Ellen sat on the floor.
Her back was against the wall, one hand in the pocket of her zipped up hoodie, the other holding a styrofoam cup of coffee. She felt restless, and took another nervous sip, letting the strong burn of whiskey go down like hot ice. She coughed just once from the unpleasant sensation, then took another sip, temporarily soothed.
The hot toddy was literally half booze–and cheap stuff, at that, since alcohol was hard to come by these days–but at least there was a little cream in there to help smooth out the flavor.
The room she waited in was monumental. Tall enough to give the cyborgs clearance with their arms in the air, and the footprint large enough for two of them to lay head to foot in either direction. It would have taken her more than a minute to sprint to the other side.
But for now, she was alone, save for a video camera in each corner. The silence was unnerving. She took another drink.