He awoke suddenly, confused momentarily before his body addressed the swelling from the concussion driven through his brain as his head slammed into the steel walls a few moments ago.

His senses fired, but the container provided no light for his eyes to filter, completely dark. It had been dark outside, but there was no hint, and as he tasted the air, it gave no clues other than old metals, dust and other aromas that his abilities allowed him to taste/smell. He’d never been able to actually describe it, although he defaulted to smell to keep it simple.

It couldn’t have been long, he’d heard that bastard Dryce say to throw it overboard, but there was yet no real motion of the sea, and as he thought that he could feel the first swells begin to lightly rock the ship.

How long would they wait? He had to break out, every second was another danger to Shawna. To Olivia. Maybe to the others.

Fifteen minutes, to make sure the Black Web creature had truly left. Any longer and he wouldn’t have time before the sea dropped away from into depths far beyond what any container or person could survive.

He twisted, straining with all his prodigious strength, but he couldn’t budge the metal band created out of some copy of Titan. He paused for a sixty count, before pushing so hard that the strain almost made him pass out before the right humerus cracked, arm shrieking in pain. The more he struggled, the more the nanotech compensated.

He stopped, and rested for a couple of minutes, allowing the bone to reknit together, healing.

He slammed control down on his scattered thoughts, and started an internal clock, measuring the time. In ten more minutes, he’d try regardless.

Analysis. No facts, just assumptions to go on. They didn’t have Shawna. Who did, or where was she? Perhaps just back at the beach? If they’d had her, the bastard would have rubbed it in. If they’d killed her, the bastard would have rubbed it in. So likely not at the beach but where, who?

Sting- Had to have been some new nano-chemical, like what they used on him during Minnesota incident. Why not take Shawna then? No abilities so no target? Why not eliminate her? Too many guesses, no information.

Why was the comm not working, with no one responding. The fucking device was still in his ear so he knew it was physically present. When did it stop working? Technology never fucking worked when you needed it to in an emergency.  If it could fail, it would.  It had been quiet, all day, both over coms and mentally.  Oddly so, most of the team couldn’t fucking shut up. He’d been enjoying the day, so was it a recent breakdown or before? The coms went through Alliance Two and Titan. Was one or both destroyed? Or just jammed? Too many possibilities.

The mental link had never failed. The tatoo prevented it. Could Brujeria be dead? Would he have noticed that mentally somehow? No link to anyone, or again no response, but if she was hurt, would there be? Again, not enough information. Anubis or Dunn? Were all threats one? English and Anubis the same as he suspected?

Bryce and Bryan were apparently unharmed, or at least unfound. Dryce had been muttering, but Brett could hear. Again, not enough. No guesses at all for Henri. What about Mom, Olivia? Enraged, he lost the control and slammed kicked his feet into the sides of the safe, with echoing mettalic thuds, but no apparent damage. Not enough room to truly kicked.

He twisted until he faced the door. He was getting nowhere and the clock was ticking, hips crooked because the three feet was not enough to get good leverage. He pulled his knees up to his chest, compressing his lungs, but couldn’t quite fit, he just pulled, and screamed has bones and muscles tore, skin ripped, and blood greased the walls.

He breathed deep again, letting the wounded parts heal, before hearing a clank as something grabbed the safe on the outside. He was out of time. He pushed with his back against the rear of the safe, struggling to bow the door out.

He heard shattered pops as pain wracked through his back and he lost feeling in is lowered legs. As he felt a bit of free fall, he twisted again, pain whipping through his back and spine, and he used the only thing working right, his head, butting it repeatedly against the area he hoped held some of the locking mechanisms. The third time he cracked his skull, he passed out, his last thought the scent of purple hair.