The corridor was dark and damp. Moss grew on surfaces that hadn't seen sunlight in years, and it had become a home for all sorts of crawling things that loved the gloom.
The silence was suddenly broken by the sound of footsteps.
The clack of tall boots on the floor echoed down the empty corridor.
"Sir, he's inside."
"Understood." The voice that replied was deep and cold, without a trace of emotion.
Then came the creak of a large door opening. The footsteps approached, finally stopping at an iron door.
The observation hatch on the door slid open. Inside, in the center of the damp room, a middle-aged male with graying hair was tied up.
His tailored suit was covered in stains, stripped of its former dignity.
The iron door opened. The bound male inside raised his head, making the pair of goat horns sprouting from his forehead stand out starkly.
