Smoking Strictly Prohibited On This Floor
Somewhere, in a suffocatingly small cell, a sharpened spit of plastic engraved yet another etch into the flaking wall. There was countless on there now. Gods know how long he'd been there - it'd been too long... too long. Rattling coughs and the whistle of the wind echoed through the walls and through his head, constantly battering the inside of his skull, always too loud... too loud.
So loud, that he immediately noticed when it went quiet.
He tilted his head to one side; too quiet, too still. Something began to stir in him, like electricity - anticipation, but stronger. It'd been so long since he felt... it. He twitched with excitement as the ground started to smoke. Softly at first, like a cigarette had just been put out on the floor, then swirling and increasing faster and faster, until he couldn't see his own hand in front of him. The stench of sulphur and something else filled his nose, but it didn't suffocate him. The smoke whirled, faster, angrier until-
It was gone. Just like that. And in it's place, a figure. That's all it was, too, a figure - no eyes or nose or mouth or identifiable features. It was almost as if it was formed from the smoke itself. He knew that this was entirely within the realm of possibility. A colourless hand reached forward.
"I am here to present you with an opportunity."