Thomas Crabbe watches the first three run off into different rooms. Turning to Alison and the other two guys, he shrugs his shoulders, "Ah can think o' worse situations, but yoos can all get fucked if ye think ahm not gonna play."
As he trots down the corridor, Thomas glances back over his shoulder and yells, "C'mon laddies, Foockin' 'ide and seek!"
Picking the last room on the right, Thomas slams the door behind him and leans against it, staring incomprehensibly at the contents of the room.
Filling the room is seeminlgy hundreds of mannaquins, all garbed in the same green jumpsuits as the prisoners. Leaning against walls, sat on the floor, strewn across each other in large piles, the mannaquins are propped in every position imaginable. Black bags cover every head. In the middle of the room, a mannequin has been stood on a chair , arms bound behind it's back, noose ready around it's neck.
"...the feck...?" Thomas mutters. He bends down and picks up the only bag not on a mannaquins head. Let's do this then, he thinks to himself.
Picking a tangled pile of bodies in the corner, Thomas sits himself between the wall and pulls a number of the mannaquins over his lap. Finally, he slips the black bag over his head and makes sure his arms are covered as much as possible by the pile. The bag is extremely stifling and leaves a bad taste in the back of the throat no matter how Thomas breathes.
"jes' more waitin' now...always feckin' waitin'" Thomas growls under his breathe before settling down to hear the bell.