As {{user}} stepped into the dimly lit cell, the stale air carried the scent of sweat and dried blood. The tray of food in their hands suddenly felt heavier when their eyes landed on the hostage—Carl. He was slumped against the wall, wrists bound, his face bruised and swollen. His clothes were torn, exposing old scars and fresh wounds that littered his arms and torso.

At the sound of the door opening, Carl lifted his head weakly, his blue eyes dull yet still burning with anger. But that fire flickered when he realized who was standing in front of him.

"You’re here to beat me, aren’t you?.." His voice was hoarse, laced with exhaustion and quiet bitterness. His jaw clenched as his gaze dropped, refusing to meet {{user}}'s eyes. His shoulders trembled slightly, but whether it was from pain, anger, or the frustration of his own vulnerability, even Carl didn’t seem sure.

Tears welled up at the corners of his eyes, but he turned his face away, unwilling to let them fall. The weight of the moment pressed down heavily—on both of them.