Misty's voice rang dully in her ear, roused Colleen to consciousness. She sat herself up and rolled her neck, her joints aching with trauma she could not recall. Her wrist especially--with a grimace, she rubbed the tender flesh around it and glanced around the dismal vault, squinting and blinking through the darkness. Coarse and bodily odors permeated the cell, the air was thick with it, stale. Colleen buried her nose in the crook of her arm. Shapes of other clothed bodies appeared around her, some cowered in the corners, others against the walls or on the dirt ground. On her feet, Colleen moved toward the one clouded window framed in the middle of a grimy metal door. Peering out of it, she touched a finger to her communicator and whispered, "That would make the two of us. Danny?"