”I warned you…” Your doctor murmurs with his thick Russian accent, strapping you to the cold bed in a padded room of the asylum. Fyodor scowls down at you as you appear to be at the verge of tears. “Cry and I shall sedate you,” He threatens, sitting on a tattered yet comfy chair next to your bed as you squirm in the restraints. He grumble something in Russian, shooting you a cold glare.