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The Man:

Pain ran through his body as he jerked awake, chains rattling above him as he settled down onto his back. Sticky liquid ran down his raised arms, leaving red trails on his dirty arms. Sharp metal cut into his wrists and sent shocks of pain through his weak body. He breathed as deeply as he could in through his nose and out his dry mouth. His chest barley moved, leaving his body tired and weak. His hands were numb from where the metal cut into his wrists and his arms dangled above his face. The wet liquid slowly dripping onto his face, leaking into his mouth to leave the unpleasant taste of copper. His mind was blank as he tried to think of where he was. When he was. Whenever he tried to move the chains above him tightened and his body screamed in protest. The room was unusually lit. A small window-like whole high in the concrete wall to the left of him let in a stream on mid-day light that fell on the man’s stomach. His feet scraped one wall and when he painfully craned his head back as far as he could he could make out the outline of a door.

His mind was running a blank; no thoughts, only tiny memories that seemed so distant he wasn’t entirely sure they were his. Puzzling images of faces, guns and cars. He squeezed his eyes shut; trying to block out the disturbing pictures.

His mouth was so dry he didn’t dare call out. He wasn’t sure he was capable of sound anymore. The man was positive he was alone in his small cell, but out of nowhere he heard breathing. He darted his head to the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of what had made the noise, but saw nothing. The breathing continued while the man looked widely about the room. When his eyes locked on the door behind him he stopped. Straining his hearing he heard it; slow, steady breathing.

Even though the man was without help in his cell, he was not alone.