Yep, once again Dirk was screwed. Cosmic fate had dealt him a sucky hand for what seemed like the umpteenth time. He could plainly hear the boots pound the ground as that lard-o night guard came lumbering towards them. Enough possum. Dirk started to quickly sit up. He got about five centimeters from the floor when the hand covering his mouth prevented him from going any further. Whoever this dude is, Dirk thought, He must have steel rods for bones and carbon fiber for muscles. He had never encountered such strength, not even from those goons guarding that Ganga shrine.
Dirk looked upwards. With the light seeping from the door, he could almost properly see his rescuer, or substitute captor; Dirk hadn't made up his mind on that one yet. The man's head was turned towards the sound of the guard coming down the hallway. Dirk seriously hoped this guy could fight. If not, at least he would get a potential cellmate out of the ordeal. Dirk wondered if the man liked chess.
In one fast, efficient motion, the man in black silently scooped Dirk up off the floor and pinned him against the wall, all the while never removing his other hand from Dirk's mouth. Dirk saw the faceless head turn towards him. Again, the black man's finger rose in front of where his mouth should have been and silently told Dirk to be quiet. Dirk nodded vigorously. The man regarded Dirk for a few more seconds, removed his hand from Dirk's mouth, and spun right next to him, pressing himself flat against the wall.