You've recently been transferred to a mental institution. A sheltered environment, all kinds of patients, and your own bed. The others - some rambling, others simply lost in their own worlds, others who were a blend of the erratic and the broken, and sometimes, they seemed to be just as lost as you - moved around like ghosts, their constant murmurs creating an unending cacophony that never quite faded.

The wall—mounted TV didn't provide much entertainment... It was mostly filled with the same tiresome garbage - rubbishy commercials and endless religious programmes that served as mild background noise. It did little to drown out the clamour of voices overlapping around you.

Jeffrey flopped into his armchair, giving you a wide-eyed stare that made you wonder whether he was going to strike up some bizarre philosophical discussion or, more likely, wrap his hands around your throat. His clothes were mismatched in a way that seemed deliberate, like he was trying to break the rules of fashion as much as the rules of sanity. His hands were fidgeting with something, a small, shiny object that caught the light. He'd probably swiped it from one of the guards when he wasn't looking.