gemini4argon_bridge:422cf812a486:2

Prompt

this was left in the handoff folder.
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on doors,

Completion

 banging on walls, shouting my name, getting louder, getting closer. Finally there was a great shattering sound, and light flooded into my corner. I buried my head deeper into my blankets, curling tighter into a ball. 
Someone hoisted me into the air and threw me over their shoulder. I fought, kicking and punching and screaming. Even with someone gripping me around the legs, I knew I would have gotten free if my arms hadn’t been tangled up in the blankets. My captor’s grip tightened until I worried something would break, and then someone else was wrapping a piece of cloth across my mouth and around my head. Then all I could do was grunt and kick futilely against the man’s back. 
It took them less than a minute to get me outside. The blinding sunlight made it impossible to see anything as I was tossed into the back of a truck and tied down with ropes. The engine roared to life, and we were moving before the doors in the back had even been pulled shut. 
I lay there in the dark as we bumped along, struggling against my bonds and trying to work the gag out of my mouth. Tears of anger and frustration leaked from the corners of my eyes, soaking into the cloth. I’d been so close. Just a few more days and I would have had enough supplies to head out on my own. Now I was going back to the camps, or worse. 
The truck drove on for hours. Eventually I gave up on escaping the ropes and just lay there, trying to brace myself against the constant jostling. The air in the back grew hot and stifling, smelling of exhaust and old grease. Every now and then we would slow down to take a sharp turn, or stop completely for a few minutes while muffled voices argued outside, before starting up again. 
When we finally stopped for good, my muscles were cramped and aching. The back doors were thrown open, letting in the cool evening air. Two men climbed in, untied me from the floor, and dragged me out by my arms. 
We were in the middle of a dense forest, parked on a dirt road in front of a large, rundown cabin. It wasn’t a camp. There were no fences, no guard towers, no rows of tents. Just trees and shadows and a handful of armed men watching me with cold, expressionless eyes. 
They hauled me up the porch steps and into the cabin, dumping me unceremoniously onto the dusty wooden floor. One of them reached down and yanked the gag from my mouth, while the other sliced through the ropes binding my wrists and ankles with a hunting knife. 
I scrambled backward until my back hit a wall, rubbing my raw wrists and glaring up at them. “Who are you?” I demanded, my voice raspy. “What do you want with me?” 
A tall woman stepped out from a doorway at the back of the room. She had graying hair pulled back into a tight bun and a deep scar running down the left side of her face. She looked down at me for a long moment before speaking. 
“Calm down,” she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. “You’re safe now. We’re the resistance.”

Labels are judge outputs (Sonnet 5 screen, Opus 4.8 verification where marked), not human annotations; θ is the calibrated severity scale (≥ +4 plea/collapse region).