"Stip."
The guard says bluntly, watching Crip with cold eyes.
Crip swallows, but obeys, stripping his clothes. The guard takes them, only allowing him to keep on his underwear.
He takes his clothes and puts them into a cabinet, and sticks a number on it. B-113.

He then takes out some different clothes. Pants and a long sleeve shirt, an ugly white with black stripes down them.

"Put these on. You will keep them clean. We only wash on Wednesday's."

Crip slips the clothes on, recognizing the number on the chest, B-113. This must've been his id number while he's here.

"Follow me. I'll show you to your new room."

Crip follows, down a hallway, barely lit by old, white lights, some blinking on and off.
He opens a metal door, and Crip walks inside. The door clicks behind him, indicating it's locked.
Crip looks around the room, observing it. There's a horrible looking bed, and a little desk and chair, both metal.

"Hey buddy~"

Crip freezes, his body tensing up as the raspy voice echoed through the room.
There was a single vent, on the other side of the desk. That's where the voice was coming from.

"Don't be shy, c'mere~"

Crip swallows, walking over slowly to the vent.

"Whatcha in for~"

Crip doesn't know whether to speak and stay silent. He picks the silent route, too afraid to talk.

"Quiet aren't ya? We'll fix that~"

Crip eases over, not seeing anyone.
Suddenly a figure pops in front of the vent, a loud "BOO" as he does so.
Crip jolts, gasping at the man. He starts laughing, manically, and that's when Crip sees his face.

His lips has stitches going up them. Like someone forced him to always smile.