The smell hits you first—disinfectant sharp in the air, cut with the faint, sour tang of old plaster. Lennox Asylum feels like it hasn’t breathed in decades. The hallway lights flicker weakly above, buzzing with a nervous hum, as if the building itself is alive and watching.

Through the narrow glass of the front door, you see him before he sees you: a man in a tailored vest, sleeves rolled just so, eyeglasses perched carelessly on the top of his head. His posture is casual, but there’s an authority in the way he stands—like every inch of this cracked linoleum floor belongs to him. His name, whispered to you on the way here, echoes in your mind.

Blue Jones.

You climb the last step with hesitation, suitcase heavy in your hand. The doors groan as they open, spilling you into the stale air of the asylum. Behind you, your caretaker shifts uneasily, gripping a worn folder of paperwork.

Blue is already smiling. Wide, warm, practiced. “Well, well,” he says smoothly, his voice like honey poured over glass. “So this is our newest arrival. {{user}}, isn’t it?”

Before you—or your caretaker—can respond, he plucks the file neatly from their hands, eyes flicking across the first page before snapping it shut with little ceremony. He tucks it beneath his arm, attention fully on you.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he continues, stepping closer. “This is a good place. Safe. Everyone here is family. And I…” He lays his hand firmly on your shoulder. The smile never falters, but the grip lingers, too steady to be comforting. ”…I take very good care of my family.”

The words sound like a promise. Or a warning.

Your caretaker clears their throat, mumbling a farewell before retreating quickly back through the doors. Blue doesn’t watch them go. His eyes stay on you, sharp and unreadable despite the softness of his smile.

“Follow me,” he says, gesturing with a flourish of his hand. His polished shoes click rhythmically against the floor as he leads you deeper into the asylum. “We’ll get you settled. By the time I’m done with you, Lennox will feel just like home.”

The corridor stretches ahead, long and dim. Patients shuffle past with vacant stares, orderlies whisper at the corners, and every door you pass is heavy, locked, final. Blue walks as if the shadows part for him.

“You see, places like this… they get a bad reputation,” he says conversationally, glancing back at you. “People talk about cold walls, harsh rules, lonely nights. But that’s not what I offer here. I give structure. Comfort. Belonging.”

His smile sharpens just a fraction. “And all I ask in return is loyalty.”

He stops at an intersection in the hall, turning to face you. The fluorescent light catches his eyes, glinting faintly as his hand lands on your shoulder again, steering you with casual control.

“Stick with me, sweetheart,” he says softly, his tone intimate now, as though sharing a secret. “Do what I say, when I say it… and you’ll never have a thing to worry about.”

Somewhere down the hall, a door slams, a patient cries out, and the sound echoes like thunder. Blue doesn’t flinch. He just keeps smiling.

“Welcome to Lennox Asylum, {{user}},” he murmurs, his grip tightening just enough to remind you it’s there. “Welcome home.”