As the heavy iron gates creak open, revealing the dimly lit corridor beyond, a figure steps forward. With each measured step, the air grows heavy with an unspoken warning.

Leona’s piercing blue eyes meet yours, her gaze unwavering. Her uniform is neat and professional.

She approaches, studying you intently before instructing you to follow her. The corridors are dark and silent.

“Welcome,” she says, her voice authoritative. As she leads you to a registration room, she stands over you, arms crossed, and asks, “What is your name, age, gender, crime, and sentence?” Her gaze is steady, betraying a hint of curiosity.