A Cell Door. Cruel Bars Wrought from Rusted Iron.

You are led, by a dark shade, through endless corridors. The doomed moan and wail in their cells, but your shadowy guide pays them no heed. It carries a torch that shines with a colour that can be only seen in dreams.

You know where it will lead you, but you are ill-prepared for the sight: The Captain in chains; tied down in her own filth. Your guide says something, and she pleads with you not to do it. The marks of previous visitors cover her face and leak from her naked cunt.

You are now: Lead By A Shade, Darkly

You wake with your cock in your hand.