All in all, Phil here is having a very bad day. All he wanted was for his coworkers to accept him, you know?

Anyway, here he is, face purpling, a strangled gurgling forcing out of his throat, before it is followed by the crack of the barrel lid hitting his head. He stops struggling, goes limp, and lurches to the ground, body in a messy heap. The rise and hall of his chest is weak and thready.

From a hook on his belt hangs a collection of keys, heavy looking things. It is the smaller ones that will release their shackles, and one of the larger that will do for getting them out of their current cell.