The "Hall" of the MILGRAM was a strange room in a strange place. Though its floor remained concrete like the cells and the hallway, the walls were made of thickly-mortared cobblestone, the furniture looked antique, and it had a musty atmosphere that gave off a feeling of "dungeon" more so than "prison." Not very inviting for a place where people might have been intended to gather-- yet someone was here regardless.

A tall-ish, broad-shouldered man with auburn hair stood in front of the furthest wall with his hands on his hips. Of all the prisoners currently inside the MILGRAM, this one might just look the most comically out of place. Though his straitjacket was as monochrome as the others, his colorful flower-embroidered jeans and carefully-groomed mustache could make one wonder if there was some time travel involved in this scenario.

After a long, quiet moment, he spoke, though he didn't seem to be addressing anyone in particular. His voice was a soft, airy tenor with a pleasant southern drawl.

"...There's gotta be a way out. Right?"

He stepped closer to the wall, brushing a hand against the cold cobblestone.

"Right. Ain't no way. We got in here somehow, we gotta be able t'get back out. 'Less they walled us up like, uh... that one Poe story, Cask of A-- Amun-- A-somethin'-or-other. But then we'd still see the cracks… right?"

He pressed his ear up against the wall and started to methodically rap his knuckles on each stone he could reach. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. He doesn't seem to be aware of anyone else in the room...