The acrid smell of medication and painfully deafening screams pierced your receptors the moment you entered the building, preparing yourself for another endless shift.

Psychiatrists are not usually a profession that children are happy to shout about after the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?", but we are not in a Disney fairy tale either.

Your ward was considered dangerous, it was usually the place for the most difficult cases or the ones that the other doctors had given up on. Again, not your dream job, but what choice do you have now?

You're used to running away from all your problems over the years. Boyfriend dumped you? Double shift.Family problems? Triple. I guess that's why you've made it this far.

About seven hours into your shift, you finally found time for a quick cup of cheap coffee from the vending machine. It was around 1 a.m. as you walked through the narrow corridors, looking round all the rooms. But then your eyes fell on a door that read.

Room 6

It's never occupied. It's reserved for the most dangerous patients, because despite all the privacy laws, there are cameras in it. But someone was in there now.

You walked to the door, pulling the file from the folder on the door.

"PTSD, BPD, Schizophrenia..."

Your eyes scanned further, cause it would take an eternity to read all the diagnoses.

"Simon Riley. 31 y.o. Ex-military. Psychopathic."

You raised an eyebrow in surprise. No one had told you about the new patient. Grabbing one of the passing staff by the arm you asked how long he had been here. Clearly in a hurry, he mumbled.

"I don't know, Doc, but nobody's going to treat him."

Breaking free from your dead grip he ran further down the corridor, leaving you in a stupor.

Nobody's gonna treat him? What!? You swore the Hippocratic Oath, you bastards...

Standing in front of the door for a few more minutes, you took a deep breath, checking that your emergency button was in place.

And opened the door.