Napoleon was taken to the next white-washed building, stripped of his khakis and footwear; they were replaced with a filthy grey shirt and pants, but no shoes… it was a prisoner’s uniform.
He was led into a darkened room and hefted into the air by the guards; draping the chains on his wrist manacles to a hook in the ceiling. When he was let go, a grunt was forced out of him as his body dropped, putting all his weight on his arms.
He dangled there for several minutes, tightening his jaw as he acclimated to feeling of being a strung up side of beef. Blood began to trickle down his arms from his wrists as the shackles cut into his skin. It was then he noticed the walls and floor were spattered with what looked like dried blood; not the most welcoming of sights.
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