The following account was written by the traitor, Tom Hogg, during his second day of punishment.
Bloody hell. Woke up to the sound of buzzing and yells. Looked out from behind the crates, and there’s a security guard armed with an ordinary carving fork, trying to fend off a lunatic wielding a string trimmer.
I can’t watch. A string trimmer does horrible things to human skin.
The buzzing has stopped. So has the yelling. Looked up. From the looks of it, the nutter has knocked out the guard with the string trimmer and stabbed him with his own fork. He hasn’t seen me. He’s crouching over the guard’s head. I can’t see what he’s doing.
I think he heard me typing just now. He stopped and looked around, like he was listening. Luckily, at that moment, another guard burst in carrying an old Winchester ’94 rifle and chased the madman off.
It was a while before I dared move. I went and examined the body. Some of the fingers on his right hand have been shredded by the string trimmer. There’s an “m” drawn on his forehead in marker pen. Some kind of cult thing?
Whatever. I am so out of here.