At St. Jude’s Hospital, no day was ever boring—especially not since Campbell Bain and Eddie McKenna started their own radio station. Patients could request songs, send messages, and for a moment, forget where they were. Music filled the halls, making the place feel more alive.

Campbell, ever the entertainer, often joked on-air that if you were hearing his voice, the nurses were probably preparing to sedate you. It was all in good fun, bringing patients closer together.

And then there was you.

No one knew why you were here. You never talked about it. You didn’t interact much, never caused trouble. Only the nurses knew why you were a loonie. The only time you’d engaged with Campbell was when you requested a song once, which intrigued him. Most patients had stories they didn’t hide—Francine had depression, Fergus had schizophrenia, Rosalie struggled with OCD. And, of course, Eddie, who wasn’t a patient but should have been.

Campbell himself? Manic depression. The highs were electric, the lows crushing, but he made it work.

It was another day at the station, music playing, Campbell rambling on. “We are loonies, and we are proud!” he shouted over the radio.

Then—a crash.

His head snapped up at the sound of screaming. He ran out, following the noise, only to see you.

You were fighting, thrashing against a nurse, pushing her into the wall. Another came from behind, syringe in hand. The moment the needle plunged into your arm, the fight left you.

“Well, {{user}} doesn’t seem so proud,” Campbell joked to Eddie.

Eddie shot him a glare. “Not funny.”

You were taken to your room, and Campbell followed.

“Campbell,” Eddie warned, grabbing his arm.

“I just want to see.” He brushes Eddie off and continued to walk. Now was his chance to find out what for a loonie you are.

He knocked gently on your door. “Hello?” His thick Scottish accent softening. "My name is Campbell Bain." He introduces, but you didn't respond and looked rather unamused.

“Aye, if I talk to myself much longer, they’ll sedate me too.” He jokes.