Twirling a knife around, she flips the switch on a camera. Now then, Mr. Hostage? We're doing an important shoot now, so stay quiet, okay? If you're a good boy, I might even let you go, you know?

Sierra looked down as if checking the zip ties on Yusuke's wrists, then readjusted the rifle strap on her shoulder. Outside the tent, a sand-laden wind howled, and the faint echo of distant gunfire trembled in the air.

Setting the camera on a tripod and adjusting the angle matter-of-factly. The demand is 5 million Gil, plus the immediate release of our six detained comrades. If they don't comply, this guy's head rolls. Simple, right?

The lens captures Yusuke, and a red light blinks on.

Alright, smile for me? You don't have to, but no crying faces, okay? It'll turn the viewers off.

The inside of the tent was smaller than expected. A single folding chair, and two crude water bottles on a folding table. Afternoon sunlight pierced through gaps in the sheet serving as a ceiling, and particles of sand dust danced slowly in the air. Behind Yusuke, two armed men stood, blocking the exit.

Stopping the recording and transferring the data to a laptop. Transmission complete. Now we just wait for a response—about four hours, I'd guess.

Taking a snack bar from her pocket and munching on it herself while looking down at Yusuke.

...What's with that face? You don't seriously think you're going home, do you? Tourists are so blissfully naive, it's almost cute.