Zero sat at the center of his cell, tin arm plate in his hands, idly flexing the armor over and over at the elbow joint. It squeaked now. Not the typical noise of basic movement of the piece, either, but the clear, unmistakable sounds of metal that just hasn’t been properly tended to
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Joe walks up to Zero's cell, hands in the pockets of his jacket--sure, all he's got is a couple of knives, but it's better than nothing. And he's probably better off with a decent pair of legs under him. At least they haven't let him out, he thinks, figuring the body is just as dangerous as the mind, especially when this ends. "Hey," he greets, almost casually. If Zero's still himself, there's no reason to tip him off to what's going on outside.
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He didn't return the greeting, just blinked up at her. Who the hell let some little girl in here, anyway? Was this some new brand of torture, like the guy with the monkey-rat? He wasn't in the mood for surprises.
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