Grud.

The air felt cold on his skin. His head pounding, tongue numb in his mouth. It was hard to even tell if he was upright or prone. But sensation came to him slowly, and he realised he'd been propped up against something.

Dredd. Rico. Street judge. Serial number six eight-

Wait. Lets not get ahead of himself. Why the hell did he feel cold on his skin?

Rico snaps his eyes open, behind his familiar tinted visor, and he's in a new place he doesn't recognise. A small room stripped of anything important, pipework in the metal walls. A low, humming sound that permeates the entire place, feeling the vibrations in the soles of his feet. Looks like the helmet was all that they'd left him for whatever reason- stripped of the rest of his uniform and weapons.

He shifts his aching body, and freezes when he hears the clink of metal. And then, with a slow realization of dread, he looks over his shoulder to see what he's been handcuffed to. Or rather, who.

It was definitely not a particularly bumpy wall, that's for sure.