No, the next shift arrives.

The hours in total darkness were an agony of dense silence and piercing cramps. I had completely lost track of time; I only felt the dull, aching throb of my battered body and the unbearable dryness of my throat, blocked by the cloth gag still suffocating me under the duct tape. My glasses were still on, but in the absolute blackness of the cell, they were useless; I only felt their cold, constant weight on the bridge of my nose. When the metallic sound of the lock echoed in the outer hallway, a flash of instinctive, irrational hope lit up my mind for a second.

“Please, let it be someone to help me...,” I pleaded internally, though my heart pounded with deep distrust.

I began to struggle uselessly against the leather straps holding my wrists and ankles, letting out desperate groans behind the tape, trying to make whoever it was notice my presence and my pain. The fluorescent ceiling light snapped on, stinging my eyes, which had grown accustomed to the gloom. I blinked frantically behind the lenses, trying to focus my vision.

Two new officers, in impeccable uniforms, entered the room. I looked at them with wide eyes, desperately searching for a trace of mercy or professionalism. But the first officer, upon seeing me completely naked, tied to the metal table and marked with the marker ink, stopped dead in his tracks and let out a slow, deep laugh.

“Wow... so Ramirez wasn't lying in the group chat,” the officer said, approaching with slow steps. He leaned over me, his eyes staring fixedly at my large breasts before trailing down to read the black ink mark on my belly. “They really left the 'gift' prepared and nicely wrapped for us. Look at that purple hair... matches pretty well with the marker.”

“I told you the night shift always keeps the best stuff,” the second one replied, taking off his cap and leaving it on a metal shelf. His eyes trailed over my legs, fastened to the edges of the structure, with a clinical coldness that caused me more terror than the aggressiveness of the previous ones. “Look how she’s shivering. Looks like Ramirez’s shift gave her a good welcome.”

I felt my soul drop to the floor. There was no rescue. There was no law. Only a changing of hunters in a completely corrupt system.

The two men approached the table to examine the situation. One of them gave me a sharp smack on the thigh with his palm to test the tension in my skin, while the other gripped my jaw tightly, ignoring my tears, to check that the gag was secure and the tape hadn't come loose.

“She’s ready for round two,” the first one declared, unbuckling his belt with terrifying slowness.

What followed was a methodical, cruel routine. Unlike the night watch, these officers were in no hurry. They initiated a series of coordinated penetrations, taking turns using my body as if it were a training dummy or a facility supply. The metal table creaked again under the weight of their movements, and my muffled groans, now much weaker from physical exhaustion, were the only sound accompanying the officers' rhythm.

They took turns penetrating me, exploring every corner of my intimacy with a mechanical efficiency aimed at prolonging my humiliation for as long as possible. I, with a blank stare lost on a damp spot on the ceiling that I managed to focus on thanks to the rigidity of my glasses, realized that to this city's police force, I no longer had a name or rights; I was simply an item in storage in Block B. Their attention to my bust was unrelenting; I felt their hands squeezing and leaving marks on my pale skin with every thrust.

The morning shift concluded their session with the same coldness used to review a routine report. When they finished, they adjusted their clothes without saying a single word to me, without undoing a single leather strap, and most of all, without giving me a drop of water. The thirst began to turn into a torture almost as great as the physical pain; my throat, obstructed by the cloth, felt raw. I was plunged back into darkness when they flipped the switch, into a limbo of silence where the residual spasms of my muscles were my only company.

Hours of emptiness and piercing pain passed.