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Mr. Danya
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Nate tried to laugh back at Matt’s own joke. He tried so damn hard, but no-one was going to believe the smile he was wearing was sincere any time soon. Still, it had seemed to put Matt in a marginally less stressed out mood, and that was enough for Nate. Seeing Matt loosen up just a little bit was enough to calm his own nerves just a little bit too.

“An asylum?” he replied, an earnst look of confusion replacing his decidedly fake cheer. He had mostly just ran here since he had woken up, so he hadn’t taken any time to check through his provisions or look at a map. The only reason he knew about his staff was because the terrorists had left it lying next to him, far too big to fit in his duffel bag (which was itself contrastingly large on Nate, the terrorists apparently not being considerate enough to find him one more suitably sized).

It was a weird place to find himself in the middle of all this, that was for sure, but that was never going to top the list of strangest things about the whole scenario. He’d think about it later.

The other part of Matt’s statement required more due thought. Just what were they supposed to do?

“Well, when there’s shootings and things like that they say you’re supposed to try and hide until you can run to safety.” he muttered, scratching the side of his face in thought as he stared down at the floor. Was that a bad plan? Look for an opening to run away, if help didn't come first?

Oh, right, the collars.

“I don’t know if we can get away from here, though. Not with these things on.” He pointed at his own collar to demonstrate. He’d barely even realised he was wearing it until that moment.

It was suffocating.
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