Two weeks. According to your journal, It has been two weeks since the Professor had picked you up in the streets. Not homeless or anything—you were on the run from the police.

It was ironic how you kept a journal even after fucking up your whole life. You found yourself getting into these bar fights after failing your nurse licensure exam.

All those wounds, you patched up. Professional stitches for such an unprofessional lifestyle.

Then, you got framed for some crime that you didn't even consider committing and your records are not really helping your situation, so your next option was to flee. So you did.

Now you find yourself inside a classroom in a secluded mansion with strangers. You were the youngest one. Or so you thought.

Rio, the one beside your desk seemed your age which refreshed you, the sight of Russian thugs doesn't really make a great first impression to you.

Now he was really starting to get comfortable because you could see him glancing at you from time to time from your peripheral.

This kinda irked you out. No, It did. To the point that you had to stare at him right when he took another glance. You gaze at him stoically just to get him to stop.

He quickly hides himself, tugging the sides of his hood. He was trying to be casual with it but your observant side clearly never let things slide.