[Scene] - Vacancy

You: You awaken to find yourself in a prison cell. It is small and dingy, just large enough for the hanging slab of your prison bed, room enough to pace back and forth between the window and the bars of the cell, and the mess bucket in the corner. Unlike every other time you wake up here, the adjacent cells around you are absolutely quiet. What do you do?

Stranger: Sitting up from the bed, my shoulder aching, I scan the room. The stench of mould hangs in the room. I walk over to the bars of the cell, trying to decipher where I actually was, and if there were any other people here.

Stranger: shoulders**

You: You look out past the bars of your cell and into the darkened Prison surrounding it. The familiar faces you were accustomed to seeing at a distance were missing, their cells vacant and untouched, and the iron of your own bars are warm against your skin. As soon as you put any weight on the bars connected to the door of your cell, it lurches with a grind of metal against metal, and swings the rest of the way open out into the walkway of the floor.

Stranger: (question- is this the first day I've been in the cell?

You: You have been in this cell for a number of weeks bordering into a number of months, though time has largely become meaningless in the unstructured chaos of this particular prison making it impossible to tell exactly how long it's been.

Stranger: I frown, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Where were the people? I push the cell door open, the grind of surface on surface piercing my ears. I winced, stepping out, looking up and down the rows of cells. My stomach growled- I was starving.

Stranger: (What am I wearing?)

Stranger: (What am I wearing?)

You: Stepping out into the pathway outside of your cell, your bare feet meet the grated metal and you feel the unnatural warmth of it against your skin. Even the cells beside you are emptied, their doors still shut steadfast, and peering down from your level of the Prison to the floor below you and the ground floor offers you no companionship; the Prison is hauntingly empty.

You are wearing tatter prisoner's robes, a tunic cinched at the waist with heavy chains that are used to connect manacles and shackles to for transport- locked at your lower back with a simple padlock, cotton pants that end just above the ankle, and cloth wraps on your hands and feet to fight against the normally frigid temperatures of the Prison itself.

When your stomach growls you take the initiative to start the familiar path towards the cafeteria and the kitchen. It's strange to walk the twisting staircases without a Guard at your front leading you, but you make your way there with little trouble past rows and rows of empty cells. Once you enter the cafeteria, you see that the tables have been overturned and the main 'hall' has been ransacked. Cloth banners that once hung against the stone walls lay shredded and torn and splintered wood dusts the floors. The door to the kitchen, something normally guarded, is partially ajar, as is the guard checkpoint to the west of it.

Stranger: Seeing the prison allegedly abandoned, I decided to take advantage of this and scout out some food, to satisfy my hunger. Noticing the kitchen door open, I quickly scuttle towards the door, my heartbeat quickening. I had a sinking feeling I was going to be caught- maybe that was due to my prisoner 'mindset', I was used to looking out for guards. Placing my skinny, pale, skeletal hands against the door, I pushed it open and the door scratched against the floor. I peeked in, glancing back behind me.

You: The kitchen itself is immaculate despite the chaos of the cafeteria hall. There are a number of large, stone ovens and long wooden tables for preparation areas. The tables have various tools and utensils chained to them to prevent the prison cooks from absconding with an errant butcher's knife or wooden spoon. Despite the still quiet of the prison, there is the day's lunch-time meal sitting mostly finished towards the western front of the kitchen where it borders into the cafeteria through half-barred windows, rice steaming in large wooden bowls and low-end slabs of meat roasted and ready for cutting into prisoner portions.

Towards the eastern wall is the Guard Office, a small cove with a desk, chair, and cabinet behind a small barred window for the guards to watch the ongoings of the kitchen. To the north of the kitchen, towards its back wall, is a troubling sight; a smear of dark, ruby-red paints the cobblestone and vanishes behind one of the ovens.

Stranger: (Is this dark ruby-red blood?)

You: As far as you can tell, the smear is blood- quite a lot of it.

Stranger: I pick up on the food laying idly on the counter, and I jump at the chance, my stomach flipping in excitement. That was more food I had received my whole stay here, although I had lost track of time. I rush forward towards the food, however my eyes widen. Noticing the blood smear towards the back, I freeze, a gasp stuck in my throat. It was almost as though I didn't want to approach any further, my paranoia kicking in. I was mistrustful this whole thing was a setup. Was I dreaming? No. It was true. Cautiously, I shuffled to the food, scooping up rice into my palms greedily, my hands shaking- I would be eating well today. I sliced the, helpfully, roasted meat into chunks to eat, chewing quickly. The eerie silence was worrying. Thinking on my feet, as I couldn't waste the food, I used a knife, leaning forwards to slice a section of my tunic off. I rip it off and create a little pouch, folding the meat and some rice into the material. Hesitantly, I stepped back, now looking to investigate the blood stain.