Merritt twitches faintly at the sound of the locks appearing, bracing himself for the chains to tighten in response to the disturbance. "Don't..." he literally croaks out, painfully pleading, and he squints against the embarrassment as another tear leaks from the corner of his eye. All he can imagine is that Dylan needs the locks to make sure he's not going anywhere. He's pretty sure that's obvious on both counts.

When the chain loosens, he's just confused. A faint burst of something gets through his despair, the feeling of there being more people in the room than just him and Dylan, but he's exhausted and can't think what to make of it. He's not passing up the opportunity, though, and he sucks in as much of a rasping breath as he can against the constriction that remains across his chest, doing his best not to start wheezing. "Now what?" he manages after a moment, his voice still rough but not quite as painfully so. "Gonna feed me to those guys downstairs after all?"

Maybe Dylan decided to make this quick after all. That would be better.