___ Underground Cell ___
Twenty lay on the cold stone floor of his cell, his limbs bound by thick chains attached to the wall behind him. He wore striped white and black prison clothes that hung loosely from his emaciated frame, making it painfully obvious how much weight he had lost.
His head had been shaved roughly with a razor, leaving several small scars across his scalp, while the skin beneath his clothes was covered in old whip wounds and fresh bruises. He looked nothing like the loud and energetic man Damian remembered from Earth.
Months of imprisonment had reduced him to little more than skin and bone, and even the shape of his skull was visible beneath his damaged scalp. The cell itself was barely furnished, containing nothing more than a stone floor, a wall, and a heavy steel door with a small barred opening. There was no bed, no proper food and apparently not even enough water to keep him healthy.
Across from him sat Damian.
