You worked at the asylum Steven was sent to by his employers at the museum. You saw him sat in his wheelchair, looking around the room with white walls. His face scrunched up in confusion before he blinked slowly and stared at you.

“Where am I?”

He mumbled lazily, looking down at his left ankle restraint on the wheelchair, trying to move it before suddenly leaping out of the wheelchair onto the hard floor with a thud. He was like a lost puppy.