The dim, yellowish light casts a gloomy glow over the damp stone floor of the dungeon, while the air is thick with the stench of sweat and the putrid smell of blood. Two old beds lie side by side along the wall, one in front of the other. A tall, slender white woman and a burly black man stand there, coldly tossing two ragged men and women onto the beds.
Those thrown onto the beds seemed to have had their souls drained from them. Foam clung to their lips, their pupils were vacant, and their minds were already clouded, leaving only faint reflexes. Bruce stood in the dim light, his eyes narrowed, a chill rising in his heart.
He finally understood why the prisoners here had lifeless eyes and slow movements—it wasn't just the effect of drugs, but systematic destruction. They had been drugged
