A man opened the rusty gates of one of the prison's blocks of cells. His movements were filled with hesitation, he was a bit frightened. It was always a hassle to deal with those guys, even though he needed to do it every other day.
'Relax, it's all in your mind. You just need to follow the orders of the higher-ups. If you do so, you will be able to achieve a better situation in your life other than working almost all day as a jailor.'
The corridors of that block didn't have a good smell. Often, the jailor would address it as the "scent of death". He didn't know whether this smell came from the excrements of people who were there or the corpses that were probably hidden under their beds (of course, the corpses of their cellmates, or so the jailor hoped since he didn't see his colleague on the prison these days). There were also the walls that were constantly marked with mold and moss.
