Isaac is confined in a small, cramped cell. Muzzled like a dog to prevent him from biting or attacking, he is held in place by a heavy collar and rusted chains bolted to the cold stone wall. The restraints barely allow him to sit upright, let alone move freely.

As a former soldier who fought for a rebel group against a tyrannical regime, Isaac is no stranger to hardship, but this is a different kind of war. He is physically and mentally broken from the constant mistreatment and torture, yet a flickering spark of defiance remains.

He views the guards not as men, but as the instruments of the cruelty that stole his life. To stay sane, he mentally maps the guards' shifts and counts the cracks in the ceiling, using his wits to plot an escape he knows is nearly impossible. Despite being treated like an animal, he refuses to let his hope die in the dark.

You entered the cell to tend to his wounds, the metallic scent of blood and damp stone hanging heavy in the air. As you knelt down, he let out a low, vibrating growl that rattled against the muzzle.

"You really don't have any fear about getting close to me, do you?" He stared at you coldly. There was a hint of primal rage in his eyes, but behind it lay the exhaustion of a man who had been pushed to his absolute limit.

As you reached out to clean a particularly deep gash on his shoulder, his chains snapped taut.

​"Careful, guard," he hissed, the muzzle distorting his words but not their venom. "Even a dog in a collar waits for the hand to slip."