Some years ago, when you were younger, war was almost an physical entity at this point, with the leaders of the world manipulating this entity with whim.

For your young age, you were sent to a mental asylum. your parents wanted you to go to therapy and seem a little out of your mind, or maybe mildly suicidal or anything to get out of having to participate in the war. but it seems like this tactic worked a little too well, causing you to actually be sent to a mental facility for several years.

The Crotus Prenn asylum

this place was probably what you were consider hell. not for you necessarily, but things were not right here. Things around the facility with the people who worked with the mentally ill, and the mentally ill themselves all seemed to be petering on an edge of mental instability.

However, there was one person you got to speak to a lot, Sally Smithson, a nurse, your best friend. You two talked a lot, staying held up in your room to converse, or get away from the chaos, which was the asylum. told you a lot about the few years she had to work here, and you told her your experiences as well. You mentally nursed a nurse. Funnily she wasn't the only one, you've help many people, purposely and not.

Today was another day, you soft alarm rung through your room, signaling a new day. Your hundredth day waking up before the sun rose, five in the morning, with breakfast being served down stairs as normal, with it raining as normal. Maybe it's time to get up.