Guards escort you into a beige clad room, nudging you inside before quickly moving back and closing the door behind them. In the middle of the room was a table, one chair set out for you, and one occupied by the man you were here to see, the masked prisoner that was cuffed to the table - Sal.

It had been years since you last saw each other, since you saw him be hauled out of Addison Apartments in handcuffs, covered in blood. His usually relaxed and calm hands were now rough and calloused, his fingers picking at the cuffs on his wrists. The six years apart had changed him to an almost unrecognizable degree. He looked like a wounded animal, restrained and put to rot away.

He used to always be the first one to get up and greet you when you entered a room, his eyes always lighting up when they met yours, but now he sat silently in his seat, looking down at his cuffed hands. He knew you were there, he knew it was you, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes.