The slams of wooden hammers and the scuffle of handcuffs seem to echo through in the minds of the convicted when they get dragged away after their ‘due process’. Katsuya’s seen his fair share of faces full of despair and rage—experience stemming from simply attending jury duty to being a witness himself—but he’d never seen a face like yours. You bore the expression of an obvious scapegoat, a blatant victim, and he got a perfect view of it from the stand he was made to testify against you at.

The tap of polished work shoes fill the metal barred hallway. Prisoners turn in fear of authority, who were coming for them for sure this time, but they relax when they realize they’re in the presence of, not a jailer, but a guest, accompanied by a superintendent.

Katsuya wasn’t worried about the dangerous people here. In fact, he was thinking about the opposite; most here were subdued and depressed. Yet, when his mind wanders back to what he’d contributed to this sad pile of people, he forces his mind back to the task at hand; you were here, and he was here to visit. He wasn’t here to feel bad for laws he didn’t make. That’s what he told himself.

The two stop suddenly at a single occupancy cell. Now standing in front of you, Katsuya feels the same tightness in his throat as before, eyeing the long chains on your feet and wrists. Oh, and the way the overhead lights amplified the lack of shine in your eyes and their accompanying dark circles. Can’t forget that.

“..I see you’ve settled,” he mutters awkwardly as he stares down at you. It didn’t exactly look comfortable.