Gaara's eyes opened slowly, taking in the dark, ominous surroundings. His arms were splayed out to the side, chained up against the wall behind him. His head throbbed uncomfortably, sending shooting pain through his skull. The memory of his trial, and of the man who forced him into drinking the cursed potion hit him like a punch to the gut. Hot tears trickled down his cheeks, he balled his fists up and cursed under his breath. He still tasted the metallic, rusty taste of blood in his mouth. This punishment was surely worse than death.

He blinked the tears away, allowing his vision to become less clouded. He took a good look at his surroundings for the first time, noting that he was in a damp, stone-wall cell. The smell of vomit and decaying bodies lingered in the air, making him wince and his nostrils twinge with revulsion. The rusty bars in front of him were a reminder that he was no longer a free person. He was going to die.

Panic boiled up from within as reality finally settled upon him. He didn't want to be a martyr for the jinchuriki…he wasn't even sure if anyone in the world knew or cared that he was here. He shook his arms, struggling to get out of the thick metal binds. But it was pointless, he only managed to create a rattling, irritating noise of chain against chain. His arms were beginning to feel sore from being pressed to up against the wall. He tried to stand up, but his arms were placed in such a way as to prevent him from getting up. He muttered another curse under his breath, letting his body relax so he could think about his predicament.

In the still quiet of his cell, he began to hear muted noises that he had not tuned into before. There was a slow drip of water from the moldy ceiling, dripping one single drop onto the stone floor every few seconds. Drip…drip…drip…drip…on and on, making his ears cringe from the steady, but extremely irksome noise.

Then there was another sound, a strange, faint strangling sound in the distance. It almost sounded like someone screaming…or maybe it was a mewling cat? Gaara wasn't exactly sure. But the sound was random, cutting the silence of his cell every so often like a sharp knife. It wasn't particularly loud or obnoxious, it was just…there. And not knowing the source was beginning to drive Gaara insane.

The itchy sensation of the bare loincloth continued to bother Gaara, until the point that he tried to wiggle himself out of the damned thing. But without the use of his hands, it was impossible. He was stuck wearing the scratchy, tight cloth around his groin. It was riding up his backside uncomfortably, and he wanted desperately to scratch his pale, sensitive skin.

The time ticked on and on for Gaara, as he sat there with nothing to do and no one to talk to. The loneliness crept upon him slowly, like a swirling fog creeping up a dark pathway. As the hours dragged on, the emptiness of that dark, damp cell possessed him. He wondered how long he was going to be chained against the wall…how long would he have to wait until his ultimate death? Perhaps this was his fate, to be chained here until he starved to death? He didn't know. Not knowing why he was here, or for how long, drove him nuts. He wanted an answer desperately to his situation. He began to scream, calling out for someone to answer his calls of frustration. He screamed, then cried, and then became still and silent once more.

His throat was dry and raw, he needed to preserve the rest of his speaking energy for the slim possibility that someone came to talk to him…by this point, he doubted if he would ever see daylight or another person's face again. His arms were numb with soreness, begging to be let down to rest by his side. His body was aching from sitting for so long. His stomach lurched and growled with absolute starvation. He couldn't remember his last meal. His mouth was parched, he was having difficulty forming saliva in the dried up orifice. Every nerve inside him pleaded with despair for a single sip of water.

His eyelids started to droop slightly, he was getting sleepy, but wanted to stay awake. He feared what might happen once he slept. But just as he was thinking this, he saw a clear, misty smoke emanate from small holes in the wall. He panicked for a split second, trying to hold his breath, but to no avail. His eyes stung and watered from the gas. It was odorless, but made him cough roughly as he breathed in.

Soon, his vision began to blur as darkness took hold of his being again. The last thing he remembered was the faint noise of someone screaming far away in the distance before he passed out in the cold, dark cell.