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The sound of falling water lets John know that his roommate has occupied the shower.
It's loud enough that he sneaks to the door and twists the handle just to see if he can.
The corridor outside the room is empty and covered in shadows, the only thing he can see is a flickering light on the other side. There are no windows but John already knows that he's stuck on a mountain and there is only one road off.
Except for the sounds of the shower John can't hear anything else on either side of the corridor.
He takes a step and nothing happens, takes another... and half way through the corridor almost has a heart attack when Barsad drops from the rafters in front of him.
"Going somewhere, detective?"
Barsad grins at him while corralling John back in to the room just in time for Bane to exit the bathroom and see that he had tried to go on walkabout.
He wonders if he's getting tied up again now that they know he will be ignoring Bane's warnings about staying in the room.
"I thought I'd go find the kitchen..."
He tries sort of lying, finding the kitchen would be a good thing because the prospect of eating is getting more interesting by the minute.
"I'd advise you to make use of the bathroom first."
Bane's second in command sniffs theatrically before producing a bundle of clothing from a backpack he's carrying. John knows that he probably stinks; being tied up and usually tied to something isn't actually conductive to proper hygiene. Not that anyone else had smelled or roses by the end of the journey but John does feel a bit defensive about letting standards slide.
He rips the clothing out of Barsad's hands without looking and runs in to the bathroom before the amused mercenaries notice how red he has gone with embarrassment.
Since he first checked it the bathroom had acquired a round wooden tub taking up most of the space in the middle of the room. John can't imagine Bane using the tub for recreational purposes but there is bound to be some medical benefit or another John doesn't know.
His mind presents him with an image of a bare, burly male rising from soapy water.
He slaps himself mentally for going off on a tangent and looks at the clothing he has been given.
There is a long sleeved shirt, a pair of pants and even socks but no underpants. Not that he would have been comfortable with borrowing a pair from someone but going without isn't exactly comfortable either, not that he can do anything about without a supermarket around the corner.
There is not much left of his own clothing since he practically lived in them since getting captured. John had managed to scrub them a few times but they hadn't been chosen for being able to stand up to living rough; both his shirt and pants can stand to be burned, his boxer-shorts aren't exactly salvageable either. Only his shoes have stood up to the abuse of the last weeks being the most expensive thing in John's wardrobe. He tries to scrub the boxers anyway but they practically fall apart from the effort and he gives up as a job botched. The water scalds him, somehow he didn't expected the amenities to be in decent shape, before he can sorts out the controls but even the harsh soap feels good stripping off layer after layer of grime.
John never had a nice long, hot shower until he had managed to save enough for his own apartment. He remembers practically camping out in the showers the first few weeks he truly hadn't been required to share it with anyone else; enough hot water and no one yelling at him to hurry up and get out because 20 other people needed to use the facilities. He had gotten used to not sharing the shower eventually but still cherishes every chance he gets to just stand surrounded by hot water and not think.
"Good to know you haven't drowned detective."
John wonders how long he's going to last with all the heart attacks he is having from his captors moving around silent as ghosts.
A part of him thinks that he can learn moving like that as well given half the chance as he picks himself off the ground rubbing his sore hip. The tiles had become slippery and he really hadn't expected anyone to barge in. Barsad sniggers leaning against the door watching John sort himself out.
"Don't worry I'm planning to live to see your ass in jail."
With the information he has been given the day before chance of that happening is small but John can dream. Any day now, he imagines, some Special Forces unit or other will sweep down and rescue him. Then he will go home back to his small apartment and back to figuring out what he wants to do with his life...
"After eating. Going to jail on an empty stomach is bad for you; the food there is terrible I hear."
Of course his threats don’t impress anyone; almost every one of the mercenaries hanging around Bane is far better trained than John. He imagines being able to best some of the foot soldiers, maybe those who have just joined and aren't up to scratch yet. Unfortunately Bane usually keeps him close or delegates him to Barsad almost like he doesn't trust his own men not to do something regrettable to John.
"Do you mind?"
He sneers at the grinning mercenary wrapping himself in a towel; the gesture makes him feel better but doesn't produce any results. John has noticed the lack of need for personal space and body modesty almost at once having been unnerved by it the first week or two before getting used to it. Barsad only yawns and makes himself more comfortable against the doorpost.
Dressing and going to eat is weight against the urge to finally see once and for all if he can't out stubborn Barsad now that it's relatively safe to do so and apparently all the time in the world on his hands.
He grumbles while toweling off and pulling on the strange clothing.
John pays close attention to where they are going counting the corners in his head and noting where the lamps hang. Down four floors without meeting anyone, not even Bane who had disappeared from the room by the time John left the shower. None of the hallways have windows and the stairs are rickety and creak. He wonders if the lack of maintenance has a purpose or is just sloppiness, ether way it makes things difficult for him with all the noise. There are guards on the last floor flanking a door still as statues and clutching automatic weapons and swords. They don't seem to pay them any attention but John knows better, he's learned that particular lesson while they were still in the United States.
They take another narrow corridor with another set of guards on the other side and end up in hell.
The hall is large and peppered with blazing braziers keeping the temperature up and acting as extra incentive for the men training not to mess up. The whole thing looks like Mr. Miyagi got real or possibly went over to the dark side. Shades fling themselves from the rafters and rise up from under the floorboards attacking each other and scaling the hazards taking up almost the entire floor. The mix of smoke and heat wraps the whole scene in a haze from which John can barely pick out Barsad who stands next to him.
There are a lot of shades in the shadows, John doesn't try to count them yet, he isn't sure what he's looking at, but studies those closer to the flames and almost visible. The men are from various ethnic backgrounds, rangy, unkempt and expressionless focused on what they are doing. He wonders what has motivated all these people to seek out this place and join the gang of a madman. Asking seems awkward and John is pretty sure that he won't get a satisfactory answer ether way. There are bound to be lots of reasons about as many as there are men training and John can guess some of them; he's been on the streets for a while himself and has seen how easy it is to become a criminal or a victim.
Barsad tugs at his arm pulling John out of his musings to guide him through the training room. A couple of times John is tempted to duck or jump aside but forces himself to keep going and not to flinch.
Bluffing is something he got good at when still a kid; being small, big eared and an orphan he didn't have much of a choice in the matter.
At the far side of the chamber initially hidden from sight there is an open area where they find Bane again. The big man is standing next to the makeshift ring taking up most of the open space watching the men attacking each other with knives. Both of the fighters are bleeding by the time John and Barsad stop to watch but don't seem like they are going to stop any time soon. Both fighters make an effort to stay in the ring ducking away, spinning and actually taking cuts in an effort not to step over the rope. John can see Bane nod with every cut that with a little more force or a slightly different angle would be deadly. The way things are going ether one or both men fighting will be incapacitated at the end; if this is training John really doesn't see the point.
"The last one standing will get rewarded, and possibly advanced in the ranks."
Barsad seems to read minds on occasion explaining as he pulls John away from a viscous swipe that passes outside of the ring.
"Yeah what's the reward?"
Getting tired the men slow down but not by much, John notices that both seem to be aiming for the face every couple of lunges.
“The winner gets to fight Bane."
John spins around wondering if he's misheard, Barsad does have a bit of an accent but usually they communicate just fine.
"Not much of a reward..."
Barsad shrugs.
"To you maybe not. To them being considered skilled enough to be trained by their leader, it is an honor."
"You mean getting their asses handed to them by their leader don't you?"
John has seen footage of Bane fighting even if he has yet to see the man doing any in person. Bane doesn't fight; he destroys everything that comes into his path. As far as John is concerned no amount of being honored is worth ending up a smear on the ground.
"Why would he? The men need to learn and Bane is a very good teacher."
Barsad sounds certain making John wonder who trained the sniper.
One of the men finally manages to cut the other on the forehead, the cut isn't deep but it bleeds hard destroying visibility and giving the attacker the advantage. After that the fight is over pretty fast; the man with the cut face ends up on his stomach in the dirt with a knife at this throat. Both look up at Bane who nods and steps into the ring.
"You have 10 minutes to have the cuts seen too."
The combatants release scrambling to their feet and move off to a nearby corner where an older man starts ordering them around in a quite voice.
Bane steps around the ring to join John and Barsad to watch as another pair takes their places in the ring.
"By the look on your face you do not approve detective."
John twitches watching the fresh pair of men cut into each other.
"I don't see how making your men cut each other to ribbons teaches them anything."
"It does not, but it does show their progress. By the time they enter the ring they are capable of survival, capable of victory or else their masters would not allow them to try."
"Masters?"
Bane chuckles, he turns John around to point at a group on the other side of the room barely visible through the smoke. The group of men is going through complicated motions as one, an elder man circling them leaning heavily on a stick. When one of the men fails to complete a motion perfectly he is poked before the old man corrects it and makes the man do it several times over until he is satisfied. In another corner another group is kneeling while a man stands in a stance recognizable as that of a weary teacher faced with a bunch of idiots.
"The men are taught Mr. Blake they are not simply thrown to the wolves, or to me."
John wishes that he had a clever comeback with his stomach is faster than his brain growling audibly even in the din of the hall. The two mercenaries exchange amused glances that make John blush with anger.
"Come along detective, we shall feed you before you pass out from hunger. I need my hostage strong."
Gritting his teeth John glares up at Bane who turns away gesturing for them both to follow.
With no other choice he follows them hoping he isn't going to have to eat something weird.