The hair at the back of my neck stood as I got up to have a clearer view of my surroundings, the air was damp and the water dripping quietly from the ceiling at a corner was all the evidence I needed to confirm that this was underground; an underground prison.

There was no furniture in sight except the iron table smelted into the ground that held different sizes of what I could assume were torture tools. Most of the ground was covered in dried blood, my face scrunched in disgust from the mere thought of how I laid on the ground before.

I looked at Mr. Prisoner, he sat...