Hoskins is the only one who doesn't reel back from the sound. He winces, head lifting from the bars, but his expression is more exasperated than anything else. The screams of raptors... never less than chilling, but after a while, a guy just has to get used to it. He's heard worse.

"Relax, girl. Those chains have held wilder things than you."

There is very little scent to speak of, other than those belonging to the men in front of and surrounding her cage. But hers isn't the only one down here in this white dungeon. The surfaces are suspiciously clean, perhaps scrubbed with bleach. All of the cells have chains, all of them have heavy bars, but in hers the bars are twice as thick. The chains on her barely give her enough room to stand; any taller and she'd be choked if she tried. And the chains themselves are military grade, solid, high carbon steel, scratched to hell and retreated and scraped again; there are telltale scrapes around the bolts, as if they'd nearly been ripped off their hooks once and were then welded to the wall.

"You better relax." Hoskins leans in again, eyeing her with a look of calculating interest, among other things. "Get yourself all worked up in there and you'll only end up hurt. I want this whole experience to be painless, I really do. But you kids shouldn't have run off in the first place."

He draws back finally, gripping one of the bars and raising an eyebrow at her.

"You think InGen's just gonna let its property go?"