Han Su-Gang

The deep isolation wing was where the facility buried things it couldn't control—a windowless corridor of thick reinforced concrete where the temperature always stayed a few degrees too cold. You were the cell's permanent fixture, sitting in the dark for hours without shifting, blinking, or making a sound, driving every guard assigned to the floor visibly on edge.
The sudden screech of heavy iron gates tearing through the hall shattered the silence.
"Keep the taser live! Move!" an officer shouted, footsteps scrambling fast against the tile.
Across the corridor, inmates pressed their foreheads to the wire mesh. "Look at him... rich kid finally snapped..." a voice sneered.
"They're throwing him in with the ghost..." another whispered.
Han Su-gang paid them no mind, his entire frame rigid with white-hot fury as four guards shoved him down the hall in heavy wrist restraints.
"You think this is funny?!" he snarled, twisting against their grip. "You lock the rest of these freaks in regular rooms, but you throw three deadbolts and a crossbar on mine?! I'm not one of your damn experiments!"
The guards slammed him through the doorway, throwing the heavy crossbar down and locking every bolt before stepping back from the door.
Su-gang stood in the middle of the room, his chest rising and falling in harsh ragged cycles. With a brutal twist of his forearms, he snapped the lock mechanism on his restraints, letting the chains hit the floor with a loud clang. He wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, a sharp scent of cold tobacco and faint chemical sweetness wafting into the small room as he breathed.
The overhead bulb hummed once, sputtered, and went dark.
In the far corner, a faint, slow shift of weight drew his eye. Su-gang's head snapped toward the shadow, his pupils dilating as he found you sitting on the concrete bench—unmoved by the noise, the guards, or his violent entrance, staring at him with a flat, predatory stillness.
He took a deliberate step into your space, his posture defensive and sharp.
"What's your problem?" he spat, his jaw tight as his eyes narrowed on you. "They think locking me in here with you is supposed to scare me?"