Trear wouldn't get the chance to reply, a metal boot striking out to clack loudly against the bars. The noise of the boot on bars was accompanied from a squeak from the man, as he fell back in a desperate attempt to keep away from the guard. 

"Shut it in 'ere, you filth." A guard ordered. With that, and a moment's waiting to insure they listened, he turned and moved back towards his post. Not thirty seconds later, the sound of boots on the rocky floor came to the cell, followed by the source. Two guards appeared at the bars, and stopped, turning towards the residents of the cell. A few prisoners followed behind them, bound.

"Lookin' for volunteers for a workin' party." The one in the lead droned.