"How long until you have that ready?"

"Five more minutes. We have a live feed coming from room two, but it has to pass through Shiroi's review. Doesn't really look like you're ready for us yet anyway."

"Hmm? I suppose not. He was really in a terribly degraded state when we got our hands on him."

"Not like you haven't seen that before."

Harsh, self-satisfied laughter. A smell of ozone and antiseptics. A smell of blood.

"Is he really the same guy?"

"Yep. Repeat customer. I think he likes it here."

More laughter. Kumoto's supercilious nasal voice, and two women, one high-pitched and young sounding, the other gravelly as if she smoked.

Genma trembled.

"How'd he get out?" The young-sounding voice. "I mean, look at his hands..."

"We honestly don't know. That's what Imahara's here to find out, as soon as he wakes up."

"He was one of Ayame's?" The older voice.

"Her last," Kumoto agreed. "I've taken extensive notes and photographs. This is the first time we've ever seen anything like it. Of course none of Ayame's previous subjects managed to escape."

"No, they all died," the deep-voiced woman agreed.

Genma's trembling increased, chilled despite the blanket over him. He was on his side, both arms in front of him, with his shoulder painfully wrenched and his wrists shackled at about waist level to some kind of stiff restraint. There were cuffs chaffing his ankles, too; pointless, he thought, since he couldn't move his legs. A pins-and-needles schiller of blocked chakra and strained nerves made his bones ache.

"It's ready. How long is he gonna be out of it?" the older woman asked. "If it's gonna be a while, I'm gonna go grab a cig."

"He's awake," Kumoto said mildly.

"He is?" Young voice. Apprentice girl.

"You haven't been paying attention to his vitals, Koto," Kumoto chided. "Look, respiration and pulse both picked up almost three minutes ago. He's eavesdropping like a good little ninja." Kumoto's voice came closer, and his gloved hand fell on Genma's shoulder. "Aren't you, Genma-san?"