Bastiaan has no intention of stopping. He loses hair between fingers, wrenches his arms out of large hands, and elbows his way past, already covered in blossoming red that will turn to dark bruises by morning. He gets a few more steps before he's forced down to his knees screaming and then on his stomach. He kicks out behind him and tries to twist free, screaming at them with all the Dutch words he's ever heard from his mother. He bites at a hand holding him down, sinking teeth deep into grimy flesh. The boy turns feral, snarling and tearing at them.