The basement equipment room was silent.
Beneath a single bare light bulb, Ingrid stood in the uniform of the guard who had escorted her there only minutes earlier.
The khaki shirt, short skirt, black leather belt, shoulder strap, and polished shoes fitted her remarkably well.
Only one thing remained.
She lifted the regulation cap onto her blonde head and carefully adjusted its position.
For the first time since her capture, Ingrid no longer looked like a prisoner.
She looked like one of Lucian's guards.
Beside her, the young Asian guard sat motionless in a battered wooden chair. Her short black hair rested against the wall, her eyes remained closed, and her arms hung loosely at her sides.
Her uniform, weapons, and boots were gone.
She had been left wearing only her white combat bra and combat panties.
Minutes earlier, she had walked proudly through the prison corridors, carrying out Lucian's orders without question.
She had survived the deadly game in the dining room, only to fall during what should have been a routine escort assignment.
Ingrid glanced briefly at the unconscious guard.
There was no triumph in her expression.
She had once served in a military unit herself. She knew how easily a disciplined soldier could become a casualty of someone else's orders.
But there was no time for reflection.
On the wall, the duty roster still displayed the names of the guards assigned to their shifts.
Somewhere upstairs, Lucian and Dietrich continued their evening, unaware that their prisoner was now wearing the uniform of one of their own.
Ingrid lowered her hands from the cap.
The disguise was complete.
One guard had fallen. Another had apparently taken her place.
And the prison had not yet noticed the difference.
