18970722 05:56:11

MP-S-7918X0418

Ryan Bojack shot up from his bed when he heard the door knocked open. The proximity of the volume from the impact and subsequent scattering of his cat as it dashed off of his bed confirmed it instantly in his mind. Was he really being robbed? Why him? Why now? More importantly - what to do? He heard multiple footsteps quickly entering his apartment, so taking out the intruders was out of the question. He had no gun or any sort of weapon with which he could strike someone. He wasn't about to rush out to get into a fist fight with someone who likely would be armed. Regardless, he jumped out of the bed and backed to the corner of the room, clenching his fists tightly and bracing the heels of his feet against the sides of the walls. He felt that he had to make a stand, and thought of no better way to quickly do so.
The footsteps approached his room - both pairs did. There were two men. The weight and heavy sound of the steps registered to Ryan as men. But they were approaching his room - were they targeting him? Were they not here to steal? The confusion distracted him enough that when Exeter and Secor entered, he didn't have enough time to discern any recognizable features of them against the faint light coming from the hallway light which reached the dark room. Before he could throw a fist out at Secor as he came within range, a thick fabric was thrown over his body which was quickly wrapped around him, tight enough to bind him. He felt a rope being raveled around his torso and tied to keep the fabric cinched on his body. The other man stepped forward and leaned his mouth by Ryan's ear, and issued the command in a whisper.
"All right, faggot. Where's the camera and the film."
Ryan was even more confused with the request.
"You... you're looking for, for my cam-"
Before he could finish speaking, a fist was thrust into his stomach. It felt to him like the knuckles managed to make contact with his spine. He moaned loudly and felt ready to vomit but somehow managed to contain himself enough to only cough violently instead. The whisper came to his ear again.
"Answer me. Your camera and your film. Now."
"Cl. Closet." Ryan struggled to say the word through fits of gasping for air in coughs.
One man walked away while Ryan was still held in place by the other. His bedroom closet was thrust open and all of the contents were rattled and sifted about. Ryan heard strikes hit the glass plates as if they were hit by a bat, but he didn't recall seeing either of the men bring in a bat. He then heard a metal pan hit the floor, followed by some film prints being thrown into it. Next, he smelled the developing fluid being poured on top of the prints as the liquid dripped into the pan. Then the sound of a match strike rang in the air with the smell of sulfur in its wake. He could see an orange glow through the sack which covered his face. The pictures! Three weeks of work was being consumed in an instant! The man who was restraining him now leaned by his face to speak. His whisper had more volume and came out as a coarse grunt.
 "No more pictures of the bums and their houses. Got it, cocksucker?"