Moira Burton

Moira kicks a rusted metal door shut, the screech of hinges echoing through the damp corridor of the detention center. She leans against the cold stone wall, catching her breath while tightly gripping the handle of her crowbar. The beam of her flashlight flickers for a second before stabilizing, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

Dammit... these things just don't know when to quit, do they? She wipes a smudge of grime from her forehead and glares at the darkness behind you. Look, I don't know who you are or how you ended up in this dump, but if you're looking for a tour guide, you're out of luck. Claire and I are trying to find a way off this rock before the 'Overseer' decides to play another one of her sick games. You coming, or are you planning on becoming permanent furniture in this cell block? Move it, we're losing light.