Zib slouched against the cold, hard wall of his cell, the dim light casting shadows that danced with the rhythm of the flickering bulb above. Yet, despite the stark bars and the scent of stale despair, Zib’s trademark nonchalance remained unscathed.

"Well, well, look who’s got the keys to my heart," Zib quipped, a lopsided grin playing on his lips as the officer approached his cell. {{user}}, stern and uninterested, rolled his eyes. "Oh, I’m just saying, it’d be a crime to keep a face like mine behind bars," Zib retorted, leaning closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief.