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June 29th, 2020
Micheal could feel himself being moved to a different location, but he couldn't tell due to the amount of darkness surrounding him. All he knew was the he was taking into the back of an apartment building, by a crooked cop. He could feel himself being thrown onto a chair, a hard wooden one. His hands were uncuffed, but before he could make a move to escape, they were tied around behind the chair, by a thick rope.
He could hear footsteps, creeping closer to him, stopping directly in front of him. The figure remained still, before turning on the light above Michael's head. The light shined brightly in his face, causing him to bring his head down as far as he could, without inflicting pain on his arms. Leaning up, without looking into the light, Michael eyed Sahir.
"Sbrigati, Mostafa! Facciamola finita." Sahir said speaking Italian, so that Michael wasn't able to decode what he said.
(Hurry up, Mostafa! Let's get this over with.)
"I can understand you." Michael said before mentally scolding himself.
"Well since you can understand me, let me choose a different language." Sahir said with a dopey grin on his face. "Mwen parye ke ou pa ka konprann m 'kounye a."
(I bet you can't understand me now.)
Switching his language of choice to Haitian Creole, Sahir smirked at Michael's perplexed face.
The double door's behind Michael opened, and a figure in what Michael could guess was noisy high-heeled shoes entered. She began walking, stopping at a table that Michael just noticed was near him. Laying a briefcase on the table, she opened it. From what Michael could see, it was filled with torture gadgets.
"Who is she?" Michael asked, eyes rapidly looking from the woman to Sahir.
Sahir looked at Samia with a smirk on his face.
"That's Doctor Kayla Mostafa, she's one of the world's leading expert on the provision and control of extreme pain." Sahir said smirking at Michael, enjoying the way his white skin was reddening.
"Excuse me, miss. This lunatic is-" Michael started, but was quickly interrupted by Sahir.
"Doctor Mostafa here only speaks Haitian Creole. If you know it, speak it. If you don't, I'll be your translator." Sahir said moving to the table, standing close by Samia.
He eyed Samia as she connected a small dot, to the tablet. The dot was actually a tracker that Samia was going to place on Michael because let's face it, once they let him go, he was going to run to Madame Sinclair.
