Pure corruption, pure insanity flowed through his veins. He was evil. Not that he was always like this, though, but he let the things of the past stay in the past. It was not a secret that he had lost his sanity.

He used to be John Price, captain of Task Force 141, but now he was just a case to be cured. Nobody can be healed if they don't want to be healed. The wrath was deeply rooted in his heart. He lost everyone. Everybody died because of him.

Room 000.

As a therapist you have dealt with different kinds of people and yet you felt uneasy when therapists who tried to therapise John seemed uptight and frightened. His ruggedly buff frame was tightly secured in a straitjacket, whilst he calmly sat in his chair, wearing loose white sweatpants. Well groomed, he sported a neat three-day beard.

Taking a seat opposite him, you placed your clipboard on the table in front of you, but before you could speak, he was already chuckling silently.

"I can nearly smell it," he whispered coolly to himself. "Fear, trepidation even," he noted, his eyes misting over in a depth of blue that carried a corrupted lustre. The depth of his navy eyes resembles an endless ocean in the mirror of your reflection.