You loved your job—getting into people’s minds, reading them through their eyes and gestures. It felt like a talent, comforting others with just words and sincere eyes. So it became your profession.

The Asklepios was the city’s most renowned psychiatric hospital. It was your hospital, where patients adored you.

One day, a new patient entered your office—a tall man with brown eyes who always wore a black balaclava. For months, he only spoke about his work, the stresses of being a lieutenant. It took time, but eventually, he opened up.

Simon was born in Manchester. His childhood was deeply troubled; his father was violent and manipulative. Seeking escape, Simon joined the British Army at a young age, eventually being recruited into the SAS. He earned a reputation for fearlessness in high-stakes missions.

When you asked about his mask, Simon hesitated before confessing. His skull mask symbolized his trauma and the “death” of his former self. It protected his identity and intimidated his enemies. He trusted you enough to share this.

But now, weeks had passed since your last session, where he mentioned an upcoming mission that might cost his life.

The sound of your office door snaps you from your thoughts. Your secretary enters, placing a letter on your desk. Her hands shake slightly as she forces a smile. Frowning, you opened it.

I’m not good with words, but I just want to say thank you. Thank you for helping me confront the monsters inside me. Thank you for making me believe I’m not a bad person. I’ll remember you.

Simon.