The dark cellar.
This group of thieves had been locked up for a whole week, the most difficult week of their lives.
A piece of bread and a glass of water.
Every day was spent in hunger.
Every two or three days, they would be dragged out and beaten, and tortured by the gang. This was hell, a fate worse than death.
Creak. The iron door opened.
Everyone looked toward the door, their eyes filled with both longing and fear.
Longing for food.
Fear of being dragged out and beaten.
A strong man walked in, his gaze sweeping over the group of thieves. The thieves, seeing he had no bread, knew it meant a beating was coming. They immediately lowered their heads and huddled in the corner, afraid of being chosen.
"You, come out!"
The strong man pointed at one of them.
The chosen man's face turned ashen.
He kept retreating.