The smell of death and blood hangs in the air like a thick blanket. It’s suffocating. There are no windows, and it would have been pitch black in here if it wasn’t for the flickering fluorescent lights above my head. It’s cold. Too cold. A shiver runs down my spine. I had not noticed before, but the biting cold cement floor makes me realise that I’m barefoot.
Chains rattle.
I stop in my tracks, and my heart sinks to my stomach as I take in the sight before me: humans, about a dozen of them, are suspended in the air, their bare feet not touching the floor; they are held in place by chains hanging from the ceiling. Their clothes are torn and dirty, bite marks decorating their skins just like the prisoner. Some of them are conscious, tugging at the chains around their wrists. Some of them
