It was all such a blur for him. There were a few moments where Carter faded in and out of consciousness, and he could vaguely recall a few words, loose threats. By the time he finally came back fully to consciousness, he could feel that he was sat upon a rather uncomfortable wooden chair. It creaked as he shuffled in place--was that one, or two cracked ribs? He couldn't quite be certain. His hands were tied behind his back, and he had a black hood on, constricting his vision. It seemed he was a prisoner, this time.
A door opens, and he could hear the scraping footsteps of a pair of boots. Three people, all likely male. One was heavy set, one old, and one light of foot. The one that was old walked toward him. Carter's hood is ripped off, the bright light overhead momentarily blinding him. As his eyes adjust, he sees that he was in a small room, with a single light hung a few feet over his head--keeping the focus on him, and giving the guards at the door plenty of ability to see him, without allowing him the favour of being able to see their faces.
The old man, on the other hand, was clearly visible. His wrinkled hands curl up into fists as he tilts Carter's head up by the chin, examining his injuries without much of a doctor's touch. "Tell me what I want to know, and I can ensure you'll be spared. Don't make this harder than it has to be. What is your name, and how do we get into The Coalition bunker with the least amount of suspicion?"