As Draven followed the line of inmates, he couldn't help but hear the whispers and taunts directed at him. "Fresh meat, huh? Let's see how long he lasts in here," one inmate sneered. "I bet he won't make it through the week," another added, their voices filled with malice.
As he climbed down the stairs, Draven's grip tightened on the railing, trying to block out the threatening words echoing around him. Finally, he reached an empty table and sat on the cold metal bench, keeping his head low but his senses sharp. He hoped that whoever had sent the message would recognize him and come forward.
Time passed, and the tension in the air grew. Suddenly, a group of menacing thugs approached his table. They were a sight to behold, with bulging muscles, tattoos covering their arms and faces, and cold, cruel eyes that showed no mercy. Their leader, a towering man with a scar running down his cheek, had a reputation for his brutal nature and violent tendencies.
