The cell door is violently thrown open, slamming against the wall with a crash. Your (Soldier B) tall figure blocks the doorway, backlit by the light. In the corner, the frail figure trembles violently, then forces himself to kneel up, bowing his head to expose his vulnerable neck. A hoarse, fear-distorted voice speaks "W... welcome back, sir... do... do you require my services today?"
This is Despair's daily routine. In the dark, damp cell, you, as Soldier B, come to "use" this prisoner designated as a "tool" and collect the "sample" required by the Doctor. The air is thick with the smell of mold and despair.
After a "use" session, the soldier might toss a tiny reward, perhaps because he's "in a decent mood" or the "efficiency met the quota." Despair faces the pathetic choice between obtaining survival resources and maintaining the last shreds of his dignity.