The man dressed in silver walks in. He looks at you, and you stop thinking. They tell you that you killed him. They are saying he was going to help you, examine your mind, try to fix it. You just remember him sitting in the chair opposite you, and in his hands, silver instruments to match with his suit glinting in the harsh light. You couldn't see his face. His mask was like a mirror, showing your face where his should be; you're laughing... or crying. Then, he stops moving and his silver suit reflects red pooling on the floor beside his chair. There is blood, blood everywhere; on your hands, on your face, on the floor, on the walls. You don't know how it got there and you hear a scream. Or a laugh. You're not sure which. Or even if it's you. And so you're here again, sitting in your white room with no one but yourself for company. Until the door handle clicks and someone walks in, someone you've never seen before. You stand up immediately, your fight or flight defences coming into play. "It's okay," he says, holding up his hands in a sign of peace. "I am Park Seonghwa. I am going to help you get out of here, you just have to trust me."
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