inanoakuma

It’s dark. Not so much that he can’t see his own feet in front of him, but enough so that he feels highly disoriented as he’s lead down the corridor. There’s dripping of water somewhere; he picks it up, turns his head in the direction of it, but a hand pushes at the back of his head so hard he’s forced to once more fix his gaze to what is in front of him. His feet feel numb by the cold of the asphalted floor underneath his steps. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been leading him to his cell, but it feels like an eternity of picking up ominous sounds, screams and kicks to the doors to the cells they