[Sora was captured sometime on Thursday night, brought into cell three with no shortage of fight on his behalf. The left side of his face is livid with bruises and a hairline cut has clotted dark blood above his eyebrow. The Sphere feed starts unnoticed by him; he's bunched up with his back against one of the cell walls, shaking hands on his knees. His right wrist is swollen up, puffy with a rainbow of blues, greens, and purples.

There is someone else in the cell, an amalgamation of shadows and ill will. The Sphere can't pick up what they are saying, but Sora can]

No. No, shut up. You're wrong. You're wrong. Shut up!

I did my best. I tried. Don't---don't say that about him; you can't say that about him. He wouldn't. He's okay.

[He scuffs his hands over his arms for warmth, a full-body shiver rippling through him. Sora looks around himself with wide, unfocused eyes---though if that's due to the concussion he very likely got when the security caught up with him or the sheer depth of the darkness around him it's anyone's guess]


It's so dark.