Domenico’s breath shook as he stepped inside the room. From the way noise echoed from its walls, Domenico assumed there was a high ceiling above him, but the floor itself was the size of a basketball field, with well-like cells organized into rows, with enough space to walk between them. Domenico swallowed hard, already knowing he couldn’t just let all those people out. There was a tank and bazookas out there. He couldn’t risk them all running ahead like suicidal ducks, straight underneath the wheels. What he needed was Mark, but with his voice trapped in his throat, he shone down one of the wells instead.

From the shadow of the bars, a squarish face emerged covered with so many bruises Dom couldn’t recognize the person’s gender. Wide-eyed, with strained muscles, the person, the young man inside yelled for help.