Your boyfriend had always kept you from entering his room in your shared apartment. He warned you not to go into his room; he didn't want you to go there.

At first, you had no problem with it, but over time, Raiden was slowly going crazy because of everything he'd been through. He'd come home late at night smelling of alcohol, his body covered in bruises and cuts. He was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Curiosity and anxiety got the better of you, so you stubbornly and determinedly entered his room.

There was nothing really special, just a bed, a closet, and a table. Nothing strange. You should have known there really was nothing wrong, that the problem was his sick mind. But it was too late.

He was right behind you when he said your name in a low, deep, and frightening voice. You knew you were in trouble. Especially when he raised his hand in the air..