I am the passenger

Cold.

That had been one of the few things Nadia had been able to think about for who knew how long. It was cold.

She was lying on the floor of a tiny room, her hands cuffed behind her back. Every so often, one of the men who'd grabbed her would come in and inject her again, just when she was getting coherent enough to start to think about escaping.

She was cold, she felt ill, she was scared and she wanted to go home.

But this time . . . she was starting to get past that. She started to notice other things, that her limbs weren't feeling as heavy, that there were small objects on the floor that she might be able to use, if she could just reach them.

She'd have to get her hands out from behind her back, first.

She started to shift, just a little at first, to try and pull her legs through the circle created by her arms to get her hands in front of her. She had to be careful--if they heard her moving around, they'd drug her again, and she didn't know if she'd get another opportunity.

When her shoulder popped out of joint, she didn't even feel it.

Almost . . . almost . . . there. She lay shivering for a moment longer, forcing down another bout of nausea, then started running her hands along the floor for something she could use. As a weapon or to pick the locks on the handcuffs.

( drug cartels suck like robots and snow monsters )

[ooc: preplayed. NFB due to distance and not open for interaction, but OOC commentary is welcome]