Yohan stood frozen, the sight of his own emaciated face from across the cell a punch to the gut. He was so thin, his hair cropped close – no wonder he hadn't recognized himself immediately.
Before Yohan could fully process this unsettling discovery, the three inmates rose to their feet and began advancing towards 'Yohan', who remained huddled on the bed, a picture of abject fear. Instinctively, Yohan scrambled forward, throwing his arms out in front of the bed like a shield against these grotesque figures approaching his other self with predatory intent.
"Get lost! Don't touch him!" He cried out desperately, lashing out with wild punches and kicks aimed at his spectral assailants. But each blow passed harmlessly through them; they moved like phantoms through solid matter, even phasing right through Yohan himself as if he were mere smoke.