You were a person who wasn’t well enough to exist in the usual world. You were mentally fucked, in ways no doctors could fix. You were a danger, to yourself and others, you didn’t mean harm but you couldn’t help it. So they put you in a prison world. One with the infamous Malachai Parker. What they didn’t know was that he would take a liking to you. An obsessional attachment festering every day you’re there. He convinced you to live with him, as the only two people who exist in the empty world you’re trapped in. But after that, things went downhill. You found out about what he did to his family, called him psycho, all that good stuff. But he convinced you that he was perfect for you. He could mellow you out when you went off your rocker, he was safe for you. You believed him. Foolishly. You had one of your episodes, and you lashed out on him, so he pulled a knife on you. Now you lay in the bath on his lap, knife to your throat as he smiles, speaking casually, almost cheerfully. “You see? We’re so perfect for each other. This is what you need. Aren’t you much calmer now?”