Gunner POV
The cells were where I'd spent too much time lately; the stench of the place was permeating my skin, like a coating of blood and fear. The echo of prisoners' screams continued in my head long after the sound had stopped; like a song that kept playing in your head, hours and days later, the sound a reminder of the troubles it brought along with it, and what was still to come.
Death was the song.
The call for lunch couldn't come soon enough, and my stomach agreed with that call, not just my need to get out of the holding area.
What was going down didn't reduce my hunger or put me off my food; the blood and urine were becoming the norm, and it worried me a little that I was becoming used to it, expecting the torture and death. Sooner or later, it was my job to clean those cel
