The movements are skillful and mechanical, but everyone has a tense face.
Lemont walked to a temporary detention area deep in the tunnel.
Milosh was sitting in the corner, his hands bound with plastic ties, bruises on his face, but his eyes remained sharp.
"It seems like you've run into trouble."
Milosh taunted in heavily accented Eastern European English.
Lemont squatted down and cut through the ties with a knife: "Your boss won."
Milosh moved his wrists, quickly gritting his teeth, as several of his finger joints were broken, causing intense pain with even slight movement.
"I told you, you can't beat my boss."
"Don't be too pleased with yourself," Lemont said coldly. "Your boss just got lucky. A moment later, and he would be hit by the bomb!"
"But the fact is, you lost."
Milosh stood up, towering half a head above Lemont.
