Grunting an affirmation, Geddoe headed off to do just that. Luckily, numbers were exactly how this place operated. Some of the labels were worn or damaged, but it was easy enough to find them and connect the information one to the other. He toggled a switch and heard a whoosh behind him of a door opening, and then rapidly flicked all of the ones in that same row.

For a few moments, no one came out. Geddoe had to go to the first one to be sure he wasn't opening empty cells - or worse - but the prisoners were merely huddled back in each one, perhaps fearing what usually came when the doors were opened for them. They certainly weren't expecting a tall man with a massive scar where his right eye used to be, dripping blood from a gunshot wound to the left arm. He didn't know what language they spoke, so he shifted the katana to his useless arm for the moment and gestured with sharp, insistent waves of his hand. Come on. Come with me. Get out of here.

Into his radio, he muttered, "What I wouldn't give for someone who speaks foreign languages right about now."