Daniel struggled to his feet, his eyes bleary from lack of sleep as he stared at the grimy floor tiles. The relentless words, "...sentenced to three years' imprisonment under Part 1 of Article 228 of the Criminal Code of the Russian Federation..." still rang in his ears. The wheels of justice had ground him down, and Lady Justice had removed her blindfold, winking mockingly at his fragile, irrational hope. This hope had flared up intermittently, deep within his soul, childlike and persistent throughout the fleeting trial.

He sought validation in the face of his lawyer, Gennady, with his clean-shaven face, broad forehead and long nose. Everything about Gennady seemed washed out and nondescript, even his grayish-blond hair, which Daniel remembered was referred to as "mouse color" in Russia. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, Gennady inspired a deep trust in Daniel. It was this trust that sustained his hope, even as he searched for glimmers of humanity in the judge's narrow, indifferent eyes. But now, barely able to move, almost numb to his surroundings, Daniel felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness.

"We'll file an appeal as soon as possible. I've prepared all the necessary documents and will reach out to you once you've arrived at your destination," Gennady chose his words carefully, a delicate euphemism that Daniel, despite his bewildered state, appreciated.

"Time is of the essence, so let me give you some advice. Remember what I told you about surviving in prison? Avoid making eye contact until you've established your position within the local hierarchy. Speak quietly and directly about everything, as they likely already know a lot about you. Avoid the downgraded, don't touch their personal belongings. And also..." Gennady hesitated, carefully selecting his words. "You have a distinctive appearance, Daniel, so you'll be noticed right away. Try to sleep with something covering your face. If someone touches your face with their penis..."

"What?" Daniel sprang to attention, his heart pounding in his chest.

"If someone touches your face with their penis," Gennady repeated softly, clearing his throat and avoiding eye contact.

"You'll immediately join the ranks of downgraded. Anyone can take advantage of you, and you won't be able to refuse."

"Fuuuuuuck," Daniel exhaled heavily, trembling. "What else?"

"If it happens," Gennady raised his voice when Daniel opened his mouth indignantly to object. "I say 'if', then I suggest you go to the shot caller - remember what I said about prison terminology? That's the boss, the leader. And ask for protection."

"You're just..." Daniel inhaled sharply, torn between rage and indignation. "You're talking directly about..."

"Yes," Gennady said harshly. "You stand out too much, Daniel, to go unnoticed in a place where attractive people are rare. That's why I felt it my duty to warn you. You'll be constantly provoked, as you have no influential contacts or important connections to protect you. You'll be hunted like an animal - I won't sugarcoat it, I'll say it plainly."

"It's time for you to go," the escort intervened, addressing Gennady, and he asked a little ingratiatingly.

"A couple more minutes, please. I'll just escort him to the truck and then I'll leave."

The guard shrugged indifferently, allowing the indulgence, and Gennady spoke faster.

"Daniel, don't interrupt again. You'll be targeted - all attractive inmates are targeted, and not all of them can defend themselves. You lack fighting skills - real fights without rules, no connections, so you'll be the easiest prey. And you'd be better off seeking protection directly from the shot caller than going through the humiliating and brutal process of being downgraded. It's gang rape, Daniel! Try to understand the situation and choose the best..."

"Enough!" Daniel spat out with disgust. "I don't want to hear about it! Thanks for the advice about covering my face in your sleep, but the rest... I can handle it, don't treat me like I'm completely defenseless. How long did you say the appeal process would take?"

"Three months," Gennady answered dryly. "And it's not certain that it will even be considered, given a certain person's reluctance to release you early."

"By that time, he may forget about me," Daniel said, growing increasingly anxious about the future. "Please do your best to get me out of there as soon as possible."

"I'll do my best," Gennady said without much enthusiasm, stopping in front of the truck. "Good luck, Daniel."

"Thank you," Daniel looked pensively into the dim beige grated interior of the truck and froze - it seemed as if his whole life would end when he went in there. But he was prodded to get inside, and Daniel, biting his lip, glanced fearfully at the gloomy Gennady and entered.

Before being sent to the N zone, Daniel had hardly slept at all, running through Gennady's numerous pieces of advice in his mind and regretting that he hadn't paid full attention, hoping he wouldn't have to use them. To look at the floor instead of meeting people's eyes, not to touch other people's belongings, especially personal items, not to touch the downgraded in fights even if provoked, to defend himself by kicking back, to speak directly and confidently, to cover his face when sleeping, to sleep lightly to stay alert for potential attacks.

How long could he last without a full night's sleep? Daniel sighed, realizing that Gennady was right - he wouldn't last long. If only he knew how to fight - now he regretted not taking up martial arts in school. Daniel ran his cold fingers over his face, wishing he hadn't been born so handsome. If he'd been average-looking or even unattractive, Alexander wouldn't have paid him any attention, and the inmates wouldn't have seen him as an object for sexual exploitation.

Once he had valued his appearance, seeing it as an asset, whether it was with a professor at the university or a pretty girl. But now, his natural good looks had become a curse, reducing him to the lowest caste, practically turning him into a commodity.

In the morning, Daniel barely managed to eat the tasteless porridge made from unidentifiable grains, overcoming a slight nausea caused by sleep deprivation and anxiety. He walked obediently down the narrow corridor, realizing with a sinking feeling that a much worse ordeal lay ahead of him than the one he had endured during the trial, and not feeling the necessary confidence that he would be able to cope.

The guard, pressing his massive boots hard into the ceramic floor, led the way to the first floor, but instead of guiding him to the truck, he suddenly grabbed his elbow, stopping him, opened the door, and pushed Daniel carelessly into the room. Daniel blinked - the unexpectedly bright sunlight, intensified by the electric light, for a moment blinded him after the dimly lit corridor. And then he stiffened with dread, clutching his handcuffed fists behind his back as Alexander's smirking face approached him.

"You've shrunk," Alexander remarked instead of a greeting. "But still handsome, I've never seen anyone more handsome than you, Danny. Did you enjoy my treat?"

"No," Daniel grumbled fiercely, dropping the now unnecessary polite address. "Have you come to revel in my humiliation?

"Wrong," Alexander hummed, studying him closely. "I've come to see what you've chosen."

"What?" Daniel, who had been preparing to hurl a profanity-laced insult at him, choked, his eyes widening.

"You heard me right," Alexander said, coming uncomfortably close, the expensive scent of a life of luxury wafting from him. "I think a month in that hellhole should have been enough for you to choose me over prison. If you become mine, I'll drop all charges and let you walk free. To me," Alexander's voice faltered slightly, and he reached out to touch Daniel's cheek, but Daniel jerked away in revulsion.

"You're insane," Daniel spat out the words, his voice filled with pure hatred. "You put me in here, accused me of crimes I didn't commit, and now you expect me to go back to you? No chance! I'll get out of here eventually, and I'll prove that I was wrongfully imprisoned..."

"You won't prove anything to anyone," Alexander cut him off sharply, his jaw clenched tightly. "And you're a fool if you chose prison over me. With your looks, you'll be a target there, idiot! Don't you get it?"

Daniel shook at the thought, his breath coming in short gasps, but he replied firmly, relishing the impotent anger evident on Alexander's handsome face.

"Everyone but you, asshole. At least you won't get me."

Alexander flared up, his face reddening in anger. He glared angrily at Daniel, his eyes narrowing, and hissed.

"We'll see what tune you're singing in a few months. I'll overlook your words for now; you still naively believe you can turn this situation around. But I'm sure you'll soon be begging me to take you in, on your knees. And I'll think about whether to take you back."

Unable to bear it any longer, Daniel spat, but Alexander skillfully dodged it, and the saliva landed on his dark green cashmere sweater rather than his face. Alexander looked down in shock, wrinkled his nose in disgust, then shoved Daniel aside, opened the door, and shouted to the escort.

"Take him away!"

Daniel regretted spitting as he lay in the prisoner transport car, on the hard upper bunk with nothing to cover him, under the silent rattle of the train. He should have limited himself to words, not sinking to Alexander's animalistic level, emphasizing that even in his dire situation, Daniel had not lost his poise and dignity. Yet, this brief moment gave Daniel some relief: it snapped him out of his stupor, bolstered his resolve to keep fighting, and dulled the nervous fear of the looming ordeal.

Regardless of what awaited him, he wouldn't give Alexander the satisfaction of his compliance. He would eventually be released, return to the United States, find journalists, and expose everything without holding back - tarnishing Alexander's reputation in the process. Daniel tried not to dwell on how he would live with a ruined career and a criminal record. He would tackle those problems as they came; right now, distant career prospects were clearly not his primary concern.

The room was pitch-black and stiflingly hot, as one would expect in an airtight space filled with people. Sleeping inmates snored, some shifted restlessly, and others cried softly - likely experiencing prison for the first time. These sounds blended with the rhythmic clatter of the train tracks, creating a heavy cacophony that didn't inhibit thought but was nonetheless unsettling.

His muscles, worn out from lying on the hard surface, were already protesting. Daniel felt a rising sense of claustrophobia, a sensation he'd never experienced before. But then again, he'd never been confined in a sealed car packed with criminals. The oppressive heat, thick with the smell of bodies, made him thirsty, but the water in the tin container had run out hours ago. Daniel dismissed the thought, knowing it would be futile to ask for more. Doing so would only disturb the others, possibly leading to trouble for him, and he wouldn't receive any water. He'd witnessed such interactions in the detention center and was glad he hadn't tried to appeal to the guards himself.

This approach was what he would maintain in the prison: observe, remain silent, and keep a low profile to find his way towards freedom with minimal damage.