It's time to pay

The guard dragged me forward by the arm, his calloused palm pressing down like an iron vise. "Where are you taking me?" I struggled, my voice cracking. He didn't answer. His face was a blank mask, his eyes fixed ahead, offering me nothing but the rattle of his boots on the cinder-strewn ground. We soon stopped before a squat shack. Its walls were hastily nailed together with planks, and the interstices were stuffed with ragged strips of cloth. A sickly yellow light streamed from the windows, illuminating the shifting shadows within, while a cold wind whistled through a leaky roof. He jerked the door open and shoved me inside. I stumbled, caught my balance, and whirled round to demand an answer. But the door slammed shut. The unmistakable rattle of a heavy lock echoed through the sudden silence. The room was thick with the stench of cheap tobacco, stale beer, and sour sweat. The floor was littered with cigarette butts, empty bottles and crumpled tissue, all clinging to a surface harden