it is in our best interests to get to the heart of the matter." the voice thrums. "Those whom we represent believe that your lifestyles have taken a toll on your moral and social wellbeing - but not one that has entirely taken root, as was the case of Ms. Mannsbury. As those whom we represent are charitable and benevolent, we are to deliver a message - one we implore you to take into consideration, and one we will provide for you an opportunity for you to grow from, rather than provide rehabilitation in the same sense we offered to Ms. Mannsbury."

A mechanical whirr returns to the room - Hannah sees the source appear first; a panel in the floor rising and sliding away, exposing a mechanical arm rising from the ground. Beside it, another panel shifts and another arm begins to rise - this time drawing the attention of Michelle.

"We hope you will come to understand the gravity of Ms. Mannsbury's situation through this message - and hope you will come to realize that it is in the best interest of all parties to remain apart."

The arms lean in closer to the two women; each one tipped with a plastic nozzle. They level themselves around their chests - after a quick puff of air, they begin to spray. Michelle gasps at the cool, oily liquid impacting her skin - feeling it unevenly gather and roll down her flesh in wet droplets. While her first instinct is to look down - she begrudgingly looks over to Hannah to see the process repeating on her chest. The fluid covering her skin is a colour she can't rightly place on the border of orange and brown - too ruddy to be the latter and too vibrant to be the former. After the arms' nozzles move downward, and after the fluid seems to settle - she can see Hannah's small breasts covered in a cheap, fake tan.

"Oh, hell - get it off!" Michelle cries, watching the arm working on her lower itself down to her stomach. The arm moves in a ring; running across her sides - and she can feel it sticking to her back - managing to get into the gap between her body and the seat behind her.

In her seat, Hannah tries to close her legs - seeing the arm move lower - despite her deep-seated envy for Michelle's beautiful tone; she was absolutely aghast at how they'd come to match. The orange-tan tone looked horrid under the bold lighting of the spotlight - and she dreaded how it would look in any other setting. "Fuck - fuck, whe-when I'm out of here, I need to take a shower - ten showers; a chemical shower..." She anxiously whimpers to herself; watching more over her body disappear under the horrid fake tan.

It quickly dawns on the two of them how little control they had over where the arm reached - and while they had no plans to make it any easier on the machine; they realized they couldn't make anything harder if they tried. Strapped to the chairs, they could only wait until the arms finished up their legs - then moved over their arms; painting over them with all the grace of a sprinkler system. Hannah felt emboldened when she felt some of the oily fake tan running beneath her leather restraints - but try as she might, she couldn't leverage the slickness to slip her hands out... And, when she felt the stuff dry out, she started to worry if she'd just worked it into her skin a little more.

The arms stopped spraying after they finished coating _their_arms - looming closer to their faces. Michelle whimpered as the nozzle targeted her nose; and she heard a gentle click resound from somewhere within the device. "Please, close your eyes and mouths. The process will be over promptly." Michelle was the first to comply - wincing her eyes and mouth shut - seeing her do so gave Hannah the cue to follow suit. When the nozzles resumed spraying, it wasn't in the broad shower they'd been using before - instead using small, fine bursts. They could feel the fluid coat their faces - their foreheads, their cheeks; everything down to their neck, connecting with the rest of them and trapping them in a horrid shell of orange-tan.

"You may now open your eyes." the voice chimed.

Hannah did so first - and as she did, she shrieked. Looming over her friend's head was a spindly bundle of smaller, finer mechanical arms - at first, it looked like a metal spider preparing to take a bite out of the woman. Her cry made Michelle jolt up, blurting out "What!?" fearfully - but quickly, she yelped too; noticing a similar device hovering over her friend's head.

The two quickly find their hair seized by a set of combs; small arms raking their way through their hair - but, as the women watch the arms work on their friends; the devices didn't seem to be smoothing their hair out any; rather... They just seemed to be making things worse. The arms combed and crossed over each-other - with each pass; seeming to make things more difficult. Hair would tangle - split ends would develop - making Michelle and Hannah wince as the combs catch on each little knot. More than the texture of their hair was changing, however - so too was the color.

Having already dealt with the oily fake tan; they could feel some sort of fluid spreading across their hair - rolling down now-frayed strands; transmitted even further as a layer of grease grows apparent on their once-immaculate locks. Michelle winced as she watched Hannah's hair lighten - a yellowish, peroxide blonde tone imperfectly consuming her previously-black color - leaving her roots brownish-black, and leaving some strands darker than others.

Hannah, on the other hand, could see Michelle's hair changing by a matter of degrees at first - shifting from brown to auburn, and then... Red - not ginger or a natural shade of reddish, but bright, brilliant, fire-engine red. The arms seem to fan out - having much more area to cover; as Michelle's locks spill just past her shoulders. Their efforts of messing up her hair bear fruit quickly - making it appear tossed and mussed - but the arms retract not long after the brilliant red shade seems to lock into place. Hannah breathes a sigh of relief - expecting hers to do the same...

But, to her chagrin, they don't seem as easily finished. The arms seem to gather her hair - shorter; ending just past her chin - and begin to bundle it up; knotting it into a sloppy bun, secured with a black hair tie. Strands stick awkwardly out of the brown-blonde mass sitting nearly flush at the top of her head - and she can feel it shift with every slight movement of her head.

They'd been so scared by the initial presence of the spider-like hair 'care' device, and so distracted by the indignity of how it was paving away at their appearance that the two women failed to notice how the initial arms had retracted - and that they weren't alone in the room anymore. There was a soft rumble; one Hannah only picked up a moment before a figure came into view.

Pushed between the two seats was a small, flat cart - upon it was a pair of simple laundry baskets. All they could make out of the figure pushing it was a pair of gloved hands - which quickly disappeared into the darkness surrounding them. Michelle could hear heavy footsteps on the rubber tile moving around her - prompting her to speak. "Hey- who's there? Is that- are you real? Are you a person- human, or...?" She squirms in her seat a little - trying to look behind herself.

Hannah could see the white glove return; reappearing beside her friend's throat, with a small, plastic tube. Quickly, they prod Michelle with it - making her jump.

"Hey! God - what the hell is wrong with you?" she growls. She tries to look around again - but her movements grow sluggish. Hannah could make out that she was having a bit of difficulty looking from one side to the other - the now fiery red-head seeming to slump in her seat. "What did you do? H-hey, I'm talking to you -"

Unfazed by Michelle's griping, the figure crosses through the spotlight on their way to Hannah. Dressed in a hazard suit, their form is obscured - and, with a detached and clinical demeanor, they jab Hannah's neck with their tool as well. She can feel a prick - lasting no longer than an instant; succeeded by a distinct feeling of... Heaviness coming over her. The corporate heiress dreads what's to come, as she sees Michelle slumped almost lazily in her seat.

A moment passes quietly before the two can hear boots return once more. Michelle and Hannah expected the one that had drugged them to return - but were surprised to find an entire crew of... What they could only speculatively refer to as people enter the spotlight. Michelle felt a spot of hope as she saw them reach for her restraints, unfastening them...

But, once her arm was free, it refused to obey her commands. She wanted to lash out - to strike the white-suited thugs surrounding her and make a break for the door, wherever it was, but... Try as she might, her body remained immobile while the crew continued to free her. So terrified by this, she could only muster a shaky "G-get your hands off of me!" when they reached around her sides - lifting her up and out of the seat, and pulling her closer to the laundry bin.

"Your arrival is quite serendipitous, Ms. Rossi. These clothes had just arrived for processing - so, in that regard, they are prime for this endeavor. If you should seek to pass along your gratitude for this fortunate coincidence, we will gladly let Ms. Martin know." the voice explains

She didn't know what they meant by 'processing' or that they were... Better for this - whatever they were doing - but when she saw one of the suited figures reach into a bin and withdraw a pair of white panties, she gave a guttural "Oh hell." If she could still move, she would have kicked and screamed to keep the garment away from her - as it came closer, more details became evident about it - the white tone wasn't uniform; rather, slightly yellowed along the crotch. It felt warm sliding up her legs - and despite it now covering her sex, she felt more dirty with it on than off. As they brought a bra closer to her; a scent tickled her nose - acrid and stale; she could smell sweat upon it. Even knowing what the fake tan felt like as it was being applied - she still attributed a freshly-greasy sensation upon her chest to the garment - which didn't fit well at all. It pushed up her breasts and constrained them tightly, prompting her to grimace.

Looking over to Hannah - she didn't seem to be faring much better. The crew was fitting her with her own bra - an elastic sports bra; the armpits of which seemed visibly darker than the rest of the garment. Her panties were seemingly in worse shape; a prospect Michelle found hard to fathom - noticing a couple of dark, curly hairs having wound their way into the otherwise white fabric.

The sight made Michelle's stomach turn - a reaction she felt redouble when they began to pull out more from the bins. Each of them received a pair of elastic, tracksuit leggings - Hannah's being black, and Michelle's being red with a pair of white stripes; which served only to highlight the stains upon them. Hannah received a matching track jacket; zipped as far up as it would go - but Michelle wasn't so lucky.

The first thing they pulled out was a simple tube top - a garment she could easily posit used to be white; barring the stains across the breasts and beneath the arms. She felt her hair mussed further as they squeezed her into it - and evidently, not all of the dye had dried; leaving a red mark around the neck. It, like her bra - was a little too small to appropriately contain her breasts; leaving the valley of her cleavage deep. While that felt ghastly enough for Michelle - what followed would have made her pale, were here skin not covered so thickly with fake tan.

What came next was a white, furry jacket - and she didn't need to see the black mark on the arm, yellowed tone, or the darkened, fused plastic of the faux-fur to know that it previously belonged to a smoker. The scent about it was radiant - wreathing her in the scent as it slipped over her arms.

Having been dressed, the crew eases the women back into their seats. "So, what," Hannah blurts out, looking downward. "you wanted us to play dressup? When we're out of here - and we will get out of here - we're going to take them off."

"And burn them." Michelle chimes.

"This is but an element of the message, Ms. Averies." the voice replies "A preface, if you will." The crew reaches into the laundry baskets once more - this time pulling out a number of plastic... Guns? They seemed to have a silhouette like one - but they didn't have triggers, so much as they had nozzles; like the mechanical arms' sprayers. "We apologize in advance - but the message we intend to deliver will be of the lengthier variety; but we hope that it will resonate more poignantly because of that."

The crew looms closer to Michelle - one member raising one of the woman's arms, and the other beginning to spray something across her wrists. Once they've made an even circle, the wrists of their jacket are pressed against the solution - with a quick tug, Michelle grimaces... Finding the jacket clinging to her skin.

A bead of sweat rolls down her forehead as she realizes what they had in mind - and, as they shift to her other arm, she gives a low, plaintive whine.

Michelle awoke slowly. Her drugged slumber didn't yield its grip upon her consciousness easily - keeping her trapped in the aether between sobriety and dream.

Once more, sensation is what tethered her to the waking world - namely, the sensation that she was moving. She tried to open her eyes - and found herself, initially, in the dark regardless - inspiring a sense of fear, which in turn drove her into motion. Her first reflex was to sit up - and in doing so, found herself suddenly blinded by light on all sides of her.

Holding her hands over her eyes - she takes a moment to adjust to the light; an easy feat, as the bleary brightness gives way into shape and definition, and...

Her hands. Her... Gaudy, orange-tan hands; and the plasticine, red nails glued to her fingers. Her face curled into a sneer - as her memories quickly returned to her. Memories of... Getting kidnapped. Bound, covered in all sorts of chemicals, dressed in horrible clothing; and worse - used clothing. She hadn't even had the chance to give herself the hope that might've been a horrible nightmare before being forced to face the horrid reality of it all.

The last thing she remembered was being paralyzed, and put back to sleep. Her heartbeat began to quicken, and she looked around - her sneer dropping as she surveyed her surroundings.

An easy feat, given how confined they were. It was a mixed blessing that she found herself in a familiar setting - in the back seat of a limousine. Furrowing her brow, she couldn't help but find it familiar still - it had to be the same one that picked her and Hannah up-

Wait, Hannah! Looking around, she could see her friend on the seat opposite - lying down on the seat - her face disgracefully wedged against the fabric. Leaning forward, Michelle tries to reach over to her - but in the process, finds herself stepping over some garbage on the floor. A few empty bottles of beer littered the seat - a couple in cupholders; others rolling about on the floor - bumping up against a few tamped-down or crumpled-up bags of crisps. If her clothes weren't enough to make her feel dirty - the state of the car certainly made the sensation a little more... Thorough.

Michelle's hand lands on Hannah's thigh, shaking it hastily. "Hey! Wake up - wake-"

Hannah snorts, rolling over a little. "Nnnnnuuuuooooh." she groans balefully. Her hands reflexively reach up to her chest; covering it for a moment before she opens her eyes. "Wuh- wah... Who- who're--!?" She confusedly sits up - and Michelle quickly lays her hands on her shoulders.

"Michelle." she asserts. "It's me - we were kidnapped, remember?"

Evidently, she doesn't - at least not immediately. Rapidly shaking her head, she sits back, grumbling. "Oh Christ alive - that... That happened, then."

Rolling her eyes, Michelle sits back down. "No, you stupid bint, you're still dreaming." she spits harshly. "Wake-" She takes a quick, panicked draw of breath. "Wake up already, I think- I think we're free."

Hannah reaches up to her hair; sneering as her own fake nails cut through her greasy, bunched-up locks. "Ooooh, god." she groans nauseously. Turning her attention to the window, she can see buildings passing by - not the slums they'd been led into before; rather, a more vivacious side of the city. It seemed to be midday - so there were plenty of people lining the streets. "If we're free, then... Where are we going?"

The question hung in the air for a solid minute - long enough for it to become clear that Michelle had no answers. Looking to the window, herself, she began to recognize her surroundings - she wasn't too far from one of her father's galleries. She scooted closer to the window, looking around to see if she could make it out, and...

Not only could she, but she could see a crowd outside of it. Was there some sort of exhibition? It didn't matter to her; people were people - and the limo was getting closer to them. "Hey! Hey, heeeeey!" she cries, pounding against the window. "In here! Hey!" Confused at first, it takes a moment for Hannah to notice the crowd - the moment she does, she shoves over to the window, pounding against it too - trying to get their attention.

Excited by the idea of freedom - or at least sparking some sort of inquiry - the two were elated to see themselves getting closer to the crowd; to the throng of people - to the photographers lined up outside the door, like...

Like they were expecting something...?

As the limo pulled up to the gallery, Michelle's blood ran cold. She didn't see her father out front - but she could see photographers beginning to snap pictures of the limo. Hannah, however, was still waving out to the crowd from the inside.

"Hey - Michelle? Michelle!" Hannah hisses. "This is it - we're free!"

A queasy sound left the red-headed woman, and she tried to shrink back into her seat-

But that just gave Hannah a chance to reach for the door handle. Grasping it in one hand, and snagging Michelle's wrist in the other, she shoves the door open - inviting in the sound of a murmuring crowd and innumerable flashes from cameras and phones alike. Thrusting herself out of the door, Hannah knocks a couple of beer bottles out with her - causing one to shatter on the blacktop and another to skitter across the pavement.

Michelle had only a moment to utter "Wait-" before she was pulled out of the car as well - and into the eye of an expectant public.

In that instant, she knew that they weren't let free - they were being offered up on a silver platter - it had to be part of that 'message' their captor was blathering about. Just as Cassandra had her outrage...

Michelle and Hannah were about to have some headlines of their own.