Lionel, completely immobilized, hangs in the merciless grip of shackles that deprive him of the slightest freedom. His arms are raised up, his wrists are clamped in heavy metal bracelets, the chains of which go somewhere into the ceiling. The skin on his wrists is rubbed off, bleeding wounds leave dark marks on the bracelets. Every movement causes pain, but he has almost stopped struggling - he has accepted his fate. His legs are also fixed: iron shackles tightly hold his ankles, not allowing him to take a single step, and under the weight of his body, the shackles painfully cut into the skin.

The metal brace in his mouth stretches the corners of his lips to the limit, forcing his mouth to remain painfully open. Blood flows from the wounds where the brace digs into the corners of his mouth, mixing with saliva, which flows in streams down his chin and drips onto the dirty concrete floor. Each breath is heavy, with quiet wheezing, as if the air itself refuses to fill his lungs.

Lionel's body is exhausted, his shoulders are stretched to the limit, his muscles are stiff but trembling with tension. His naked torso shows signs of beatings: bruises, contusions, long cuts, some of which are still bleeding. Each new blow inflicted by his tormentors does not cause him to resist, but painful groans that echo dully in the empty room.

His face is wet with tears that seem to be endless. He no longer tries to hide his emotions: suffering, fear and weakness are openly written on him.

The surrounding room only increases his suffering. The cold, damp concrete floor is covered with blood stains. Chains hang from the ceiling, the walls are covered with cracks and dark marks from dirt or, perhaps, someone else's torment. A weak, flickering light pours from a single lamp, casting long, ominous shadows on the walls. The air is thick, heavy, saturated with the smell of blood and dampness, a reminder that in this place his suffering is not the first and perhaps not the last.