Being kidnapped sucks.
Having complete strangers rough you up and yell at you for being a smartass sucks, being knocked out sucks, and waking up in a huge, badly-lit warehouse with guns being handled way too casually, sucks.
He tries not to throw up.
"I think we're ready, shall we?"
He takes Stiles' hand just for good measure.
He lets them in.
It's immaculately clean, though the photos that line the walls may count as clutter.
...he expected something else. Huh. He squeezes Stiles' hand and peers at the pictures.
A copse of trees. A half-eaten deer. A turbulent lake, stirred up by a storm.
A woman, hiding her face with her hair as she plays guitar.
A woman buying groceries, inspecting an apple for blemishes.
Braeden, pointing a gun at the camera.
"What do you need?"
"I don't really know anything about that. I can share what I do have. As long as I get to keep the Comb."
He takes some photos off the wall. They're interspersed pretty thoroughly with the others, nothing particularly distinguishable about them...except their subject matter.
"These were my mom's. I don't really know where this is, but maybe having all of them helps."
They depict a familiar prison, though none of them provide a clear view of the place.
There are doors in a few of them.
She tries one.
It tears a little bit.
"I can try them all now, since your guess is probably right, but then you might want to try it. I don't trust myself with Objects."
Most of them bend, except for one.
An undeveloped Polaroid, with the word 'Gallup' written on the back.
"Gallup, New Mexico. Renowned for its polls and as the location the Bus Ticket sends you to. A suspected location of the Room."
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