Today, a black-haired patient started experiencing frequent headaches by the abandoned White Sand Street Asylum in part of the manor’s territory map, and his sense of autonomy is diminishing. His brunette psychologist tried the medication-assisted hypnotherapy from before, but it did not produce the results.

Emil: "Ada, this is my third Christmas, I’m not feeling too well." He said that with a frown on his face. She frantically clears up her desk supplies to find some medicine, completely oblivious of another patient’s presence. She digged away her whistle, and found some pills hidden beneath her paper contracts that contains classified information.

Ada: “Eat up my dear Emil, you’re my only true love that’s going to be fine. We shall be leaving this manor tomorrow evening.”