A stream of lightning bolts erupted from the man’s fingers, sending the prisoners writhing onto the floor in a seizure. It lasted for less than a second, but more than enough to demonstrate the consequences of defiance.

“Hands against the walls.” The man said for a third time, and most prisoners rushed to obey.

Those who were too slow or surprised to comply were punished with more lightning bolts, prodded like cattle until they behaved.

“Hold still.” The man extended his hand again, releasing a delicate jet of warm water.

Some screamed in fear and tried to escape. For them, the jet became violent and cold, nailing them to the wall until the panicked prisoners ceased their pointless struggle. Most, like Aryk, had lived long enough in the slums to learn the rules of that kind of game and stuck to the wall.

‘I don’t remember the last time I spent so long soaked in warm water.’ Aryk thought after he got used to the constant stream of warm water and relaxed his tense muscles.

“Remain still.” The man emitted a series of pulses of something that Aryk could only define as a black light from his hand.