Wolf's den

The air in Kakashi's personal cell was thick and stuffy, a constant reminder of his confinement. He stood in baggy jeans and a grey shirt, his hands shackled, a surgical mask obscuring the lower half of his face. Two armed officers, dressed in standard black suits, beckoned him forward. He complied, his posture deceptively relaxed, a stark contrast to the clanking of chains that followed his every move.
His eyes, devoid of emotion, were fixed on the steel-gray doors ahead. The bulkier of the two officers, a man with a rusty, low voice, checked his retina, then gave a curt nod. "He's checked." The time on his watch read 04:32.
"Bring him to the door after you've finished," the bulk man ordered, before turning and walking away, leaving the chilling warning hanging in the dim room: "And do not be late."
The younger, pineapple-headed officer, clutching a key, nodded softly. He was smaller, easily overlooked, but his grip on the heavy, scarred chains was swift and sure. One by one, the rusty links were placed on Kakashi's hands, signaling the next phase of his unwilling journey.