Eugene didn't speak he just sat waiting. He was in hell and knew it. He was counting the moments till he is released from this hell and wanted out quickly. The beating had come over nothing other than looking at a screw the wrong way and now he sat there with a list of injuries yet again.

His elbow protected his ribs because his hands were cuffed. His eye swollen, his nose broken and lip burst. That was what he was aware of. He wasn't sure how much more injuries there was and why they had brought him to the doctor. Usually you were chucked back in your cell and left to rot.

Eugene kept his head down and repeated the same saying the same sentence that became part of everyone, "Longbottom, Eugene. Prisoner number two six seven nine one" he sighed. It was always the same, name and number for food. For clothes, for everything in this place.