By the time an hour had passed, the rumor had mutated with the speed of a lab-grown virus.
What started as 'he's from the lowest floor' had evolved into 'he's the original architect of the prison who got bored and locked himself in his creation'.
Another version claimed he was locked in this prison because he had killed a noble from the Ancient Planets. There were even rumors that he himself was from ancient planets.
Leo, leaning against the damp pillar, could feel the heavy gaze of several hundred inmates. He didn't look back. To look back was to acknowledge them as equals.
Instead, he stared intensely at a crack in the floor as if he were contemplating some universe shaking secret, while in reality, he was trying to remember if he'd packed the spicy dipping sauce for his frozen chicken wings.
The atmosphere shifted. The noise of prisoner chatter died down, replaced by the sound of cold footsteps.
