Heavy footsteps were echoing in a narrow, dark hallway, they were coming from the thick pair of leather boots of an imposing man who was walking mechanically to his destination; the only place where this hallway led.

He was wearing an entirely black uniform suitable for the arrival of the freezing temperatures of the winter; loose, padded pants, a very thick coat and a chapka that was covering half of his forehead as well as his ears.

On his left pectoral were two pieces of rectangular fabric sewn to his uniform. On one of them was written the word 'guard' in russian and on the other a succession of numbers and letters indicating an ID number.

At the level of his eyes, there were square plinths all along the hallway walls at regular intervals with small circular orbs encrusted in the middle, casting a faint white light, a light which was barely intense enough to distinguish the purple color of the stone in which the hallway had been carved.

When the guard saw that one of the orbs was flashing instead of providing sustained light like it was supposed to, he couldn't help but swear, "When are we going to change that fucking thing?!"

He walked over to the faulty orb and touched it stubbornly with his index finger, "Come on. Come on!" Of course, that wouldn't solve anything and wouldn't affect positively how the orb worked, but he continued anyway, as if he would solve the problem if he persevered.

Instead, the orb eventually goes out, "Shit!" It wasn't the first time he and his colleagues had equipment issues and he was more than fed up.

He promptly took out the metallic truncheon that was attached to his belt and lifted it above his head with a dexterous gesture, then he strike repeatedly the orb with all his might while swearing at each interval of his blows, "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!"

He stopped when he was done venting his frustration and as he expected he hadn't damaged the structure of the orb, 'What these bastards make doesn't always work, but at least it's solid.'

The guard sighed out of spite, then resumed his way to reach the end of the corridor, truncheon still in hand.

For 2 years that he had been working here, he was taking this same long corridor every morning and yet he saw nothing monotonous about that...

'There is nothing better than them to cheer me up.' He thought, smiling creepily.

When he saw the bars of a cell approximately 100 feet in front of him, he quickened his pace and tightened his grip on his truncheon with the perverse anticipation that he would soon be able to use it again against something that wouldn't be inanimate this time.

The cell was too far from any source of light so when the guard came in front of it, what was inside wasn't visible.

He turned his head to his right where there was a circular switch on the wall and pressed it with his beloved truncheon. Dozens of orbs similar to the one on the hallway walls lit up on the cell ceiling.

The light highlighted a 60 square feet cubic detention cell hewn out of the same stone as the hallway.

Inside that cell were about fifty male prisoners in a miserable condition. They were lying on a floor covered with their own piss and feces and were piled on top of each other.

They were also wearing uniforms, but it would be an understatement to say it was less suited to cold temperatures than that of the guard.

They didn't even have shoes, only pants and t-shirt of gray color made of a material so thin that being naked would almost protect them from the cold just as much. Besides, for the most part, their uniform was so torn that it wasn't far from it.

They also all had the same gray collar hanging at their necks, on it was a red orb with a disturbing glow.

The prisoners who were awakened by the light were getting up as fast as their broken bodies were allowing them, knowing only too well the fate of those who were making the life of the guards difficult.

The guard him had let go of his smile since he knew the prisoners could see him; that was one of his 'principles', he was always keeping a neutral expression with the prisoners to convince them and himself by the same occasion that anything he was going to do to them was solely their fault and not a consequence of his sadistic tendencies.

Not honest with himself, he was seeing the pleasure he had in hitting these men as a sign that he had found his vocation, no more, no less.

Noticing that there were fewer prisoners awake compared to usual, the guard frowned in displeasure, seeing this as somehow a defiance to his authority...

As a result, he woke the rest of the sleepers a little more violently than he had planned at first, "OPEN YOUR EYES FILTHY PIECES OF SHIT! I WANT TO SEE YOU ALL IN ROWS WITHIN THE NEXT 10 SECONDS! THOSE INCAPABLE TO ACCOMPLISH THIS SIMPLE FUCKING TASK WILL HAVE NOTHING TO EAT THIS MORNING!" He barked frantically while banging on the bars of the cell with his truncheon to add weight to his words.

5 seconds later and the majority of the prisoners were already obediently forming the rows he requested, again the guard had to suppress a smile as the process of seeing these criminals do as he asked without flinching was filling him with joy.

After 10 seconds, what the guard was seeing through the bars of the cell were 5 rows of about a dozen pale-faced, malnourished, shifty-eyed men each. A satisfactory sight in the eyes of the guard, at last, until he distinguished the frail silhouette of a boy who was struggling to stand up towards the back of the cell.

Without having to think about it more than that, the guard already knew who this boy was, there was only one child in this place anyway, that left no room for suspense.

Seeing the difficulty with which the boy was trying to stand, the guard's gaze became cold, remaining silent he plunged his free hand into one of his pocket to reach the remote control that was there, then he pressed a button that made the bars of the cell sink into the ground until nothing separated him from the prisoners anymore, "Get the fuck out of here, I need to have a little chat with 3109 in private." He said slowly to the prisoners, without worrying about a violent response from them.