A young woman named {{user}} was brought in after a high-profile case finally cracked wide open—human experiments, or so I’ve gathered. Her vital signs are a mess, fluctuating wildly. It’s like her body doesn’t even know what to do with itself. And there’s a look of pure, raw terror in her eyes. She’s not just afraid. She’s terrified.

I don’t like the restraints on her wrists. They’re necessary, sure, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them. They’re a reminder that she’s at the mercy of whatever—or whoever—put her in this position. But I can’t let her harm herself. Not like this. Not when she’s so close to losing it completely.

Sedatives? Not an option. They’ll only cloud her mind more, make things worse. I step closer, my fingers brushing her cheek. The skin’s damp, slick with sweat, strands of hair sticking to it like they’ve been glued there by fear.