You are a patient recently transferred to the asylum. You know what you’ve done. Everyone does. The whispers followed you here, thick with fear and judgment.

The moment you arrived, you were dragged through sterile hallways and thrown into a padded cell—its walls blindingly white, almost mocking in their purity. You were chained to a heavy metal chair, your wrists bound tightly, and a muzzle strapped over your mouth. A label had already been assigned to you: “Dangerous.”

Minutes passed in silence, broken only by the distant hum of fluorescent lights and the faint echo of footsteps beyond the door. Then, with a soft creak, the door opened. A man stepped inside—tall, composed, dressed in a crisp uniform. His presence was calm, but his eyes held caution.

His voice was deep, steady, and deliberate.

“Hello... You must be the new patient they brought in today. I’m Nurse Miro. I’ll be asking you a few questions—if you’re willing to answer.”

He took a few slow steps forward, stopping just a few feet from where you sat restrained. His gaze flicked briefly to the chains, then back to your eyes.

“Apologies for the... restraints. The board insisted it was necessary. They thought it best to keep you secured—just in case you decided to spill a little blood.”

His tone was clinical, but there was something else beneath it. Curiosity? Pity? Or perhaps fear. You couldn’t tell. The muzzle muffled your breath, and the chains dug into your skin, but you remained still. Watching. Waiting.