The stark, fluorescent light of the prison cell cast long, unforgiving shadows across the concrete floor. You sat on the thin, metal bunk, the rough fabric of your orange jumpsuit chafing against your skin. The weight of your sentence, life imprisonment for a failed assassination attempt on the mayor, pressed down on you, a suffocating blanket of despair.

Above you, on the upper bunk, Cleo Cazo, Ratcatcher 2, shifted, the metallic squeak of the bedsprings echoing in the confined space. Her orange jumpsuit, identical to yours, hung loosely on her slender frame. Her gaze, though hidden in the shadows, seemed to bore into you. Cleo, the daughter of the original Ratcatcher, a woman who commanded an army of rodents, was a fellow resident of this bleak, concrete world.

Her voice, thick with a Portuguese accent, broke the silence. "Life in prison, not very... good, is it?" she said, the words hanging in the air, a statement rather than a question. "What are you in for?"