(text-colour:red)[If you have sensitivity to themes of mental health, institutionalization, unfair treatment, kidnapping, personality changing/erasure, drugs, or feelings of confinement, please proceed with caution or consider skipping this story.]
I mean it. There's no shame in that, at all.
[[I have no problems with it and want to proceed]]''- Your Apartment - 4 PM -''
The sun filters through the half-closed blinds, casting elongated shadows on the wooden floor of your apartment. The rhythmic tick-tock of a wall clock resonates through the space.
You're engrossed in a book ("The tales of rubber") when you realize it's already 4 PM.
With a sigh, you close the book and get up from your couch.
Your cozy couch sits against the wall, with the TV remote invitingly placed on the coffee table.
A shelf full of books and trinkets catches your attention.
A picture of a beach vacation reminds you of better times.
[[Watch TV]]
[[Reminisce about the Beach Vacation]]
[[Make coffee]]Picking up the photograph, the colors instantly take you back. It's a snapshot from last summer. The deep blues of the ocean, the pristine white sands, and the silhouette of palm trees against the horizon transport you momentarily. You can almost feel the warmth of the sun on your skin, the gentle breeze in your hair.
Behind you, in the picture, are some hastily abandoned beach towels, evidence of an impromptu dive into the ocean.
Oh, good times. Maybe next year...
[[Make coffee]] You decide to turn on the TV. A documentary about ancient asylums is playing, focusing on the modern and secretive "Mamertine Asylum".
You shudder, unaware that this name will soon mean more to you than you ever thought possible.
[[Make coffee]]The kitchen air is punctuated by the soft, comforting hum of the refrigerator and the gentle clink of the porcelain mug as you set it on the counter. You fetch your favorite blend from the cabinet, a fresh blend of Ethiopian beans from your local roastery.
Carefully, you measure the right amount, enjoying the feel of the beans between your finger. The coffee grinder whirs to life, grinding the beans into a fine powder, releasing a fragrance so intoxicating that it feels like a warm embrace.
As you prepare the Moka pot, pouring in water with the precision of a practiced hand, you anticipate that first sip – the slightly bitter, robust flavor followed by the warmth that courses through your body, awakening every sense.
You place the coffee filter on the pot, closing it and placing in on your stove, looking at it with anticipation.
But, just as the aroma begins to truly envelop the room, hinting that your brew is nearly ready, a sudden, violent series of knocks on your door shatters the calm. Not the rhythmic, patient knock of a friend or neighbor, but an insistent, aggressive rapping that demands immediate attention. It's so abrupt and forceful that your heart skips a beat, and the comforting atmosphere of the kitchen dissipates, replaced by tension.
[[Who could this be?|Check the door]]The hallway seems longer than usual. Each step you take is heavy with anticipation. The knocks have left a looming presence in the air, and your pulse quickens as you approach the door at the end.
There's a small peephole at eye level, but the door itself is made of solid wood.
(link:"Check the peephole.")[You look into the peephole, but can only see black. Is someone holding it closed from the other side?]
[[Open the door.]]
As the door swings open, you're met with the sight of two women. Both are dressed in black, shiny catsuits that seem oddly out of place, almost like they've stepped out of a different reality. Their attire is sleek, tight-fitting, and reflects the ambient light in a weird way.
The woman on the left, her eyes sharp and observant, offers a greeting, "Hello! Luna, right?" As you open your mouth to respond, confusion and questions swirling in your mind, the other woman swiftly steps forward. Using the first's words as a distraction, she efficiently injects something into your arm.
You look down at your arm in panic, with the other nurse already stepping towards you.
A cold sensation spreads from the injection point, rapidly followed by a wave of dizziness. Your vision blurs, and your knees buckle. But before you can hit the ground, strong arms catch you, easing your descent and stopping you from being hurt. The world narrows to a pinprick of light, then darkness claims you entirely.
[[Sleep.]]A piercing brightness nudges you to consciousness. The first sensation you register is the softness underneath you. Blinking against the intense light, you try to sit up, but your arms refuse to cooperate. Panic flutters in your chest as you realize they're restrained, bound tightly against your torso.
Where the ''fuck'' are you?
It takes a few moments to fully understand your situation: you're tightly wrapped in a white canvas straitjacket. The tough fabric confines you, its relentless grip preventing any significant movement. Your fingers wiggle uselessly within their sealed confines, trying to find an edge, a seam, anything to help free yourself, but to no avail.
As your vision adjusts, you notice your surroundings. The walls are cushioned, and the entire room is padded. Its sterile whiteness is occasionally interrupted by the seams of the padding, creating a grid-like pattern. No windows, no doors, just an overwhelming sense of isolation. The only break in the pattern is in the ceiling of the room, the very center square being an exceptionally bright lamp, dousing the whole room in an ice cold light.
Next, you become aware of a foreign sensation in your mouth. Trying to speak, you find your words are muffled, distorted beyond comprehension. Touching it with your tongue, you identify the obstruction: a panel gag, with a seperate ball attached to the inside intruding ito your mouth. It's tight, pressing firmly against your face and preventing any articulate speech.
Your gaze drifts downward, and you note a stark contrast against the room's clinical appearance.
You're dressed in an orange catsuit, a hue that vividly stands out against your white surroundings. The material clings to your body, similar in texture to the suits the women wore, but different in color. It feels like some kind of thick rubber, covering you from toes to neck.
[[Gaze around the room.]]As you try to get a clearer picture of your surroundings, your limited movement strains against the strict confines of the straitjacket. The padded room is both unsettlingly sterile and eerily silent.
The absence of doors and windows creates an atmosphere of claustrophobia, despite the room being quite comfortably large. However, as your eyes scan every inch of the room, they catch on an ever so tiny anomaly: a small, folded piece of paper lying innocently on the floor, a few feet away.
After wriggling yourself into a wobbly stand by pressing your back into the wall and sliding yourself up, you walk up to the note. The drug doesn't seem to have entirely worn off yet, your knees are still weak and you stumble over, luckily falling down right next to the note.
A new problem arises: how will you unfold this paper with restrained arms and a gagged mouth?
[[Try your hardest.]]Using the edge of your tight panel gag and the limited movement of your constrained arms, you manage, after several minutes of struggle, to nudge the note open. The paper is thin, almost fragile, and you're acutely aware of the risk of tearing it.
Once the note is flat on the ground, you lean over as much as the straitjacket allows, trying to read the message. The handwriting is terrible. It says:
"Beneath Minze's sweet facade is a fortress of observation. Delve deep into the asylum's guarded heart for answers. Not everyone is an enemy; find those you can trust. May fortune guide your steps."
You try your best to decipher the meaning of the note.
Minze? Is she the leader of this... place?
Your mind races, trying to piece together the puzzle laid out before you. But before you can grasp any clear meaning, a harsh, metallic voice blares from the unseen PA system within the room.
"Patient, sit in the center."
The abrupt interruption startles you, and you're left with more questions than answers. Who are you supposed to trust? What lies in the heart of this asylum? And who is Minze?
You abandon the note and awkwardly slide around on the padded ground, then [[sit in the center of the cell.]]
As you sit in the center of the padded room, your heart races with anticipation and uncertainty. The minutes tick by, and the sterile whiteness of the room seems to close in on you.
Then, without warning, the invisible door to your padded cell opens with a soft hiss. In strides a figure that couldn't be more contrasting to your stark surroundings.
She's a striking woman, adorned in a white and red catsuit that fits her like a second skin. Her presence is captivating, and her large, perky fox ears along with her burgundy red hair are impossible to ignore. They twitch slightly as she approaches, as if attuned to the slightest disturbance in the air.
Her eyes, a fiery shade of red, lock onto yours. There's an air of confidence about her, a sense that she knows more than she lets on. Her lips curl into a serene smile that seems at odds with the bewildering circumstances.
After allowing unease to build up, she finally speaks, "You must have many questions. And I assure you, answers will come in time." Her voice is soothing yet laced with a hint of intrigue. "But first, let us discuss what brought you to Mamertine Asylum."
You remain seated in place, unable to respond in any way through the tight panel gag and the straitjacket. All you can do is look into the woman's eyes.
[[Remain still.]]She continues to maintain her composed demeanor as she speaks, her eyes never leaving yours.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Minze, and I serve as head of nursing here at Mamertine Asylum. This institution is a place of healing, with a success rate higher than any other in the world."
The speech up to this point is clearly well rehearsed. She's probably held it thousands of times.
Minze gazes around the cell, then looks back to you.
"Now, let us address the matter at hand. You were admitted to Mamertine Asylum on court order. The diagnosis, my dear, is delusion."
The word hangs in the air, heavy with implications. Delusion. It reverberates through your thoughts, and you feel a mix of anger, confusion, and disbelief. The memory of your life before this, the ordinary days in your apartment, and the sudden intrusion all come rushing back. Delusion? What?
You can't let this stand! You have to explain this!
[[Protest!]]Your eyes fixate on Minze's, imploring her to understand that this is all a big mistake, to see the truth! You try to protest, to scream, to convey the truth that resides within your heart. But the tight panel gag and the straitjacket conspire to silence you, rendering your attempts into nothing but almost silent mumbling and useless wiggling.
Minze watches your struggles with curiosity, as if your reaction has been entirely expected by her. Her smile wavers for just a moment, revealing a hint of empathy. "I understand that this is a lot to process. We will have ample time for discussions and therapy sessions to help you navigate this new reality, and eventually helping you find your real self."
[[You sink down into the padding, feeling helpless.]]
Seeing your subdued protest and the confusion in your eyes, Minze extends a hand towards your shoulder. She's keenly aware of the turmoil this revelation has unleashed within you.
"Please understand," she begins with a soothing tone, "we have your best interests at heart. Our goal is to help you regain clarity, to lead you towards a life free from the delusion that has bound you."
Minze takes a step back, her eyes never leaving yours. "For now, rest. You've been through quite an ordeal. We'll have time for discussions and therapy sessions, as I mentioned. In the meantime, I'll ensure you're looked after well."
Minze, having delivered her introduction, turns gracefully and heads to leave the padded room.
With a subtle motion, she bends down and retrieves the note you had been studying. It's clear that she doesn't want you to hold onto that particular piece of the puzzle.
With the note in hand, the nurse dressed in the white and red catsuit disappears into the dimly lit corridor beyond. Her departure leaves you alone, still immobilized in the straitjacket, the panel gag keeping your voice imprisoned just as tightly as before, though your useless attempts at protest have now resulted in your lower face being covered in drool as well.
[[Lay on your side.]]
Alone once more, you sit in the quiet of the padded room, surrounded by the stark white walls that offer you no comfort, despite being comfortable.
As you reflect on the shocking revelation of being legally institutionalized for delusion, a surge of frustration courses through you.
Delusion? Is it ''possible'' that everything you thought was real is merely a figment of your imagination? The memories, the experiences, the people you loved—all potentially illusions of a sick mind?
Doubt gnaws at you, but somewhere deep within, a flicker of determination begins to burn. You may be immobilized for now, but you refuse to accept this new reality without a fight.
The note, though taken by Minze, serves as a reminder that not everything is as it seems, and that others within the asylum may hold the key to understanding your situation. Maybe you're not alone in this?
[[You get lost in your thoughts.]]You get lost in your throughts while laying on the floor of the bare room.
As the minutes tick by, you replay Minze's words in your mind over and over again. "We will have ample time for discussions and therapy sessions..." Those future encounters with Minze may help you learn more, eventually.
After what feels like hours, you decide to head to sleep. It may still be day, but there's nothing in this room allowing you to gauge the passage of time.
[[Sleep in your cell.]]Sleep doesn't come easily. The sterile, padded room offers no comfort, and the straitjacket confines you in its restrictive embrace. As you drift into an uneasy slumber, your mind continues to churn with thoughts and questions about your situation.
However, as you wake from your fitful sleep, you become aware of an uncomfortable sensation on your chin and chest. Your face feels slightly wet, and a sense of dread washes over you as you realize you've been constantly drooling during your sleep, the evidence of your complete vulnerability visibly staining the canvas straitjacket. The catsuit however seems to have completely repelled the sticky liquid.
Suddenly, the harsh, metallic voice of the PA system interrupts your self-conscious thoughts, commanding your immediate attention.
"Patient, sit in the center."
The order is as abrupt as before, leaving you little choice but to comply. As you struggle to shift around and settle back into the center of the padded room, your mind races with anticipation, uncertain of what awaits you this time.
[[Sit in silence, and wait.]]After you obediently sit in the center of the padded room for several minutes, your gaze fixed on the door, you hear the soft click of a lock being disengaged. The door swings open, and a new figure steps inside.
Clad in a striking green catsuit, the newcomer is clearly different from Minze. She appears younger, with an air of brisk efficiency and a nice smile. Her eyes, an intense shade of emerald, scan the room, taking in every detail, then finally look down at you.
With a friendly smile that seems incongruous in this environment, she approaches you. "Hello there," she says cheerfully, her voice warm and inviting. "I'm Cindy, one of the nurses here at Mamertine Asylum."
Cindy's presence is reassuring, a departure from the enigmatic and dangerous aura that surrounded Minze. She exudes an air of approachability, though you can't help but wonder if it's a facade.
Cindy continues, "It's time for breakfast, and you'll be joining the others. Please, follow me."
Her words are accompanied by a gesture towards the open door, signaling for you to rise from your seated position. It seems sleep has finally allowed the drugs to wear off fully. You stand up confidently.
Breakfast may offer an opportunity to learn more about this place.
[[Walk up to Cindy.]]Cindy watches you approach with a smile, before she sidesteps you and gently grips you by the metal handle on your straitjacket's right shoulder.
"Hey, I'll walk you. You don't know the place yet," she says with a reassuring smile.
Her grip is firm, but supportive. With her guidance, you somehow feel less vulnerable, despite having even less control.
Grateful for her assistance, you nod in response and allow her to lead you out of the padded room. The transition from the sterile, white interior of the room to the wooden hallway is stark and striking.
The hallway stretches before you, reminiscent of an old mansion with its wooden panels and intricate designs. The aged wood exudes an air of history and mystery. Dimly lit by ornate wall sconces, it feels as if you've stepped into another world.
(link-replace:"Mumble into your gag pleadingly.")[Cindy giggles, before stopping the walk and turning to you.
"Look, I'd love to, really. But I'm not even close to being allowed to remove a γ-labelled gag, you will have to ask a higher level nurse."
With a gentle pat on the back, she continues.]
[[Continue walking along.]]The wooden hallway stretches on, a labyrinth of twists and turns that seem designed to confuse. Cindy's guidance becomes invaluable as you navigate the maze-like passages, every turn revealing another corridor or intersection, with oh so many closed doors.
During one of these meandering twists, you catch sight of a window. Peering out, your eyes widen at the unexpected sight that greets you.
Beyond the window, the scenery is bathed in sunlight, contrasting sharply with the dimly lit interior of the asylum. A vast, dark forest stretches as far as the eye can see, its dense foliage swaying gently in the breeze. The sun casts dappled shadows on the forest floor, creating an idyllic, almost surreal, setting.
Where ''are'' you? No such forest exists anywhere near where you live.
After what feels like an eternity of navigating the maze-like hallways, you arrive in front of a closed door. Cindy stops you and motions you towards the door, twisting the handle and swinging it open.
[[Enter the room.]]
The room is bustling with life. Patients in various types of attire and restraints sit at long wooden tables, engaged in conversations or quietly eating their meals. Some are gagged in ways similar to you, if you had to guess, around a quarter. Nurses in their distinctive catsuits move among the patients, offering assistance and ensuring order. Most of them seem to wear green, with some light-blue ones sprinkled in.
The atmosphere is a mix of camaraderie and unease. Some patients seem lost in their own worlds, while others engage in hushed conversations or share knowing glances.
The aroma of breakfast wafts through the air, a blend of warm pastries, coffee, and scrambled eggs. The clatter of dishes and the soft murmur of conversation create a surreal sense of normalcy in this decidedly abnormal setting.
Cindy, who has been guiding you, gestures towards an empty seat at one of the long tables, as she releases the grip on your straitjacket. It's clear that she expects you to join the other patients for breakfast.
[[Taking a seat among the group of patients, you are unaware of what to expect.]]
As you make your way to the empty seat that Cindy has pointed out, you can't help but notice the wide array of restraints that some of the patients wear. Gags similar to your own adorn a significant portion of them, perhaps around a quarter of the individuals in the room. The sight is rather unsettling, raising more questions about the treatments and practices within the asylum, but also seems... normalized.
With cautious curiosity, you take your seat on a bench next to a few other patients. The one on the left of you is gagged with a clearly uncomfortably large ballgag and tries her best to ignore you.
To your surprise, the patient on your right, a woman with short, dark hair and a friendly smile, leans over to offer assistance. She appears to be in her late twenties, her bright eyes filled with empathy and a hint of mischief.
Her name, as you find out from the small tag on her patient gowns, is Lisa.
With a friendly nod, Lisa picks up a pipette and dips it into a bowl of what appears to be a liquid meal. She then carefully extends the pipette towards you, slotting it into a hole in your panel gag you were not previously aware of.
The situation feels uncomfortable. Your panel gag prevents you from speaking, but Lisa seems to understand. As she feeds you, she makes an effort to engage in small talk, her voice warm and comforting despite the unusual circumstances.
"Mmmph, mmph," you attempt to convey gratitude as you taste the meal being pushed into your mouth, which is surprisingly delicious.
Lisa nods in acknowledgment, her eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and curiosity. She leans in closer, speaking in hushed tones as if to ensure your privacy in this shared moment.
"It's your first day here, isn't it?" she asks, her gaze never leaving yours. "Don't worry, you'll get used to the routine. And about that gag," she continues, gesturing towards the panel covering your mouth, "it has a port for liquid meals. You'll get used to it in no time, trust me. I had one for a long time, Ω-labelled. Managed to piss off dear Minze personally."
Lisa continues to feed you small portions of the breakfast while maintaining friendly conversation, understanding the limitations imposed by your gag. As you exchange muffled words and nods, you learn a bit more about her.
She reveals that she has been a resident of Mamertine Asylum for quite some time, and she's come to accept the daily routines and peculiarities of life within its walls. She describes the different catsuit colors, explaining that the color corresponds to their roles and responsibilities.
Green, like the one most nurses here are wearing, indicates nursing staff who attend to the daily needs of the low security patients. The light blue indicates a nurse still in training for a a low-security position.
You observe the interactions between patients and nurses around you. It's clear that, despite the unusual restraints and gags, there is a sense of community here, as odd and distorted as it feels.
She leans in a bit closer to you.
[[Listen closely.]]
As the breakfast conversation winds down, Lisa leans in closer, her voice hushed and conspiratorial. Her eyes dart around, as if to ensure that no one else is listening. She seems eager to share a piece of crucial information with you.
"Listen," she says softly, "there's something you should know. Watch out for the 'supermax' nurses. They wear vantablack catsuits and reflective gas masks that cover their whole heads, except for when they're on outside duty."
Lisa's tone grows serious, and there's a hint of unease in her expression as she continues. "We call them Minze's bloodhounds, and they're a different breed altogether. They're ruthless and don't take kindly to any trouble, no matter how minor."
Her words send a shiver down your spine, and it's clear that Lisa has a personal distaste for these mysterious nurses. She goes on to warn you in no uncertain terms, "Never, ever mess with them. They have their own way of dealing with things, and it's best to avoid their attention at all. Best to never even be in the area with them."
As Lisa's warning about the "supermax" nurses, or the bloodhounds, sinks in, a chilling realization washes over you. The two women who had abducted you, dressed in their shiny black catsuits, align perfectly with Lisa's description of the supermax nurses.
The memory of their arrival, their incredible precision, and the injection that had plunged you into unconsciousness near instantly now makes sense.
Lisa flashes you a smile as she stands up. "Welp, the daily Cognitive behavioral therapy session calls. Maybe the hundreth try will be different. Probably not though. Good luck to ya."
[[As Lisa leaves you, Cindy walks over.]]
Cindy returns to your side as Lisa leaves. She offers you a comforting smile, though her eyes betray a hint of curiosity.
"You seem to have made a friend already," she comments, her tone light and playful. "That's good. Friends are an important part of healing."
She then gently tugs on the handle of your straitjacket, indicating it's time for you to move. As you stand, she gestures towards the door, signaling that your breakfast time is over.
"Come on," Cindy says softly, guiding you back into the maze-like corridors of the asylum. "You have a busy day ahead."
The familiarity of the corridors begins to return as you walk, but Cindy takes a different turn, leading you to a new area of the asylum. You soon find yourself standing outside a room with a placard that reads, "Examination Room."
The word 'examination' triggers a pang of anxiety. What kind of examination awaits you here?
Without waiting for a reaction, Cindy gently ushers you inside. The room is well-lit, with various medical instruments laid out on a steel table. At the center stands a peculiar looking chair, reminiscent of a dentist's chair but with added restraints.
Cindy notices your apprehensive gaze and offers a comforting touch on your shoulder. "Relax," she soothes. "This is just a standard procedure. It allows us to monitor your health and make sure everything's okay."
Feeling a bit more reassured, you hesitantly approach the chair. Cindy assists you in sitting down, carefully adjusting the various straps to ensure you're securely and comfortably fixed in place. Once you're settled, she begins her examination.
Throughout the process, Cindy maintains a calming demeanor, explaining each step as she checks your body, draws blood, and executes various other routine checks. It feels odd being strapped in for this, but you don't mind it as long as Cindy is doing it.
Once the examination is complete, Cindy helps you out of the chair. She seems satisfied with the results, though you can't help but wonder if this was even related to your condition at all.
"Looks good! About time to return you to your room, you may be a bit sleepy after I drew blood."
[[Cindy gently grabs your straitjacket handles once more.]]As Cindy leads you through the intricate pathways of the asylum, you decide to engage her in some small talk, hoping to learn more about her and possibly gather more insights into your current situation, before you end up locked inside the white padded room again.
(link:"Attempt to make a muffled comment about the weather.")[Your attempt at initiating conversation is hindered by the gag, producing a sound resembling "Mmph mmh?" Despite the obscurity of the sound, Cindy chuckles softly, seemingly understanding your intent, however heavily gagged it may be. Seems the nurses here have plenty of experience with it.
It's quite sunny outside today," she replies, correctly interpreting your muffled comment. "Not that we get to enjoy it too much from in here, but it's nice to know the world outside still turns as it should."]
(link:"Nod in agreement and motion towards her catsuit.")[The emerald color of her catsuit has intrigued you, and you gesture towards it, hoping she'd understand your unspoken question.
She smiles, glancing down at her outfit. "Ah, the uniform. It's an acquired taste. The color represents our level of responsibility here at the asylum. Mine means I'm a nurse for general patient care in low-security." She pauses, her expression turning more playful. "It's functional and, believe it or not, quite comfortable. I hated it at first, but I have to say: it does flatter my body quite a bit." She chuckles.]
(link:"Nod thoughtfully, taking in her words.")[You ponder on Cindy's words as you continue your walk, realizing that there's much more to this place than you thought. Having someone as affable as Cindy by your side however does offers some reassurance.
Cindy stops in front of your padded room. "Well, here we are," she says softly. "I hope our chat was a welcome distraction. If you ever need anything or want to talk, don't hesitate to ask for me, somehow.."
With that, Cindy opens the door for you, her warm smile remaining as you reenter the room, pondering everything you've learned and what's yet to be discovered.
She waves you goodbye as she closes the door behind you.
[[Sit on the padded floor.]]]
You take a deep breath and ease yourself down onto the soft, padded floor.
The cushioned floor feels plush beneath you, contrasting starkly with the rigidness of the straitjacket. You lean back, your head resting against the padded walls, your eyes wandering upwards to the ceiling.
The room at least allows your thoughts to roam unchallenged.
Everything seems so surreal.
One moment you were living an ordinary life, and the next, you find yourself confined in a mysterious asylum, wrapped in restraints, surrounded by many mysterious people. Cindy, with her kindness, Lisa with her foreboding warnings, and the ever-looming shadow of Minze and her "bloodhounds".
Your biggest question remains: why are you here?
(link:"Attempt to recall any events prior to your abduction.")[This is the first DC check in this story! They will only be explained once, but are rather simple.
($dcCheck:5)
($dcDisplayState:)
Above you see the result of a roll. Your current DC modifier is -5, you are still confused and only piecing things together with drugs still in your bloodstream. It will rise as you find information.
If your roll (random d20) + your modifier exceeds the given difficulty, you (text-color:green)[PASS] the check. If not, you (text-color:red)[FAIL].
Important: sometimes ignorance is bliss. A failed roll can be a blessing, a pass is not always in your favor. It may signify interest in you by a bloodhound, but it may also be your ability to convince someone. Consider the modifier your reputation and skills growing at the same time.
You can reroll without punishment for it. But this isn't the ideal way to play, and so on. You know that whole spiel by now.
\(if:($dcCheckPassed:))[
Your mind casts back, trying to find some memory, some clue, that would explain your current predicament. Images and snippets of memories flash across your mind. The park. The cafe. The shortcut home. Nothing seems to stand out as out of the ordinary.
Yet, as you probe deeper, a shadowy recollection emerges. There was someone watching. A figure, always just out of reach, always on the periphery of your vision. An unwavering gaze that sent shivers down your spine. But every time you tried to confront them, they disappeared into thin air.
Could they be connected to your current situation? Were you being watched, studied, or even stalked before being taken to the asylum?]
\ (else:)[
You strain to remember, searching the recesses of your mind for any hint of what may have led up to your current circumstances. The more you try, the more elusive the memories become. Frustration builds as familiar scenes play out: the park, the cafe, the shortcut home. But no matter how hard you focus, you can't pinpoint anything out of the ordinary.
The sense of being watched, the prickle at the back of your neck, the fleeting shadow just at the edge of your vision – they might just be fragments of your anxious mind playing tricks on you. Maybe you never noticed anyone. Maybe there was no one there at all.
Maybe you really are delusional?]
Feeling mentally exhausted, you decide to close your eyes and try to get some rest. The sterile environment, with its soft, muted colors and plush flooring, becomes a blank canvas for your mind to find calm and refuge. Your breathing steadies, and for a moment, you're able to let go of your worries and fears.
[[Listen intently.]]
]
(set: num-type $dcOffset to -5)
\(set: num-type $roll to 0)
\(set: num-type $difficulty to 0)
\(set: bool-type $failedFirstHypno to false)
\(set: $lisaDown to false)
\(set: $dcCheck to (macro: num-type _difficulty, [
(set: $roll to (random: 1, 20))
(set: $difficulty to _difficulty)
(if: $roll + $dcOffset >= $difficulty)[(output-data: true)]
(else:)[(output-data:false)]
]))
\(set: $dcCheckPassed to (macro: [
(if: $roll + $dcOffset >= $difficulty)[(output-data: true)]
(else:)[(output-data:false)]
]))
\(set: $dcDisplayState to (macro: [
(if: $roll + $dcOffset >= $difficulty)[
(output:)[⚄ $roll(if:$dcOffset>0)[+]$dcOffset ((print:$roll+$dcOffset)) >= $difficulty (text-color:green)[✓ PASS] (link:"Re-roll")[(rerun:?passage)]
]
]
(else:)[
(output:)[⚄ $roll(if:$dcOffset>0)[+]$dcOffset ((print:$roll+$dcOffset)) >= $difficulty (text-color:red)[❌ FAIL] (link:"Re-roll")[(rerun:?passage)]
]
]
]))You focus your attention on the hidden door and the world beyond it. At first, the silence is all-consuming, but gradually, faint sounds begin to reach your ears.
A distant hum of conversation, the soft shuffle of footsteps, the squeaking of rubber, and the occasional jingle of keys. The asylum is alive with activity, hidden behind layers of walls and doors.
($dcCheck:5)
\($dcDisplayState:)
\(if:($dcCheckPassed:))[
Your ears, now attuned to the smallest of sounds, pick up on something that stands out from the usual hum of the asylum. A sequence of noises paints a vivid picture in your mind:
First, the unmistakable heavy, rhythmic footsteps of a supermax nurse, the thud of their combat boots echoing down the hallway. They approach, growing louder, with a softer, muffled sound accompanying them - the sound of someone trying to protest or scream through a massive filling their mouth gag.
Then, the sharp, metallic clang of a cell door being thrown open, followed by the muted thuds of a struggle. You can almost visualize the supermax nurse using their strength to push the unfortunate patient into the cell, the patient's muffled cries growing more desperate.
After a moment, the door slams shut, its echo reverberating down the hallway. The supermax nurse's footsteps then retreat, growing fainter until they're drowned out by the asylum's background noise.]
(else:)[
Your ears strain, trying to pick up on any distinctive sounds or whispers. You can hear a cacophony of distant noises: muffled conversations, footsteps, the creaking of doors, and the occasional clang of metal. But they all blend together, making it hard to discern any one sound or situation.
There is a brief moment when you think you've caught onto something: a muffled yelp or perhaps a distant cry. But it's fleeting and you can't be certain of what you heard or its source.
Feeling a bit frustrated and overwhelmed by the sheer volume of ambient noise, you're left with a nagging sensation that you might have missed something. The shadows of doubt and unease grow longer in your mind.]
Your body rests on the padded floor of the cell, the soft material offering a meager comfort in comparison to the unsettling thoughts swirling in your mind. After the ominous sounds in the corridor, a feeling of eerie silence envelops the space. It seems like whatever happened outside has concluded, at least for now.
You lay there, the white padding surrounding you blurring into an infinite canvas as your eyes wander around, the straitjacket tightly binding your arms, ensuring that your physical world is as confined as your current situation. While the gag impedes any vocal expression, your mind races, free from any physical constraints, exploring the dark corridors of your recent experiences and memories.
[[All you can do is wait.]]Minutes turn to hours, or maybe it's the other way around - it's difficult to keep track of time in a place where moments seem to stretch and contract. The sterility of the environment offers no benchmarks for the passing time, everything around your environment is a constant.
Just as your eyes begin to drift shut, the lock of your cell door clicks, disrupting the silence. It swings open slowly, and Cindy, the nurse clad in the reassuring green catsuit, steps into the room.
Her eyes meet yours and, despite the odd circumstances, her warm, friendly smile manages to cut through the tension in the room, if only slightly.
"Hey there," Cindy greets you gently, her voice a stark contrast to the harsh, metallic voice of the PA system from before. "How are you holding up? I brought you some water and a nutrient paste for lunch. I hope you're feeling a bit better after some rest."
Cindy approaches, kneeling beside you with a pipette filled with water, prepared to navigate it through the feeding port in your gag.
(link:"Nod appreciatively.")[Cindy, perceiving your silent gratitude, delicately inserts the pipette, allowing the cool water to trickle into your mouth. It’s a small comfort, but in the confines of your cell, each small grace feels magnified.
After ensuring you've had enough to drink, Cindy expertly administers the nutrient paste in the same manner, the bland substance providing sustenance, if not enjoyment. The paste served during breakfast was a lot better.
(link:"Attempt to engage in conversation.")[
While your gag limits your capacity for coherent speech, your eyes, wide and communicative, seem to spark a response from Cindy. She tilts her head slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching into a soft, empathetic smile.
She leans closer, “I can tell you have a lot on your mind. I wish I could remove your gag to let you speak, but I’m afraid I’m not authorized to do that. The rules here can be strict, but they are meant to keep everyone safe. If you have questions or need assistance, signify it somehow and I’ll do my best to understand and help, alright?”
(link:"Nod towards the door, hinting you want information about the sounds you heard.")[
A brief shadow crosses Cindy’s face. “Ah, that…” she starts, glancing towards the door herself. “It’s not uncommon for some patients to struggle with their new environment. They’re usually those who don’t understand where they are or why they’re here. The supermax nurses have to intervene sometimes. It’s for everyone’s safety, I hope you understand.”]
(link:"Look at your restraints, then back to Cindy, indicating you want to know more about why you're restrained.")[She looks at the straitjacket and then back at you.
“It’s procedure for new patients,” she says softly. “I know it might feel a bit...restrictive, but it's a precaution. Some folks come in here in a very agitated state and can be a danger to themselves or others. Once the doctors have assessed you, things might change.”]
(link:"Motion towards your gag with your eyes, questioning its need and label.")[Cindy looks puzzled for a moment.
"Oh, the γ-label? Honestly, I'm not quite sure why you have that particular label. New patients don't usually receive such... advanced equipment. I'd love to help, but as I mentioned earlier, I don't have the clearance to make adjustments or remove it. A higher-level nurse or a doctor will have to evaluate it, γ is very far away from my authority."
(link:"Tilt your head, indicating confusion.")["Okay, Clearance levels here at Mamertine are a bit more... intricate than at most institutions. They denote what a staff member is permitted to do, both in terms of patient interaction and facility access."
Cindy continues, "The clearance levels are indicated by the colors and labels on our attire. Like you noticed earlier, green catsuits, like mine, are for regular low-security nursing staff. We mainly attend to the daily needs of the low-security patients. Light blue, which you may have seen around during breakfast, is for nurses still in training for these positions. Then, on the other hand of the spectrum, there's the... supermax nurses. Their attire is completely black, and their clearance level allows them to handle the highest-risk situations and all patients. The colors inbetween are yellow, orange and red, you can imagine the progression."
(link:"Focus on the gag again, trying to understand why a nurse like her can't assist with it.")[
Cindy glances at the γ-label on your gag. "That label? It's a higher security designation. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't unlock or adjust it. Only those with certain clearances, like the supermax nurses or senior medical staff, can modify or remove γ-labeled equipment. It's a measure to ensure patient safety and security. Though," she pauses, looking thoughtful, "I am unsure why you, as a new patient, were designated with it."
She inspects the label again. "To elaborate, γ is the second-highest labeling. The only one above it is Ω, and that...", she catches herself and lets the sentence fade out.]]]
[[Continue.]]
]]
Cindy offers a gentle, reassuring smile. Her gaze flits down to the sturdy canvas of your straitjacket and then to your heavily restricted mouth, her expression softening further.
"I know this must be a lot to take in, especially with everything that's happening. Mamertine Asylum can be a... peculiar place, to say the least," she confides, the lines of her friendly demeanor momentarily marred by an unspoken weariness.
Suddenly, the harsh, metallic voice of the PA system interrupts the moment, sending a jolt through the serene atmosphere.
"Nurse Cindy, please report to the East Wing. Urgent assistance required."
Cindy's eyes flicker with a mix of frustration and concern, the prior conversation abruptly halted by the cold, impersonal command echoing through the corridor. She stands upright, taking a step back, and briefly glances in the probable direction of the East Wing.
(link:"Express concern with muffled noises through your gag.")[
Your eyes widen as you emit a series of concerned, muffled sounds, trying to convey your unease about her sudden departure. Cindy, catching on to your emotional state, places a comforting hand on your shoulder, offering a kind but hurried smile.
"Hey, it's going to be alright. I'll be back as soon as I can, okay? Just stay here and try to relax. Remember, deep breaths," Cindy reassures, her voice carrying a warmth that somehow mitigates the chill spreading through the room.
($dcCheck:14)
\($dcDisplayState:)
(if:($dcCheckPassed:))[Your keen observation reveals the slight quickening of her breath, the almost imperceptible hardening of her expression, and the fleeting look of trepidation in her eyes. It's clear that the East Wing isn't just a challenging area, but one that evokes genuine concern in Cindy. Her professionalism masks most of it, but to an observant eye, the depth of her apprehension is visible. Even she is uncomfortable.]
\(else:)[You try to focus on Cindy's reactions, but the nuances elude you. Her face remains a mask of professionalism, and her posture gives little away. It's difficult to gauge the depth of her emotions regarding the East Wing, leaving you to ponder and speculate on its significance.]
As she turns away, heading towards the East Wing with quick, purposeful strides, you find yourself once again enveloped by an uneasy solitude, the lingering echo of her words providing a modicum of comfort amidst the uncertainty as the heavy padded door latches.
[[Wait patiently.]]]
You settle back into the padded floor, the soft material providing scant comfort as your mind races, grappling with the newly-acquired information and the isolated circumstances in which you find yourself.
Your thoughts drift toward Cindy, wondering what the sudden call on the PA was about.
But all you can do it wait. After what felt like an eternity, you hear footsteps outside.
The heavy door to your cell opens with a slow creak, and Cindy steps inside. She looks visibly drained, her usual vibrant green eyes dulled and her posture slightly slouched.
Her catsuit, previously pristine shining green, now bears smudges of dirt and what might be small splatters of something darker. She takes a deep breath before approaching you.
Seeing her in this state evokes a pang of empathy, even amidst your own confusion and concern. Your eyes meet hers, and without words, there's a silent understanding of the gravity of whatever occurred in the East Wing.
She forces a weak smile. "You... you seem to be handling things well here, all things considered."
Your tight panel gag prevents verbal communication, but you nod in acknowledgment. There's a mutual understanding between both of you.
"I don't usually get too involved in what happens in the East Wing," Cindy begins, her voice noticeably quieter than before. "But when they're short-staffed... well, I have to step in."
You mumble inquisitively through your gag, urging her to continue.
Cindy sighs. "I can't disclose too much, but... there are patients in the East Wing who require a different kind of care. It's intense and draining." She pauses, taking a deep breath. "It's just a part of the job, though."
You offer her an understanding, sympathetic look, trying to convey your support despite the gag.
Cindy continues, "I can't imagine how confusing and overwhelming all this must be for you, especially being new here and with... well," she glances at your γ-labelled gag, "...with that. But you're strong. You'll get through this."
[[Attempt to dig deeper.]]
[[Don't prod.->Continue talking.]]
This check is Cindy rolling against you.
($dcCheck:10)
\($dcDisplayState:)
(if:not ($dcCheckPassed:))[
Cindy sighs, relenting. "It's where they keep the more... difficult cases. Those who resist treatment, or those who've been deemed dangerous. I'd advise you to stay away from there, I've seen... things happening there."
[[Continue talking.]]]
(else:)[You push too hard, and a shadow crosses Cindy's face. "I've told you enough," she says sharply. "Just focus on your own well-being for now, okay?"
[[The atmosphere becomes unpleasant.]]]Cindy stands up and waves, but seems to hesitate by the cell door for a moment, her fingers brushing over the lock. She takes a deep breath before turning back to you, her expression more open and vulnerable than you've ever seen it.
"You know," she starts, her voice soft and wavering, "I've been working in this place for years. Seen all kinds of people come and go. But you... there's something different about you."
You tilt your head slightly, trying to convey your attention despite the limitations of the gag.
"I don't know why you're here or what you've done. And honestly, it's none of my business. But I hope, for your sake, you find a way out. Whatever or whoever brought you here... I hope you can overcome it." Her gaze meets yours, her eyes filled with genuine concern.
After the brief exchange, Cindy finally breaks the silence. "I better go. The East Wing won't monitor itself," she says with a soft chuckle, although there's a hint of melancholy behind it. She takes one last lingering look at you before departing. "Take care."
The door shuts softly behind her, leaving you alone.
[[Flop over onto your side.]]You remain silent, allowing the weight of the moment to settle without adding any more words.
Cindy seems to appreciate the silence, taking a few moments to compose herself. After a while, she says, "It's just... some days are harder than others."
Regardless, time drifts on. Cindy eventually gathers herself, standing up to leave the cell. "I need to make my rounds," she says, her voice steadier than before. "Stay safe."
As she walks away and the door slams shut behind her, you're left alone with your thoughts once more.
[[Flop over onto your side.]] This is a CYOA.
Some things are decided with a d20 roll.
Player spends time in her apartment.
Two supermax nurses bang at the door, inject sedative and kidnap player.
Player wakes up in a padded cell in Mamertine Asylum, wearing straitjacket and panel gag. Gag is tagged with an authorization level of gamma.
Minze enters and makes introduction. She's head of nursing, mysterious and has a dangerous aura, as if she's been long scheming this. Kitsune, red eyes, burgundy hair and fox ears.
Later, Cindy Lovelace enters. She's a friendly low-security nurse. Emerald-color eyes. She's calm and reassuring, but deep down believes treatment of the patients, as odd as it may be, to be for the best. It must be given, even if force is needed. Nevertheless, she feels empathy for the player.
The two walk to breakfast. Player meets Lisa, female patient with short, dark hair and a friendly smile. She introduces supermax nurses and feeds player.
Cindy Lovelace takes the player to an examination room. Everything is fine and the two return, making a lot of smalltalk on the way and in the cell. Cindy is called over PA about an emergency in the east wing and hurries away.
She returns a bit later, looking tired and with blood on her otherwise pristine catsuit. She's apprehensive about talking about it.
Glossary:
Mamertine Asylum - the name of the facility.
'supermax' nurses - They wear vantablack catsuits and reflective gas masks that cover their whole heads. They're also called "bloodhounds" by patients. Ruthless, strong and efficient.
The East Wing - dedicated wing for difficult cases.
Security levels: low, medium, max, supermax
Authority levels: greek alphabet, alpha to omega
After Cindy leaves, the cell feels emptier than before. The echo of her words reverberate in your mind, adding new layers of complexity to your situation.
As much as you'd like to ponder the implications of her statements, the stress of the day makes your eyelids heavy. Laying your head against the padding on the wall, you close your eyes.
Your sleep is far from peaceful. Dreams and nightmares meld into a surreal tapestry, offering no reprieve from the strangeness. Visions of Minze, supermax nurses, and even Cindy float through your subconscious, morphing and twisting in unsettling ways.
Despite the discomfort, your body takes what rest it can get. You find yourself pulled from this uneasy state when the PA system buzzes to life once again.
"Patient, sit in the center."
[[Groan in annoyance.]]You sigh as you groggily push yourself to comply. After a bit of shuffling around, you sit in the center of the cell, facing the door.
The wait is humiliating. It's like they make you obediently sit in place for several minutes on purpose.
You hear the sound of a lock disengaging, and the door creaks open. You expect Cindy to greet you, but that doesn't happen.
A supermax nurse stands at the threshold, their figure towering and imposing.
The atmosphere around them feels charged and dangerous.
You see the reflective gas mask obscuring their face and can see your reflection in it, kneeling, gagged, and completely restrained. Helpless and weak. You don't even dare to look up.
They step inside and their gloved hand seizes your straitjacket handle with a grip that leaves absolutely no room for resistance. You can almost sense their eyes examining you behind the gas mask.
They've been trained for situations far more dangerous than escorting a patient to therapy, but for some reason, this one was sent to grab you specifically. As you're being pulled up to a stand, you get a quick proper glance at them.
The black catsuit they wear seems to almost absorb the light around it, while the reflective surface of their gas mask gives away nothing of what lies behind. The only thing giving away humanity are their black combat boots and the sound of steady breathing through the filters of the gasmask. The person inside the suit is clearly female and *heavily* trained, the strong athletic build even visible through rubber.
[[Get dragged along.]]"Walking" with the supermax nurse at your side is an entirely different experience than the walks you had with Cindy.
Rather than walking yourself and being gently guided around by Cynthia, the supermax nurse marches you along in lockstep, not tolerating you going even a single step out of sync with her. Any deviation results in either being dragged forwards or being held back, there is no give in her ironclad grip on your straitjacket.
You decide not to test the nurse. You silently walk along, your head lowered. The clack of the combat boots echo through the hallway, announcing your presence to everyone. Along the whole trip, you encounter only a single other nurse. It's as if everyone avoided you.
The corridors blur into one another, a labyrinthine maze of doors and long corridors. Eventually, the nurse stops in front of a door—this one, unlike the rest, has a small engraved plaque that reads, "Minze - Head of Nursing."
($dcCheck:10)
($dcDisplayState:)
(if:($dcCheckPassed:))[As the nurse releases your arm to open the door, your eyes catch a glimpse of a badge attached to the side of their waist. You can't make out the details, but you note its shape and color—a red hexagon with a black inner circle.]
\(else:)[The supermax nurse opens the door seamlessly, never letting you go for even a second. You try to glean something, anything, on her that may reveal information, but the nurse's impeccable professionalism gives nothing away.]
[[The door swings open.]]The door swings open, and the clinical atmosphere is immediately replaced by a room that almost feels inviting, if it weren't for the circumstances.
The walls are lined with bookshelves filled with tomes on psychology and psychiatry. The whole room is furnished with oak furniture, the centerpiece being a massive desk.
Seated behind a desk is Minze, her red eyes locking onto yours as you enter. Her burgundy hair cascades over her shoulders, framing her face, which bears a sly smile. Her red eyes seem to penetrate straight through you, and her fox ears twitch ever so slightly as she observes your entrance.
"Ah, you've finally arrived," Minze's voice is silky, but tinged with an edge that makes your skin crawl. "Please, make yourself comfortable," she says.
She gestures for you to take the chair opposite her, which you do under the watchful eye of the supermax nurse, who takes a position by the door.
($dcCheck:14)
\($dcDisplayState:)
(if:($dcCheckPassed:))[You muster all your willpower and manage to maintain eye contact with Minze, showing neither fear nor defiance. Your composure seems to intrigue her.
](else:)[Your eyes waver under her intense gaze. A chill runs down your spine as you feel like she's reading every thought, every secret you've ever had.]
"Shall we begin?" Minze asks, as she pulls up a digital pad and stylus.
Your instincts scream at you to tread carefully. Minze is not just any nurse; she's the head of nursing here, with an authority level that likely matches her dangerous aura.
[[The fox smiles at you.]]Minze taps her stylus against the digital pad, her eyes never leaving yours. With a flick of her wrist, she activates a holographic display that materializes between the two of you. A document appears on the display—a court order.
The header reads, "In the Matter of the Mental Health of Luna Maeda." The words "Legally Insane" are glaringly visible, and your heart sinks as you realize the implications.
"Formalities, my dear," Minze says, waving her hand to dismiss the hologram. "Just so we both understand the legal backdrop of your stay here. I find that clarity up front eases hard conversations significantly. You're legally insane and here on court order."
She leans back, eyes narrowing slightly. "So, let's proceed with clarity. First question: Why do ''you'' think you are here at Mamertine Asylum?"
Your eyes shift to the supermax nurse still standing by the door.
Minze seems to understand your predicament and turns her gaze to the nurse. "Remove the gag."
With mechanical efficiency, the nurse steps forward and unlocks the mechanism keeping the panel gag in place. The large ball is pulled out of your mouth and the tight leather that sealed your mouth for days releases it's grip on your face.
($dcCheck:5)
\($dcDisplayState:)
(if:($dcCheckPassed:))[Your mouth feels dry, but you manage to wet your lips and find your voice. "I don't know why I'm here. I was kidnapped and woke up in this place."
Minze takes note of your response. She continues, "Interesting. Not uncommon for patients to claim no knowledge of the reasons behind their commitment."
](else:)[Your voice cracks, and your words come out as an unintelligible mumble. The dryness in your mouth makes it impossible to speak clearly.
You catch a sly smile on Minze's face. "I'll skip this one for now."]
You groan as you open and close your mouth a bit, trying to get full feeling in it again. Your jaw has certainly not enjoyed this. Even if you could, you get the feeling speaking out of turn will get you silenced again immediately.
[[You take a deep breath.]]"Now that we're all a bit more comfortable, let's proceed, shall we?" Minze coos, picking up her stylus again. "Question two: Why do you think you're here at Mamertine Asylum?"
($dcCheck:10)
\($dcDisplayState:)
\(if:($dcCheckPassed:))[Summoning your courage, you choose your words carefully, opting for a neutral but thoughtful answer. "I can't say for certain. I didn't voluntarily come here, and I don't believe I'm insane."
Minze looks intrigued. "Few people diagnosed with delusion believe so. It shifts your worldview, your perception. There's no shame in not realizing your condition," she says.]
(else:)[You stumble over your words, feeling cornered and unsure. "I don't know, I don't think I should be here," you mumble, visibly shaken.
Minze looks slightly amused. "Very well, let's move on," she says.]
[[Onto the next one.]]Minze taps her tablet with the stylus.
"Question three: Do you believe you're a good person?"
($dcCheck:5)
\($dcDisplayState:)
\(if:($dcCheckPassed:))["The concept of good is subjective," you answer cautiously, maintaining eye contact. "I've made mistakes, like anyone else, but I try to be good. Nothing warranting an insanity court order."
Minze raises an eyebrow, jotting down something on her digital pad. "Ah, morality. Always a slippery subject," she muses.]
(else:)["I-- I think so?" Your voice falters, filled with uncertainty. The question throws you off balance, causing you to question your own self-worth.
Minze raises an eyebrow, jotting down something on her digital pad. "I apologize, I usually save self-reflection for later," she muses.]
[[Watch her.]]
"Now that we're getting to know each other, do you have any questions for me?" Minze asks, offering you a rare opportunity.
(link:"What is your role in this place exactly?")[Minze leans back in her chair, her fingers still interlocked, and offers a smile. "My role? I oversee the nursing staff and the well-being of the patients in Mamertine Asylum. I'm the heart of this institution's day-to-day operations—ensuring it functions as smoothly as it does."
She pauses for a moment, her gaze sharpening. "But make no mistake, I also deal with...special cases."]
(link:"Why are you interested in my case?")[($dcCheck:10)($dcDisplayState:)
(if:($dcCheckPassed:))[Minze's eyes widen ever so slightly, and you sense that you've piqued her curiosity.
"Your case? Well, let's just say that every patient here presents an opportunity for psychological exploration. But you," she hesitates for a moment, "you have an air of complexity that is...intriguing me."
](else:)["Interest is too strong a word," Minze responds dismissively. "Every patient here is a case study in human psychology. You're no different."]]
(link:"What happened in the East Wing that required such urgent attention?")[Minze's fox ears twitch, and she leans back in her chair, clearly weighing her words before speaking. "The East Wing is a containment area for some of our most challenging cases. Occasionally, situations arise that require immediate intervention. Today was one such day."
She looks at you with a scrutinizing gaze. "Any further details are classified. I'm sorry Miss Lovelace had to interrupt your lunch."]
(link:"Who are the supermax nurses? They seem to be a different breed altogether.")[Minze's eyes narrow slightly, as if you've touched on a subject that's both sensitive and complex.
"They are specialized staff trained to handle the most difficult and dangerous patients," she begins. "Their role is critical in maintaining the order and security of this facility. However, they are also under direct orders to maintain a certain... distance from the patients. Emotional detachment is crucial in their line of work."
Choose your next words carefully.
[["Do they ever step out of line? Abuse their authority, perhaps?"->BadEndingBarcode]]
[["Are they as emotionally detached as they seem, or is that just a facade?"->GoodEndingSession]]
]Minze's eyes narrow, and the atmosphere in the room turns colder than a winter's night. "You'd do well not to question the integrity of our staff," she intones, her voice laced with steel. "Remember, you are here for a reason, while they are here to enforce that reason."
It seems you struck a serious nerve.
The tension in the room reaches a boiling point. Minze snaps her fingers, and the supermax nurse swiftly moves to your side. Before you can see what happens, you feel the familiar sensation of an icy cold radiating from your neck, which tells you all you need to know.
The nurse has injected you with a sedative. Your vision blurs, you slump in your chair, and as your muscles slacken, you're hoisted up by the nurse and carried out of the room. The last thing you see is Minze standing up and following, before your vision fades and the world goes completely dark.
[[Go limp.]]"Are they as emotionally detached as they seem, or is that just a facade?" you ask, leaning into the human element that lies beneath the cold exterior of the supermax nurses.
Minze seems intrigued by your question. "Ah, questioning the human element," she says with a smirk. "They are trained to be detached, but they are not without emotions. Still, that detachment is necessary for the difficult decisions they must often make. The lines between empathy and duty blur in this institution, and walking the line is their job."
As she speaks, her eyes meet yours. For a brief moment, you sense a hint of vulnerability—a flicker of human emotion that escapes before she regains her composure.
[["Interesting."]]
<span class="bad-end">[["What if I could walk that line?"]]</span>
(b4r:"dashed")+(b4r-colour:red)[Warning: you've encountered a possible bad ending!
Bad endings are marked with a (text-colour:#EE82EE)[violet backdrop]. They have no means of escape.
After the bad ending finishes, a button to return to the page offering it appears. You will never lose progress, so feel free to explore.]The inside of this examination room is the same as the one you had been in with Cindy.
However, with the supermax nurse holding you with an iron grip, the atmosphere is very different. You are sat into the chair and the nurse straps you down, a lot tighter than Cindy ever did.
The web of straps secures your arms, legs, torso and forehead in place. By the end, you can't struggle even a millimeter.
[[Look over at Minze.]]Not even addressing your restrained state, she begins to speak.
"There's one more formality to address," she says, adjusting her burgundy hair behind her ears as she prepares a device out of your fixed view.
"Temporary identification markers. Standard protocol for new patients. These will last for approximately two years." Her words come out matter-of-factly, as if she's done this countless times before.
She approaches you, and the machine hums to life with a soft red glow. You brace yourself for the sensation of a needle but are surprised to feel something entirely different.
The machine hovers over your right cheek, emitting a faint buzzing sound. A warm sensation follows, akin to the feeling of sun on your skin, but with a slight pressure that penetrates the surface. Within moments, the sensation subsides, and Minze moves the machine to your right arm, repeating the process.
"Barcode identification," she explains, examining her handiwork. "It allows us to keep track of our patients' movements, medications, and even dietary restrictions. Quite handy, applied in seconds with a laser inking machine."
Looking at your reflection in the metallic surface of a medical tray nearby, you see it—a barcode on your cheek and another on your right arm. It's a black series of lines and numbers, crisp against your pale skin, serving as a haunting reminder of your current status.
"Don't worry about the cheek tattoo being a blemish. That one will fade over the next hours and become visible only under UV. Your arm tattoo however will stay dark and crisp for a while."
"As much as I've enjoyed our conversation, that will be all for today," Minze says. She strides toward the door, pausing for a brief second. "Our next session will be scheduled in due course."
As she exits, the supermax nurse moves to unstrap you from the chair. Whether you're now in Minze's good graces or further from it, one thing is clear: you're not a name or a face here; you're a barcode—a data point in Mamertine's sprawling, complex system, nothing more.
[[Watch the head nurse leave.]]
Your next sensation is that of a web of leather straps being tightened around your wrists, ankles, chest and forehead. Your foggy consciousness clears just enough for you to realize you're strapped to a chair.
A feeling of dread sinks in as you realize the implications of your recent actions. This was clearly not a conversation that Minze wanted to have, and you've just made your already precarious situation worse.
You can't even move a millimeter, the leather straps are incredibly tight and dig into your skin deeply.
After blinking a little more, your vision clears up enough to see in front of you again.
[[Look over at Minze.]] The supermax nurse, ever silent behind their reflective gas mask, proceeds to unstrap you from the examination chair. She once again grabs you and lifts you out of the chair.
You're led through the winding corridors of Mamertine Asylum, your barcode-marked arm a visible testament to your status. Every door that slides open for the supermax nurse, every security check that clears as you pass, reinforces the extent of your captivity.
Finally, you reach your cell. The door slides open, you step inside, and it closes behind you with a soft, yet irrevocable, thud. The nurse stands still for a moment, a silent guardian at your cell's entrance, before turning sharply and walking away, their footsteps echoing down the hall until they fade into nothingness.
[[Sit down in a corner to process.]]
You sit on the padded floor and nestle yourself into a corner.
Not long after you've settled back into your cell, the door opens again. This time, it's Cindy, her emerald eyes meeting yours as she steps inside. Her presence is a stark contrast to the supermax nurse's—warm, personable, and tinged with a touch of sorrow.
"So, how did your session go?" she asks, taking a seat near your corner. Her voice lacks its usual upbeat tone; instead, it's tinged with genuine concern.
You think back to your meeting with Minze—the questions, the barcode, and the unsettling feeling of being reduced to a data point in a system designed to keep you confined. There's so much to say, yet your thoughts are a jumbled mess.
"It was... intense," you finally manage, opting for simplicity. "Got a new tattoo," you add, half-jokingly, gesturing to your freshly marked cheek and arm.
Cindy chuckles but the sound is short-lived, fading into a moment of reflective silence. "Minze has a way of getting under your skin, both literally and metaphorically. She's as special as they come, but a truly legendary nurse."
The two of you sit in a comfortable quietude for a few seconds, the weight of the day settling around you like a heavy blanket. Cindy finally breaks the silence. "You know, it's good to finally hear your voice. Was a damn shame sealing it for so long."
"Thanks, Cindy. It's... good to talk. Makes this place feel a bit less isolating," you reply, taking the opportunity to get to know your low-security nurse a bit better.
[[Time to learn more.]]You have many questions floating around in your mind, but narrow it down for now.
(link:"You've been here for years. How do you feel about working under Minze?")[Cindy's eyes narrow a little, as if she's carefully picking her words. "Minze is... a force to be reckoned with. She's demanding, but her expertise is unparalleled. I may not understand all her methods, but I trust her judgement. If you're under her care, there's always a reason—even if it's not immediately obvious."]
(link:"Is it hard, treating people with such heavy-handed methods?")[She sighs, a look of complexity clouding her emerald eyes.
"It's never easy, especially when it comes to new arrivals like yourself. But we have to maintain order, and sometimes that requires uncomfortable measures. It weighs heavy on my conscience sometimes, but it's often the only way that works."
Cindy stands up, stretching her arms as she does so. "It's been a long day, and tomorrow isn't going to be any easier. Try to get some sleep," she suggests, before heading to the door.
"Goodnight, Cindy," you reply, watching as she leaves the cell, the door locking behind her with a definitive click.
[[Sleep, now a proper patient.]]]
You wake up to the harsh sound of the PA system, the voice emotionless as it delivers its daily directives. "All patients, rise and prepare for the morning activities. Breakfast will be served in the common area."
Well, this was new.
Still feeling the lingering effects of yesterday's events, you sit up and stretch your limbs, your eyes heavy and your body aching for a moment of peace that seems increasingly elusive. But you know you can't afford to let your guard down.
A click at the door heralds its slow opening. It's not Cindy this time, but a cute nurse clad in light-blue. "Good morning," she says with a hesitant smile, "I'm Sarah. I'll be taking you to breakfast today. Please follow me."
You nod and rise to your feet, intrigued by the newcomer yet cautious. Sarah leads you down the familiar corridors toward the dining area. Her steps are less assured than those of her more experienced colleagues, revealing her relative inexperience.
As you walk, you can't help but wonder: What brings someone like Sarah to a place like Mamertine? Her presence seems innocent, a flicker of something softer in a world dominated by unyielding rules and rigid authority.
[[You arrive at the dining area.]]You arrive at the dining area, a spacious room filled with rows of tables and benches. Patients are already seated, some engaged in hushed conversations, while others eat in silence.
The familiar face of Lisa catches your eye. She's sitting at one of the tables, her plate already filled. As you approach, she looks up and smiles warmly. "Hey there! Over here!" she calls out, waving you over.
The young nurse gives you a slight nod, as if granting permission, and you make your way to Lisa's table.
You take a seat and shortly afterward, Sarah returns with a plastic plate. On it is a crossiant with spread strawberry jam, next to it a slice of toast with cheese. She places it in front of you and leaves you with, "Enjoy your breakfast!".
"So, how's life treating you?" Lisa asks, digging into her scrambled eggs. Her short, dark hair is a bit tousled, and her eyes show the wear of another sleepless night, but her demeanor remains friendly.
"It's been a rollercoaster," you admit, taking a tentative bite of the crossiant in front of you without use of your arms. "Had my first session with Minze yesterday."
Lisa's eyebrows shoot up, a mixture of curiosity and concern coloring her expression. "Ah, her. How did that go?"
"It was intense. Got barcoded too," you summarize, nodding to your cheek and arm.
Lisa nods, as if expecting this. "Yeah, the barcodes are a rite of passage here. Don't worry, you'll get used to them. And as for Minze, well, let's just say she's an acquired taste."
As you think of something to continue the conversation, Lisa cheekily slips a bit of toast into your mouth. The help is appreciated.
(link:"Inquire about the east wing.")[Lisa's expression turns more serious. "That's where they keep the difficult cases. High-security measures, very restricted access. Even I don't know all the details, but rumors float around—experiments, intense therapy sessions, that kind of stuff. Cindy got called there yesterday, came back looking drained and with some bloodsplatter on her. Just... be glad you're not there."]
(link:"Ask about Minze's role.")["What's Minze's role here, really? She seemed...intense," you say, trying to get a read on the mysterious head nurse.
Lisa's eyes narrow, "Minze has a lot of power here. She oversees most, if not all, of the medical and psychological assessments. You could say she sets the tone for your treatment plan. She's intelligent, but I'd tread carefully. Her questions are designed to peel back layers you might not even know you had."
"She's seen a lot; it's unlikely you can beat her at her own game on her home field."]
(link:"Ask about contraband.")[Lisa smirks, "Ah, looking to trade in Mamertine's underground market, are we? I'd be careful, but yes, there are ways. Supply runs happen occasionally, facilitated by those in medium or max-security roles. But, you didn't hear it from me, okay?"]
(link:"Ask about the higher security levels.")["In your time here, have you had much interaction with the higher security levels, even though you're in low security?" you ask cautiously.
Lisa gives a wry smile, "Ah, the levels. On paper, it's all neatly segmented: low interacts with low, medium with medium, and so on. But in practice, the lines blur. Group activities sometimes mix different levels, and the nursing staff is always a medley. I've had some run-ins with higher-security individuals during those 'interdisciplinary' activities, but direct contact is usually limited."
"In what way?" you press on, eager to understand the nuances.
She leans in, lowering her voice, "Well, you won't find yourself sharing a cell with a max-security patient, if that's what you're asking. But you might find yourself in a group therapy session with them, heavily monitored, of course. The facility believes in 'potential for progress' for everyone, but they aren't foolish enough to create a dangerous mix without precaution."]
[[Breakfast is over.]]
You wave a quick goodbye at Lisa before you find yourself escorted back to your cell, the door locking behind you with a click.
The room's sterile atmosphere envelops you as you sink back into the padded corner that has become your temporary sanctuary. The walls almost seem to close in.
You clench your fists, feeling a surge of helplessness wash over you. Here you are, branded, confined, and, despite all the information you've gathered, no closer to understanding how to regain your freedom.
As you sit there, your mind heavy with thoughts and emotions, you understand that the road ahead is long and filled with peril. Whether through insight or resilience, through alliance or cunning, you must navigate it if you wish to ever leave.
The minutes tick by, each one stretching out as if the universe itself is taunting your helplessness. You find yourself staring at the barcode on your arm, that loathsome mark which seems to encapsulate your current reality.
The more you look at it, the more it seems like a puzzle—a problem to be solved rather than a brand of ownership. As you ponder this, the PA system suddenly crackles to life.
"Attention patients. Scheduled activities will resume in fifteen minutes. Please prepare."
You don't have a schedule to consult, but the announcement adds a rhythm to your day. You rise to your feet, pacing the small room as you review what you've learned so far.
[[Time to evaluate.]]You think about Lisa's insights into the permeable boundaries between security levels. Could those intersections be points of vulnerability in the system? Places where, under the right circumstances, you could glean critical information or tools for your escape?
And then there's Cindy, with her empathetic nature. She has access to multiple parts of the facility, and her ambivalence about the whole operation is a chink in Mamertine's armor. Could she be persuaded to assist you, even indirectly? She does seem to fully trust in the head nurse however...
Finally, there's Minze. Unpredictable, intelligent, and clearly holding most, if not all, of the cards. Understanding her might be the key.
She branded you, literally and metaphorically, but did that give you anything in return?
Your internal clock tells you the fifteen minutes are almost up. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what may happen next.
Sure enough, the door beeps and swings open. An unfamiliar nurse in a light-blue uniform—apparently an apprentice again—stands at the entrance. "It's time for your next scheduled activity," they say, offering a more cheerful expression than you'd expect in a place like this. You nod, stepping out of your cell, your mind still churning with plans and possibilities.
The light-blue apprentice nurse leads you down another corridor, this one appearing slightly less sterile than the others you've traversed. The walls are adorned with soothing murals, perhaps an attempt to ease the emotional burden of the treatments that occur here. The nurse guides you into a room marked [["Induced Dreaming Therapy."]]Once inside, you notice the room is designed to be more comforting than the barren cell you came from. It's furnished with a reclining chair that looks like it belongs in a high-end dentist's office, surrounded by various types of medical equipment and monitoring devices. The most peculiar item, however, is a helmet-like apparatus suspended above the chair.
The apprentice nurse directs you to sit and starts strapping you into the chair. Your arms and legs are secured, but not too tightly—enough to make you feel restrained but not completely immobile.
"Induced Dreaming Therapy allows us to guide your subconscious through structured experiences," they explain. "It's a tool for both analysis and treatment. Today is just an introductory session, so we'll be keeping it relatively light."
The helmet is lowered onto your head, electrodes are applied to your temples, and you hear a soft whirring as it activates. A visor slides down over your eyes, plunging you into darkness before a series of calming lights start to dance in your field of vision. The electrodes activate, causing an odd tingling sensation in your head.
As the session begins, you feel yourself becoming drowsy. The music, the soft pulsing lights from the visor, and the slight tingling sensation from the electrodes all converge, pulling your consciousness toward a different realm. But somewhere in the back of your mind, alarm bells ring.
($dcCheck:10)
\($dcDisplayState:)
\(if:($dcCheckPassed:))[You summon every ounce of your mental strength, focusing on grounding techniques you've either read about or instinctively know.
Your mind remains agile, ducking and weaving through the labyrinth of artificial stimuli designed to ensnare and control it. Though you feel the haze of drowsiness around the edges of your consciousness, your core remains alert and impenetrable. The session eventually ends, and as the visor is lifted, you realize you've successfully resisted whatever influence the therapy tried to exert.(set: $dcOffset to $dcOffset+1)(set: $failedFirstHypno to false)
](else:)[Despite your best efforts, the combination of music, lights, and electric pulses starts to overwhelm your defenses.
Your thoughts blur into a muddled swirl, and you can feel fragments of your past, crucial memories and strong facets of your personality, starting to slip away into the void. For a moment, you lose yourself entirely, becoming pliant and docile.
When the visor lifts, your eyes lack their earlier spark, and you find yourself responding to the nurse's questions in a subdued, submissive tone.
The effects are disorienting, and you realize you've lost something valuable, at least for now. A string of drool hangs out of the corner of your mouth.(set: $failedFirstHypno to false)]
The light-blue apprentice nurse helps you out of the chair, and your legs wobble as you regain your footing. You find yourself escorted back to your cell to 'rest and reflect' on the experience.
[[Flop down into the corner.]]
As you return to your cell, the door shutting behind you with a soft clunk, you sink back into your corner. The room feels both familiar and alien, as though the boundaries of your personal space have shifted in some subtle, unsettling way.
(if:$failedFirstHypno)[Your mind feels like it's wading through molasses. There's a hollowness, a noticeable absence where once there were vibrant memories and facets of your personality. Even though you're back in your cell, a space you've become acquainted with, there's a disorienting sense of disconnection. You feel subdued, a less vivid version of yourself, and this scares you.
It's challenging to focus your thoughts, but this very challenge serves as a wake-up call. You feel violated, as if a part of you has been extracted, dissected, and killed.
You silently promise yourself that you will not let this place strip you of your essence. You can't afford another loss like this; the next time might irreversibly shatter something fundamental about you. If this was only a soft session...](else:)[Your mind buzzes with a sort of static electricity, as though it had just undergone an intensive workout. There's a blend of relief and achievement. You feel like you've passed a test, one you didn't even know you were taking, but which had been critical nonetheless.
Despite the unsettling nature of the Induced Dreaming Therapy session, you're filled with an invigorating sense of your own resilience. If anything, the experience has fortified your determination.
You're reminded that your mind, sharp and uncompromising, is your greatest asset here. They can lock your body in a cell, dress you in a straitjacket, but as long as you keep your wits about you, there's a fighting chance for escape, or at least for some form of resistance. Hopefully.]
Induced Dreaming Therapy is more than a psychological assessment or therapy tool. It was a weapon, disguised as therapy, aimed to break down your mind and turn you subservient and empty your mind.
The thought of other therapy methods being similar causes a shiver to run down your back.
[[You fall asleep, exhausted.]]You're roused from an uneasy sleep by the PA system. "All low-security patients, prepare for breakfast escort," it booms, its artificial voice filling the otherwise quiet space.
A light-blue uniformed nurse, clearly an apprentice, steps into your cell. "Morning, time for breakfast," she announces with a smile, unlocking the cell door and gesturing for you to step out.
She escorts you along the by now familiar path, to the breakfast hall.
Upon entering the cafeteria, you immediately notice that Lisa's usual spot is empty. It's a jarring sight; she was ''always'' here, for every meal.
You're given a tray of breakfast—some oatmeal and a slice of bread—and you take a seat, scanning the room for clues about her.
A fellow patient, John, sits across from you. He's a middle-aged man with a fuzzy beard and a quiet demeanor. He leans in and whispers, "You're looking for Lisa, aren't you?"
You nod, concern pulling at your features.
"She's been moved to isolation. Heard she was found with contraband. Put up quite a fight when they came for her. Took two supermax nurses to restrain her."
The news hits you like a bucket of cold water. Lisa, in isolation? If what John says is true, Lisa is in serious trouble. You have to-
Your thoughts are interrupted as a nurse—this one with a medium security tag—calls out for the end of breakfast. You're soon to be escorted back to your cell, but Lisa's absence has filled your mind with worry.
The light-blue nurse comes to collect you, and as you're led back to your cell, your mind begins to race. Time to figure out your next move.
[[Enter your cell and make a plan.]]Once you're back in your cell, the light-blue apprentice nurse locks the door behind you, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sink into the corner of the padded room, eyes closed, as you let the gravity of the situation wash over you.
You begin to feel a sense of despair, almost overwhelmed by the level of security and control around you. It seems like you've made no progress in escaping or understanding why you're even here, and now even Lisa is gone.
($dcCheck:10)
($dcDisplayState:)
(if:($dcCheckPassed:))[You realize that Lisa's absence could be both a risk and an opportunity.
She had the guts to smuggle contraband and even fought back when caught. She's resourceful, and if you could align your efforts with hers, you might stand a better chance at finding a way out.
Step 1: help her.](else:)[Your mind wanders, imagining the worst scenarios for Lisa, but you can't seem to formulate a coherent plan to help her or yourself. The walls seem to close in a bit more. You have to help. Somehow.]
[[The intercom buzzes.]]
The intercom buzzes again, only this time the message is different. "Patient, prepare for Drug-Induced Mind Activation Therapy."
A medium-security nurse arrives in your cell.
She greets you with a smile. "Hello, Luna! We're heading over in a bit, but you've been here for three days now. That means you finally get to have the straitjacket removed!"
You gasp in surprise. This was a very welcome development. The nurse steps behind you, expertly tugging at the straps behind your back. You feel the straitjacket give way, before she gently pulls it off your body in one swoop. The nurse slings it over her shoulder and pats some fluff off your shiny catsuit below.
"Alright! Now that that's done, it's time for your treatment", she remarks. You stretch out your arms and massage yourself. God, it feels good to be relatively free.
WIth that done, she escorts you to the treatment room. Unlike the induced dreaming session, which had you fooled at first, you're fully aware that this therapy is going to attack your mind. You steel yourself, and remember what happened during hypnosis. (if:$failedFirstHypno)[You will not fail this time. You can't.](else:)[Just do the same thing, again. You can't let up now.]
You enter the treatment room. Inside sit two other patients, their heads hidden under skintight black rubber covering their heads entirely, except for two holes in the nose. They are strapped down and squirming, but held tight.
One chair remains vacant, no doubt the one intended for you.
As the nurse turns to the other patients to check on them, you notice an opportunity. She's busy calibrating the equipment, and a cabinet just a step away from you seems to have been left open by her.
[[Peek inside.]]You peek inside the cabinet. Inside stand two sealed ampules with a bright blue liquid inside, likely meant for an injection.
There's no time to read the label. Swiftly, and with a level of finesse that surprises even you, you grab them and hide them in your grip. Just in the nick of time you return to your previous spot.
The nurse turns back to you, none-the-wise of your theft. With a smile, she points at the free chair. You decide to comply and sit down peacefully.
With practiced ease, she pulls the straps of the chair taut, fixing you in place with every limb. A strap across your forehead ensures even your gaze is fixed, only allowing you to see the white ceiling.
Luckily the chair allows you to turn your hands inwards, hiding the two ampules from view.
The nurse takes a fresh syringe from a sterile tray, her gloved hands carefully handling a vial similar to the one you saw in the cabinet. She draws the liquid—a light blue substance—into the syringe, tapping it lightly to remove air bubbles.
"Relax, this will only take a moment," she says, her voice professional but distant.
As the needle pierces your skin, a hot sensation radiates from the injection site, moving up your arm and towards your chest. It's an unnerving feeling, like hot water flowing through your veins, both painful and electrifying at the same time.
You squirm in your straps, the pain peaks as it crosses your neck and reaches your head. Suddenly, the hot feeling turns into icy cold.
It's as though a fog has descended upon your mental landscape. Thoughts that were once clear and accessible become hazy and distant.
Your ability to concentrate deteriorates, as if you're trying to read a book through a thick mist.
Your thoughts drift aimlessly, struggling against an intangible weight that pushes them down.
What's usually a torrent of thought and memory across your neural superhighway now feels like a slow trickle of water through a clogged pipe. You realize this isn't merely physical discomfort; it's an intrusion into your mind, a violation of your most sacred personal space.
After what feels like an eternity, but was probably just a few minutes, the nurse removes the needle and safely disposes of it. She watches you carefully, noting your reactions and jotting down observations on her digital pad.
"You'll be disoriented for a while," she warns, "and you may experience a severe decrease in cognitive function temporarily. Don't worry; it's all part of the treatment. We call this NeuroFog. You will get used to the side effects quickly, this was 20 milligrams of it."
With an apologetic smile, she begins retrieving something from the sterile tray. "Now, unfortunately this drug does cause sensory hypersensitivity once it--"
Her words start to blur, her sentences fragmenting in your mind as if someone is turning down the volume on a radio. The sounds remain, but their meaning dissipates, swallowed up by the expanding fog in your head. She continues talking, but the syllables transform into indecipherable noise, a confusing babble that your deteriorating mental state can't process.
You see her lips move, but all you hear is static. Your cognition is slipping, fast, and the room seems to warp around you as you descend deeper into the foggy abyss of your own mind.
The black rubber is tightly pulled over your head, clinging to it and trapping you inside your fogged up mind.
[[You let out a gurgle.]]As the drug courses through your system, your mind becomes a canvas for strange, shifting hallucinations. Colors and shapes blur and swirl, forming ephemeral patterns before dissolving into the misty fog that's settled over your cognitive functions. Memories arise like phantoms, only to be twisted and distorted before they fade away into the haze. Faces of people you once knew appear, but their features are garbled, morphing into abstract forms that are at once familiar and entirely alien.
Words and sentences float by, but before you can grasp their meaning, they scramble and jumble, turning into incomprehensible strings of letters. Concepts that were once straightforward and self-evident become fluid, complex, and ultimately incomprehensible. Every time you try to focus, the visions warp faster, like a self-defense mechanism of the drug—or perhaps your own mind—in action.
Emotions too become tangible, taking on shapes and colors. Anxiety is a pulsing red orb, constantly expanding and contracting. Calm is a soothing blue that flits at the edges of your vision, always just beyond reach. Curiosity is a myriad of intertwining golden lines, drawing intricate patterns that vanish before you can discern their shape.
Mathematical equations, fragments of songs, snatches of conversations you've had or overheard—all pass through this altered state like drifting clouds, their form and substance deteriorating as they enter your field of awareness. And through it all, the fog remains: a dull gray presence that mutes the colors, dampens the sounds, and blurs the images, pulling everything back into its suffocating embrace.
($dcCheck:12)
\($dcDisplayState:)
(if:($dcCheckPassed:))[Just when you feel you're about to lose yourself entirely, a glimmer of determination shines through the fog in your mind. It's a faint anchor, a pinpoint of light that stubbornly refuses to be extinguished.
Clinging to it, you manage to pull yourself back from the brink of complete cognitive shutdown. Although you're still heavily disoriented, you're also now aware that something isn't right about this. The ampules you stole suddenly weigh heavy in your grip, and you understand that they could be a key factor in whatever comes next.(set:$dcOffset to $dcOffset+1)](else:)[You try to hold onto your sense of self, to fight back the encroaching fog. But it's like trying to catch water in a sieve; the more you struggle, the faster your thoughts slip away.
By the time the nurse is done noting her observations and turning away, you're aleady left in a state of complete shutdown. The fog has free reign, encroaching onto your deepest, dearest memories and reshaping your very core personality.]
And then, as the most vivid hallucinations start to dissipate, you're left with the fog, a dull background noise against which the remnants of your thoughts echo emptily. Even as you regain some semblance of clarity, the memory of these visions and sensations remains, indistinct yet indelible, like the afterimages left by a bright light.
Whether these images are merely the byproduct of the drug or some manifestation of your subconscious is unclear. What is clear, however, is that your mind is a battleground, and this drug—NeuroFog—is the latest weapon deployed against it. As you rest in the oppressive quiet of the room, clutching the stolen ampules that feel like both an opportunity and a threat, you can't help but wonder what this drug has truly done to you—and what it could do to others.
After several minutes pass, you slowly regain a sense of normalcy again. The nurse walks over to your chair and removes the rubber sheet over your head, placing it back on the tray.
"Rest up," she says, as she unstraps you. "You'll be back to your 'normal' self soon. Your next session is scheduled for tomorrow, with 50 milligrams this time. If you have any adverse effects or discomfort, make sure to tell the staff."
You slump in your chair, still exhausted by the mental battle you just fought. The ampules remain safely hidden in your hand. With wobbly knees, you carefully rise from the chair, the nurse behind you ready to catch if need be.
"Alright, very good," she happily says, "you seem to be taking it pretty well. It's quite a new drug developed here, personal R&D project by Miss Minze herself. It does wonders."
You're walked back to your cell by the nurse. The trip is uneventful. your thoughts are still covered in mist. After the nurse specifically instructs you to get into your cell, you sit in the corner and sink into the padding.
[[Sigh.]]It's a bad idea to mess with glass ampules in your current state. Even your clouded mind realizes this.
You lift the padding of a corner piece of padding and gently push the stolen ampules inside. Your hands tremble as you do it, not just from the lingering effects of the drug, but also from the weight of what you've just done.
Have the supermax nurses noticed?
Will they search your cell?
Will you also end up in isolation?
The fog in your mind exacerbates your anxiety, making you second-guess your every action.
Either way, sitting alone in your cell, you can't escape the feeling of helplessness that clings to you like a shroud.
Despite your small triumph—or perhaps because of it—you are more aware than ever of the situation.
But this theft has still changed something: you aren't just going with the flow anymore. It's time to start taking matters into your own hands.
Your thoughts drift to Lisa. Where is she? Can you help her?
For the first time since your forced arrival at this facility, you feel the stirrings of a fragile but burgeoning hope.
[[You lay on your side, drifting into an uneasy nap.]]The padded cell still has no way to tell time, but eventually you awake.
Your brain still feels clouded, but most of the effect seems to have left. You feel like you can trust your own thoughts again, for now. Your biggest priority for now is avoiding the second shot the nurse promised you tomorrow.
If 20 milligrams could do this... who knows if anything remains after you receive 50 milligrams.
You decide it's now time to inspect your haul. You carefully dig your finger into the square of padding you hid the ampules under and dig one out of the squished area. The label on the side of it is tiny, but readable. You lean in close and read.
(b4r:"solid")+(b4r-colour:white)[Methylcognitumetrazine Hydrochloride
Each vial contains 2.5 mL of Methylcognitumetrazine Hydrochloride solution (20 mg/mL).
Intravenous Administration Only. Oral administration may have weaker effects (untested).
Adult Dose: 0.25 mg/kg body weight. Not to exceed 50 mg in a single dosage.
Contraindications: Individuals with pre-existing cognitive disorders, pregnant or breastfeeding women.
Warning:
May cause drowsiness, mental fog, and permanent cognitive impairment.
Do not operate heavy machinery or perform tasks requiring mental alertness after administration.
Storage:
Store in a cool, dry place, away from light.
Keep out of reach of children.
WARNING: For healthcare professionals only. Misuse can result in severe cognitive impairment.
(text-colour:red)[''Mamertine Research Department, for internal use ONLY
'']]
You get a knot in your stomach reading over this label. Something tells you that this new drug is related to Lisa's sudden disapperance.
You remember the way Lisa looked last you saw her—strong, but not invincible. That patient talked about her fighting, resisting enough to warrant supermax-level intervention. .
This could be the next step for her: forced treatment with a megadose of NeuroFog or something even worse. Your stomach turns at the thought, but it also ignites a sense of urgency within you.
If you're going to act, you need to do it soon, and decisively.
In your mind, a plan begins to form.
The Plan:
Learn Lisa's Whereabouts: If she's in isolation, it's likely under heavy security, perhaps in the dreaded East Wing. You'll need to get information without drawing too much suspicion.
Getting to Lisa: Make your way to her. No idea how.
Neutralize the Threat: If you can free Lisa, you'll both likely need to defend yourselves or slip under the radar. The second ampule could be a means of leveling the playing field.
Escape: Easier said than done. Maybe a nurse could be incapacitated with NeuroFog?
The plan is ambitious, bordering on absurd, but as you mentally walk through each step, you feel a sense of cautious optimism. Each element seems achievable if executed perfectly, and you begin to commit it to memory, knowing there's no room for error.
The risks are monumental, but the alternative—a lifetime in Mamertine, as a patient with wiped mind—doesn't bear thinking about.
Just as you hide the ampule in the padding again, [[the lock of your cell clicks.]]The door to your cell clicks open, and Cindy steps in. She glances at the digital pad in her hand before looking up to meet your eyes. Despite the warm smile she gives you, her emerald eyes seem tired, weighed down by some unspoken burden.
"Feeling better? Heard you received your first NeuroFog..." she inquires softly as she walks closer, taking note of your posture and the look in your eyes.
"Yeah, I'm getting used to the foggy feeling. Honestly, it reminds me of the times I used to go out with friends, maybe have one too many drinks. Simpler times, you know?"
Cindy smiles, almost wistfully. "Ah, the days of youthful folly. We all have those moments. So, did you used to go out a lot?"
"Not as much as I'd like. I was often busy with work, social obligations, you know how it is," you respond, then seize the opportunity. "Speaking of socializing, I haven't seen Lisa around. She's one of the few people I've gotten to chat with. Did she get moved?"
Cindy hesitates for a moment, clearly debating whether or not to divulge the information. "She's been... put in isolation for a few days. She got into a fight and had some contraband. It's standard procedure here to isolate patients who pose a risk to themselves or others."
You try your best to fake surprise about this. "Isolation? That sounds harsh. Is it somewhere like the East Wing?"
Cindy shakes her head. "No, it's not in the East Wing. Isolation is a separate room here, next to the nurses office. We use these... sort of rubber sleepsacks that encase the patient and then zip them shut. It's more about containment than punishment. It's unfortunate, but necessary."
You nod, listening intently while making a mental note of this crucial information. "Wow, that sounds intense. Is it guarded? Like, how secure is it?"
She looks at you, somewhat puzzled by your curiosity but still willing to share. "It's secure. There's usually one or two nurses on duty there. But enough about that; it's not a pleasant topic."
Cindy returns to her clipboard to jot down some notes. She looks up at you and sets it aside. "You know, we rarely get to talk about the outside world. Do you miss it?"(set:_picked to false)
|choice>[
(link:"I do miss it. But it's more than just missing the physical places—I miss the freedom to choose.")[(replace:?choice)["I do miss it. But it's more than just missing the physical places—I miss the freedom to choose," you say, trying to gauge her reaction.
Cindy nods thoughtfully. "Freedom is something we all crave. But sometimes, limitations are set for our own good, to help us get better. Think of it as a protective measure, rather than a punishment."
[[Continue talking with her.]]]]
(link:"Honestly, some days I don't know what to miss. This place messes with your head, you know?")[(replace:?choice)["Honestly, some days I don't know what to miss. This place messes with your head, you know?"
Cindy sighs. "It's a common sentiment. Many patients go through a period of adjustment. It's hard, but necessary for your treatment."
[[Continue talking with her.]]]]
(link:"Yeah, I miss specific things. Like the sound of rain or the thrill of a live concert. Simple things that we take for granted.")[(replace:?choice)["Yeah, I miss specific things. Like the sound of rain or the thrill of a live concert. Simple things that we take for granted."
Cindy smiles, her eyes lighting up. "Oh, I can relate to that. I used to love live music. It's the little things that make life enjoyable, isn't it?"
She might be more understanding if things go sideways, but it's a long shot.
[[Continue talking with her.]]]]
(link:"Can't say that I do. I've found some comfort in the routine here, believe it or not.")[(replace:?choice)["Can't say that I do. I've found some comfort in the routine here, believe it or not."
Cindy raises an eyebrow, visibly surprised. "Really? That's quite rare. It's good to find comfort where you can, though. Adjusting to this environment is a part of your healing process."
[[Continue talking with her.]]]]
]Your instincts tell you that Cindy is the type who sees the harsh rules here as a necessary evil for the 'greater good.' Not exactly the ally you'd need for your plan, but it doesn't mean she couldn't be of some use. At least now you know more about her stance.
"Isolation sounds intense. Where is it located? The Eastern wing?" you ask, pretending to ask out of idle curiosity, being careful to also mention the Eastern wing.
Cindy hesitates again, then replies, "It's in a specialized room, near the nurses office. Not in the East Wing, as some rumors suggest. The room is designed to be safe and secure for those who need a time out."
($dcCheck:14)
($dcDisplayState:)
(if:($dcCheckPassed:))[Your casual tone convinces her that the question is nothing more than an innocent curiosity. You've gained a crucial piece of information without arousing suspicion.](else:)[Cindy's eyes narrow further, her gaze becoming more scrutinizing. "It's best not to concern yourself with that," she says, effectively closing the topic.]
[[Move on to safer topics.]]
<span class="bad-end">[[Reveal your plan to Cindy.]]</span>
(b4r:"dashed")+(b4r-colour:red)[Warning: you've encountered a possible bad ending!
Bad endings are marked with a (text-colour:#EE82EE)[violet backdrop]. They have no means of escape.
After the bad ending finishes, a button to return to the page offering it appears. You will never lose progress, so feel free to explore.]The nurse waits for your response. You choose to go ahead with the next session, saving your energy and resources for what lies ahead. "No, I'm good. Let's proceed," you say, your voice steady.
"Very well," she replies, signaling for you to follow her.
You're led down a series of hallways and eventually arrive at a room different from the one you were in last time. The atmosphere is sterile, clinical, but with a subtle tension you can't quite place.
Your eyes scan the table as you sit on the restraint chair central in the room. You spot syringes, capped and lying next to vials filled with a deep crimson liquid. Could those be useful? As you ponder the idea, the nurse preps a syringe from one of the vials.
"We call this Agonite-7. It targets the vocal cords, inhibiting their function temporarily, and induces a sort of 'cleansing pain.' It has proven to be quite effective in treatment," she informs you as she approaches.
($dcCheck:10)
($dcDisplayState:)
(if:($dcCheckPassed:))[As she's distracted with her preparations, you subtly lean over and quickly snatch a couple of capped syringes from the table, tucking them into your hands like you did the ampules. She doesn't seem to notice.](else:)[You attempt to reach for a syringe but knock over a glass vial instead. The nurse turns abruptly. "Please remain still," she warns you, taking note of your behavior. You quickly retreat your hand, but still snatch three syringes you hide in your hand.]
The crimson red liquid inside the syringe unnerves you. The nurse turns towards you, ready to apply the treatment. After strapping you in place extra-strictly, she proceeds with the injection.
As the needle punctures your skin, you feel an immediate sensation of heat coursing through your body. The drug works quickly, constricting your vocal cords and rendering you unable to speak.
Then the 'cleansing pain' hits you. It's excruciating, a sensation akin to having your nerves set ablaze, yet there's no physical mark, no way to show anyone what you've just endured. The pain is all-encompassing, saturating your senses until it's the only thing you can focus on. All you can do is uselessly squirm around and silently scream.
Minutes pass like hours, and eventually, the pain subsides to a dull ache. The nurse removes the needle and observes you carefully, jotting down notes on her tablet. You squirm on the chair, the dull ache still causing discomfort across your whole body.
As she finishes up, her eyes meet yours and, for a brief moment, you sense a flash of genuine concern.
"I know that was hard," she says softly, her voice tinged with regret. "We're testing a new compound, and I understand it's not comfortable. But it's a necessary step in our ongoing research. We're trying to find better, more humane treatments for everyone here at Mamertine."
You try to respond, but find that your vocal cords are still partially paralyzed by the Agonite-7. You manage a faint nod, signaling that you understand, even though you wish to scream bloody murder.
Her eyes linger on yours a moment longer before she adds, "The effects on your vocal cords will wear off soon. The pain, too, will subside. Thank you for your understanding."
She jots down some final observations on her tablet before leading you back to your cell. Once inside, you have a moment to reflect.
Your voice is still suppressed, your body aches, and the emotional toll of what you just went through is beginning to hit you. But, despite all this, you're one step closer to executing your plan. And every piece of information, every stolen item, every learned procedure, brings you one step closer to escaping this place.
[[Let out a grunt of pain.]]You let out a weak grunt of pain. At least it seems to slowly be wearing off.
You decide that this is the opportunity to prepare. You grab the vials hidden under the padding and uncap two of the syringes you've kept in your hands.
Your hands are still a little shaky, both from the ordeal you've just been through and the risks associated with what you're about to do, but you manage to steady them enough to prepare two 25ml doses of NeuroFog in the syringes. These should suffice to completely mess up two nurses, provided you get a good injection.
You hide away the remaining syringe and the last vial, along with the two prepared injections.
After ensuring everything is securely hidden, you sit back and wait for Cindy's return, to get you for dinner.
Your mind racing through the next steps of your plan. You feel a cocktail of emotions—fear, guilt, but most of all, a newfound sense of hope.
Finally, you hear the familiar sound of the cell door unlocking and Cindy steps in. She looks at you, her emerald eyes scanning your face.
"You look like you've been through a lot," she says, concern lining her features. "How are you feeling?"
You attempt to speak, but your vocal cords are still partially paralyzed, making your words come out as little more than a whisper. Cindy leans in closer to hear you better.
"It was... intense," you manage to say, struggling with each word. "Felt like... my mind was... under attack. Agonite."
Cindy nods, her eyes showing a mix of empathy and professional interest. "I understand it must've been very difficult for you. We're trying a new compound to enhance the treatment process, but it seems like we have a lot more to learn about its effects. I'm sorry you had to experience it in such a... raw form."
Your thoughts swirl around the dual emotions of trust and trepidation. Cindy's demeanor has been reassuring so far, but you're also aware that she's part of the system that's holding you captive.
"Do... patients often... react like I did?" you ask, still working to form each word.
Cindy thinks for a moment. "The reactions vary. Some patients find the experience transformative in a positive way. Others, like you, find it invasive and extremely painful. We're still collecting data to understand why that is."
"In any case, it's time for dinner!" Cindy helps you up and already heads out the door, waiting for you outside. You reach down and retrieve the two prepared doses of NeuroFog.
You follow Cindy down the hallway towards the dining area, your senses heightened despite the lingering effects of the drug you were administered. Your mind runs through the hastily-formulated plan to free Lisa. You're aware that timing is everything.
Upon entering the dining area, you quickly scan the room. There's no sign of Lisa still.
You take a seat and begin to eating. You watch Cindy closely. She eventually heads over to another nurse, briefly chatting before moving to leave the room entirely. This might be your chance, you think.
Your heart pounds in your chest. Your mind is clear on what needs to be done next: You have to slip out of here, reach Lisa in isolation, and use one of the syringes if necessary. Then return before Cindy is back and dinner is over.
All you need now is an opportunity, a moment of distraction to put your daring plan into action. And as if on cue, you hear a commotion from the other end of the dining hall—someone has knocked over a tray, creating enough of a scene to divert the nurses' attention.
This is it. Your window of opportunity is here, and it's time to make your move.
[[Get up, and slip away. Time to go.->Get up, and slip away.]]
<span class="bad-end">[[Stay put. This plan has holes. You should wait.]]</span>
You silently stand up and begin moving towards the exit, acting like you're going for a refill of food.
The sudden commotion at the other end of the dining hall has drawn the attention of the nurses and most of the patients. Your eyes lock onto the doorway that Cindy had earlier left through.
You glide through the hall unnoticed, blending seamlessly into the backdrop of chaos. You reach the doorway and slip through, finding yourself in the familar corridor.
Once you're in the corridor, your heart rate starts to normalize, but there's no time to relax. You press on, following the twists and turns of the labyrinthine passages that make up Mamertine Asylum.
You have a pretty good idea of the layout in this place by now, and after several twists and turns, the nurses office comes into view.
"Isolation isn't what most people think it is," Cindy had said. "It's more of a sensory deprivation process to help patients focus inwardly. And no, it's not in the East Wing. That's for far more severe cases. It's next to the nurses office."
You scan the doors nearby. Examination room, Common room, Administration... Isolation. There it is, a door as unassuming as all the other ones.
[[Enter the isolation room.]]
<span class="bad-end">[[Cause a distraction.]]</span>With a subtle glance over your shoulder to ensure you're not followed, you quietly open the door and slip inside. What greets you is like something out of a nightmare: tens of standing rubber sleepsacks, each containing a patient in what appears to be total isolation. Black gas masks with opaque lenses cover their faces, cutting them off from the world completely.
Some of the bags weakly wiggle, but there's no escape from the inside.
You notice a nurse on the far end of the room, engrossed in a chart. You weigh your options rapidly. You could use one of your NeuroFog syringes on her to incapacitate her and make your next moves easier, but it's a precious resource and there's no guarantee another nurse won't walk in at any moment.
You decide you have to go for it.
($dcCheck:10)
($dcDisplayState:)
(if:($dcCheckPassed:))[Seizing the moment, you move quietly but swiftly, coming up behind the nurse and injecting the NeuroFog into her neck.
She stiffens, her chart falling to the ground as her eyes roll back. Within seconds, she's slumped against the wall, mind completely broken down, temporarily. You quickly grab her digital pad and keycard.](else:)[As you take a step forward, your foot catches on something, and you stumble, making a loud noise. The nurse whirls around, her eyes meeting yours.
"What are you doing her-" You take a lunge at her, sending her and you crashing to the floor. After a short struggle, you manage to stick the syringe into her neck and inject. Her resistance stops near instantly, and after a few seconds, she's clearly out for now.
This was messy and loud. Hurry, someone may have heard this happen. You quickly grab her digital pad and keycard.]
Your eyes scan the rows, landing on the tags attached to each sleepsack. Your heart leaps when you see it—'Lisa.' Relief washes over you, but there's no time to waste.
You reach for the magnetic lens covering Lisa's right eye on her gas mask, carefully prying it off. As it detaches, Lisa's eye becomes visible, blinking rapidly as it adjusts to the sudden influx of light, albeit distorted and tinged green through the remaining inner lens.
Her eye scans the room and then locks onto you. The initial disbelief in her gaze quickly turns into something complex: a mixture of relief, confusion, and an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. Her eye—red and swollen, as if she's been crying or not sleeping, or both—betrays the emotional and physical toll the isolation has taken on her. She looks exhausted and afraid, her face pale and drawn, but behind that fear, you see a spark of recognition, maybe even hope.
You hold your finger to your lips, signaling for her to be quiet, as you proceed to unlock her sleepsack with the stolen keycard. As the lock disengages with a soft click, you carefully unzip the sleepsack, helping her step out.
Lisa's body trembles slightly, whether from the cold air or the sheer relief of being free, even momentarily, you can't tell. "Listen," you whisper hurriedly, your eyes meeting her scared, yet piercing gaze, "I have a plan to get us out of here, but we have to move now. Can you walk?"
Lisa pulls the gasmask off her face and places it back on the sleepsack carefully. She nods, her eye still locked onto you, and you can see her mentally preparing herself for what comes next. It's clear she's far from okay, but the situation doesn't allow for comfort. All you have is the here and now, and a rapidly closing window to make your escape.
[[Execute your plan.]]"Go back to my cell," you whisper to Lisa. "Act like you've just been released from isolation if anyone asks. Hide inside, and wait for me to return. Do not acknowledge me if I come back. If everything goes according to plan, we'll be out of here soon."
Lisa nods. She points at the nurse sprawled out on the floor. "You know what I'm thinking."
"I have to get back to dinner ''now'', but yes. Do it, but be quick.", you answer. As you turn to leave and rush back, Lisa is heaving the incapacitated nurse into her isolation sleepsack, making sure she won't be seen as escaped any time soon.
You quickly make your way back to the dining hall, your heart pounding in your chest. Every step feels like a gamble that could either bring you closer to freedom or shatter your plan entirely, with your plan ending in front of a supermax nurse and a megadose of NeuroFog. As you enter, you spot Cindy at the other end of the room, talking to another nurse.
As you approach her, she looks up and smiles, visibly relieved to see you. "Ah, there you are," she says. "Thought you left somehow."
You force a smile, your vocal cords still a bit paralyzed from the previous treatment, making your voice come out as more of a rasp. "Nah. Just fighting over dessert."
As you engage in small talk, your thoughts race ahead, filling in the missing pieces of your escape plan. Now that you know Lisa is in your cell, escape may be around the corner.
But it involves betraying your very first friend in Mamertine.
Lisa will distract Cindy, giving you enough time to nick her with a full vial of NeuroFog. She should be submissive enough afterwards to just... lead you outside after.
[[Time to make your move.]]"Would you mind accompanying me back to my cell?" you ask. "Feeling a bit woozy."
"Of course," Cindy replies, her voice tinged with concern. "We'll get you back and make sure you're alright."
As you walk back to your cell, the weight of what you're about to do sets in. You like Cindy; she's been kind to you, and it's clear she believes she's doing what's best for everyone here. But "what's best" in this warped place means keeping you locked away, heavily medicated, and far from freedom. It's a means to an end, you remind yourself.
You reach your cell, and Cindy opens the door for you. "After you," she says, stepping aside.
"Actually, would you mind grabbing some water for me?" you ask, your voice innocent. "I think it might help."
"Sure, not a problem," Cindy replies, and heads down the hall to the small kitchenette.
As soon as she's out of sight, you head inside and quickly turn to Lisa. "Alright, here's the plan. I have a syringe filled with NeuroFog. When Cindy comes back, I need you to distract her. Make her turn her back to me, got it? Just saying something should suffice."
You rapidly dash for the last vial of NeuroFog and grab a syringe, rapidly pulling the light blue liquid inside and uncapping the needle. You hide the syringe behind your back.
Lisa nods, her eyes filled with a mixture of determination and fear. "Okay, I can do that."
Cindy soon returns, entering the cell with a cup of water in her hands. "Here you go," she says, offering it to you.
Just then, Lisa lets out a sudden yelp. Cindy whirls around, her eyes widening in alarm. "Who are yo-"
Seizing the opportunity, you grip the syringe tightly and plunge it into Cindy's neck, pressing the plunger all the way down. She stiffens, her eyes meeting yours for just a moment—a mixture of betrayal and confusion flickering in their emerald depths—before her expression dulls, a wave of confusion clouding over her features.
"It's okay, Cindy," you say, catching her as she stumbles. You gently guide her down onto the floor, waiting for the drug to take full effect on her.
"Shhhh, Cindy, it's okay. Why don't you take us for a walk? I think some fresh air would do us all some good."
Lisa is watching from her corner of the cell, with a mix of disgust and amazement.
For a moment, you think it hasn't worked. But then she nods slowly, her gaze still cloudy but trusting, her mind clearly far away. "Yes, let's...let's go for a walk," she says softly.
You glance at Lisa, your eyes meeting in a moment of shared triumph and regret. The second phase of your plan is complete, but the weight of what a terrible thing you've done to one of the nicest people here hangs heavy in the air as you take your first steps toward an uncertain freedom.
[[Time for a walk.]]You, Cindy, and Lisa move cautiously down the corridors of Mamertine Asylum. Under the influence of NeuroFog, Cindy walks somewhat aimlessly, her security card in her hand. She stumbles around sometimes and you have to guide her, while acting like you're being walked by her.
You subtly guide her towards where you assume the side exit of Mamertine is. You pass all the standard security doors with no problems whatsoever, but trouble still awaits.
Your heart is pounding in your chest as you approach the final security checkpoint. This is the most dangerous part; the door is usually guarded by at least one supermax nurse, and even in her compromised state, Cindy would still be stopped and questioned.
You reach into your pocket and take out the very last syringe. If things go sideways, this is your last chance to level the playing field.
[[Turn the corner.]]
As you turn the corner, you see what you feared: a supermax nurse is standing guard at the final security checkpoint. The figure is imposing, dressed in a black catsuit and reflective gas mask, giving off an aura of menacing authority.
Your grip tightens around the last syringe of NeuroFog in your pocket. Using it on the guard is risky; if it doesn't work fast enough or if there's any sort of alarm, your escape attempt could be over before, and you'd spend months in an isolation bag.
You share a quick glance with Lisa; her eyes reflect a mix of desperation and determination. You both know this is the moment of truth. The guard hasn't noticed anything amiss yet, still assuming Cindy is leading two patients back to their cells. But that could change in an instant.
($dcCheck:12)
($dcDisplayState:)
(if:($dcCheckPassed:))[Taking a deep breath, you seize the moment. You pull Cindy slightly forward as if she's guiding you and, just as you pass by the supermax nurse, subtly inject the syringe into the tiny gap between the nurse's suit and gasmask.
The NeuroFog takes effect almost instantaneously; the guard slumps over, temporarily immobilized but not unconscious. Her eyes are hidden behind the mask, but they are glazed over in a similar way to Cindy's.(set:$lisaDown to true)](else:)[Taking a deep breath, you seize the moment.
As you attempt to slide the syringe into the supermax nurse's skin, your hand trembles for just a fraction of a second. The nurse's hand shoots out, gripping your wrist with an iron hold. However, before any alarms can be triggered, you manage to stab the syringe into a gap in the nurse's suit, injecting the NeuroFog.
But the drug doesn't act quite quickly enough. The nurse's hand shoots down into her utility belt, and in a flash, Lisa's neck has a syringe plunged inside it, filled with 50mg of pure Agonite-7.
Lisa's knees buckle, her face contorts in agony, and she falls to the ground, completely incapacitated. The supermax nurse stumbles, the NeuroFog working its way through their system, making them disoriented and unable to maintain their imposing stance. She holds another Agnoite-7 syringe in hand, no doubt meant for you, but does not get to use it.
Seizing the moment, you scoop up Lisa in your arms. Her body is limp, and her eyes are telling clearly that she's currently in hell. She's out of it but still conscious.(set:$lisaDown to false)]
Cindy, still under the influence, dutifully scans her security card and the door clicks open. You, Cindy, and Lisa slip through just as the supermax nurse starts to recover already.
[[Run!]](if:$lisaDown)[You half-carry, half-drag Lisa through the winding corridors of Mamertine Asylum, the weight of your decisions bearing down on you almost as heavily as her limp form.
Every step feels like wading through quicksand; your limbs are heavy, and the dimly lit hallways stretch on endlessly before you, but you have no choice: you ''must'' finish this now, or you never will.]
The asylum is a labyrinth of hallways and locked doors, but Cindy's access card serves as the skeleton key to your escape. She swipes it through another security panel, and a door creaks open, revealing a service exit. Your heart leaps at the sight of it, but just as you're about to step through, you hear a voice crackling over Cindy's radio.
"Security breach in the Isolation Unit, over."
You freeze. The NeuroFog might have disoriented the nurse back in the Isolation Unit, but it seems she's been found. You have mere seconds remaining before the place swarms with supermax nurses and police.
Cindy looks at you, her emerald eyes clouded but still filled with some level of awareness. It's as though a part of her knows what's happening but is completely powerless to stop it.
Finally, Cindy stops in front of an unmarked door, swipes her card one more time, and pushes it open. A rush of fresh air hits your face. It's a service exit, leading to a small fire-escape, and beyond that, the world outside the Asylum.
"Go," she says softly, her voice a whispery fragment of its usual calm authority. A strange expression of understanding washes across her face.
[[Time to leave.]](if:$lisaDown)[There's no time to waste. Supporting Lisa's weight as best as you can, you step through the exit, pulling it shut behind you. You gently guide her down the stairs, until you eventually stand on solid ground.](else:)[You both hurry down the rusty stairs of the fire escape, slamming the door shut behind you.]
Your complete escape from Mamertine is far from complete. You're fugitives now, with a dangerous path ahead. But for the first time since you were thrown into that padded cell, you feel like you have some semblance of control over your own destiny. And right now, that feels like everything.
You make a dash for the forest, disappearing into the trees, but not losing sight of the main road that seems to connect the asylum to the rest of the world.
As you navigate the night forest, the sound of sirens echo in the distance.
(if:$lisaDown)[With Lisa's condition deteriorating due to the high dose of Agnoite, finding a safe place becomes imperative. "Keep going... we can do this," Lisa musters through gritted teeth, her body trembling.]
You eventually find a makeshift hideout for the night, a pair of trees providing good shelter from the elements. (if:$lisaDown)[Lisa's dose of Agonite eventually leaves her bloodstream, after a long night of squirming in pain.]
You both fall asleep outside, breathing fresh air again.
- The End :3 - Torn between the urgency to help Lisa and the overwhelming weight of the day's events, you decide to delay the escape attempt, despite the opportunity you were given.
Something about it felt wrong, time to go back to the drawing board.
The rest of dinner remains uneventful. You eat your food silently, hiding the two syringes in your grasp still.
As you are escorted back towards your cell, the weight of guilt presses heavily against your heart. Maybe it's just too much. Maybe it would be better to stay and accept what's coming. You probably can't escape anyway, and trying to help Lisa is foolish.
Sleep beckons, and you fall into a deep slumber on the padded floor after hiding away the two syringes in the padding once more.
[[Morning arrives.]]Morning arrives swiftly, and with it, the reality of your decision. There's a sense of dread in the air, almost palpable. Your next injection of NeuroFog is scheduled for //today.//
As the door to your cell creaks open, a pair of supermax nurses, their gas masks gleaming, march inside.
Without a word, they grab you by the arms and escort you down the hallway. Your thoughts race, but your body feels paralyzed, unable to react. Soon, you're brought into an all too familiar examination room. The sterile smell, the cold metal table, the feeling of vulnerability; it's all a cruel reminder of where you are.
Head Nurse Minze is already waiting inside. The glow of her red eyes feels piercing, as if seeing through to the very core of your being. She holds a long syringe, the liquid inside it a vivid blue - a mega dose of NeuroFog, at least 200 milligrams of it, if you had to guess.
The nurses guide you into a chair, to which you are swiftly strapped.
"Your little escape attempt has been entertaining," Minze remarks, her voice dripping with a cold, cruel amusement. "But they end here. Nurse Joy reported being two vials of NeuroFog short yesterday, and surveillance footage of the room quickly revealed your sloppy theft."
She leans in, and you can feel her breath, cool against your skin. "This will ensure you stay put. A gift from me to you, to keep you out of trouble."
[[Take a deep breath.]]
The needle pierces your skin. As the hot liquid of the mega-injection of NeuroFog flows through your veins, you're immediately overwhelmed by its potency. Bright flashes of your memories dance before your eyes, each more fleeting than the last. It's like watching a life's worth of experiences play on fast-forward, every precious moment burning away faster than you can grasp.
Your thoughts, once coherent and defined, begin to fragment and dissolve. The sensation is akin to a sandcastle being relentlessly battered by waves. The very essence of who you are, your desires, fears, hopes, and regrets, begins to crumble, pulled out to the vast sea of oblivion.
Simple concepts like your own name, the faces of people you know, even the sensation of pain from the injection itself — all fade into the abyss. Your ability to think, to understand, to feel — they all melt away like snow under a hot summer sun.
A drool trails down the corner of your mouth, which you neither feel nor can wipe away. Your eyes, vacant and unseeing, gaze forward without truly processing the world around them. A deep lethargy sets in, rendering you incapable of any form of resistance or even basic comprehension.
Nurse Minze's voice pierces through the haze. "Bind them."
You distantly feel hands on you, securing your body. The constriction of a straitjacket envelopes you, its tight embrace further detaching you from any semblance of reality. A panel gag is fitted into your mouth, muffling any residual noises that might escape.
[[Get moved.]]You're dragged, unresisting, down a cold and sterile corridor. The buzzing lights overhead cast a stark, fluorescent glow, reflecting off the pristine white tiles of the maximum security wing. The muffled echoes of distant cries and the soft, padded footsteps of the supermax nurses are all you can discern. The world beyond is a foggy haze.
As you're taken further in, the atmosphere grows heavier, more oppressive. This part of the asylum is restricted, housing only the most "troublesome" or "invaluable" patients.
The nurses open a heavy metal door, revealing a dimly lit room. The faint, rhythmic hum of machinery is accompanied by the soft hissing of gas and the quiet moans of its occupants. Rows of rubber sleepsacks, each containing a hapless patient, line the walls. The still, uniform figures inside each bag eerily resemble mummified statues, their faces obscured by full head gas masks.
The nurses place you into an unoccupied sack. The rubber is cold against your skin, constricting around you like a second skin as they zip it shut. Encased, you feel both isolated and exposed, vulnerable to whatever whims the staff might have. The same gas mask is pulled over your head, covering your whole head. The world visible through the lenses is tinted green and heavily distorted, and your breath is slowed.
The supermax nurses leave the room, leaving you alone in your new home.
A time passes—how long, you cannot discern—before the door to the room creaks open again. The soft but unmistakable footsteps of Minze draw near.
The world through the gas mask lenses is a blur, but you can still make out her form as she approaches, standing in front of you, inspecting her handiwork. She tilts her head, examining you with a clinical detachment.
"Such potential," she muses aloud, her voice echoing eerily within the room. "But some minds just can't be tamed."
With a gloved hand, she reaches out and slowly, deliberately, places the magnetic opaque lens covers over the gas mask's eyepieces. As the world fades into blackness, her voice is the last thing you hear. "Sleep well, my dear. You're home now."
And with that, all is silent and dark. The cold embrace of the rubber encasement and the isolation of the gas mask are the only realities you know, as you drift in a mindless void, imprisoned deep within Mamertine Asylum.
(align:"=><=")[- Game over: Permanent rubber storage -
- BAD ENDING -]
[[Go back.->Let out a grunt of pain.]]
You decide to move the conversation to safer topics to avoid any further suspicion. You chat about hobbies, past experiences, and minor frustrations with the daily routine in Mamertine Asylum.
Despite the somber setting, you can't help but feel that Cindy has a genuine, albeit misguided, desire to help you and the other patients. Her warmth is disarming, which could be both an advantage and a hurdle for your escape plan.
Finally, Cindy looks at her watch and realizes her break is almost over. "I need to head out, but remember, you're not alone here. We're all working to help you get better," she says as she gets up to leave your cell.
"Thanks, Cindy," you reply, a subtle double meaning behind your words. You watch her exit and hear the door lock click behind her.
Alone once again, you start mentally piecing together the information you've acquired. If you're going to get to Lisa, you'll need to find a way to bypass the nurses guarding the isolation room.
The NeuroFog ampules you stole are still securely hidden. Could they be used to incapacitate one or two nurses, giving you the opportunity to break Lisa out of isolation? It's risky, but the potent drug might be your best option.
Seeing as they very likely won't have tolerance, 25 milligrams should be enough for two. That's one of your ampules gone.
Your plan is slowly coming together:
Learn Lisa's Whereabouts: Check. You know she's in a specialized isolation room, near the nurses office, separate from the East Wing.
Getting to Lisa: This could involve some distraction or incapacitation, likely both. The NeuroFog ampules could be crucial here, you need some way to apply it as well.
Neutralize the Threat: If you can free Lisa, you'll both likely need to evade nurses somehow. Escape: The ultimate goal. Easier said than done. No plan here yet.
It's a long shot, but at this point, you're willing to try anything. You've got some of the pieces in place, but there are still many unknowns.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching your cell. The lock disengages, and the door swings open. It's another nurse, not Cindy this time, coming to escort you somewhere.
"Do you need to go to the restroom or anything before we go?" she asks, clipboard in hand.
[[No, I'm fine.]]Your heart races as you decide to confide in Cindy. Her gentle demeanor and emerald eyes give you a sense of trust.
"Cindy," you began, a bit hesitantly, "I've been thinking... about a way out of here."
Cindy looked at you, her emerald eyes searching yours for a moment, seemingly gauging the depth of your sincerity. "You mean escape?"
You nodded, deciding to lay your cards on the table. "Yes, escape. I have a plan. With Lisa. And I think... I think it could work."
Cindy stopped walking, turning to you, her face a mixture of surprise and concern. "Why are you telling me this?"
You took a deep breath. "Because I trust you. Because you've been kind to me. And... and because I need your help."
For a moment, there was a palpable tension in the air. "I... I don't know what to say," Cindy whispered, her voice shaking a little.
"Just think about it," you implored. "We could get out of here, find somewhere safe. A place where there's no Nurse Minze, no treatments, no supermax nurses..."
Cindy took a moment, clearly wrestling with her thoughts. Finally, she looked up at you, tears shimmering in her eyes. "I... I can't help you. I can't be part of this."
"But, Cindy–"
She cut you off. "No. You don't understand. It's... it's complicated. I truly believe that the treatment, as harsh as it seems, is for the greater good. You must be helped."
You felt a pang of disappointment. "So you're just going to turn me in?"
Cindy looked down, her voice barely above a whisper. "I have to. It's for your own good. I'm sorry."
Your heart sank as Cindy turns away, quickly hurrying out of your cell. The weight of your decision settled heavily on your shoulders. You had misjudged her loyalty, and now the consequences of your choices loom.
[[Sit and wait.]]You silently sit in the corner of your cell, knowing any move now would only worsen the situation.
The door to your cell eventually opens to reveal two supermax nurses. Their black catsuits and reflective gas masks made them appear more like combat-ready soldiers than caretakers now. Their presence filled the room with a suffocating sense of impending doom.
Without a word, one of the nurses advanced on you, while the other goes straight for your hidden stash of NeuroFog. The nurse advancing you reveals a straitjacket, which she swiftly and skillfully forces you into, rendering you helpless once more.
With your stolen drugs secured, they now work in tandem. The second nurse retrieves a panel gag from a pouch on her belt, which she swiftly secured around your head. The taste of rubber and the pressure against your tongue are the same as from the gag you wore before.
The other nurse readied a syringe, the clear liquid inside reflecting the cold fluorescent lights. As she approached, the realization of what was about to happen made your heart race. You tried to resist, but the combined strength of the two nurses was overwhelming. The needle found its mark, and the sedative entered your system, making your surroundings blur and dim.
The sedative worked quickly, leaving you in a hazy, dreamlike state. The nurses, seemingly satisfied, stepped back and exchanged a few muted words, their voices barely penetrating the fog enveloping your mind.
Days, weeks, or perhaps even months passed in a numbed blur. Your world became confined to the four walls of your cell and the sensations provided by the potent cocktail of drugs they administered. Gone were the days of plotting and planning; your thoughts, once so sharp and desperate, were replaced with a languid contentment. The stark reality of Mamertine faded into the background as you sat, ensnared in a constant state of heavily medicated bliss.
[[Bliss.]]Cindy, with her emerald-green eyes no less shiny than before, became your daily visitor. Each morning, like clockwork, she'd enter your cell with a syringe filled with the daily sedative. Her approach was gentle, as she found a vein and injected the substance that would keep you placid and docile for another day.
She often lingered after the injection, talking to you in soft, soothing tones. "You're doing so well," she'd coo, brushing a stray hair from your face. "I'm so proud of you. Look at how calm and peaceful you are now."
As the drugs took effect, her words would melt into the background, becoming a distant murmur. You could barely comprehend what she was saying, but her presence was comforting. Even in your sedated state, there was something familiar about her, a fragment of a memory that was rapidly fading.
Each time she visited, she'd comment on your improvement, her voice filled with genuine happiness. "You're getting better every day," she'd say, patting your cheek gently. "Soon, you'll be completely healed."
Cindy's visits, though brief, became the highlight of your day. Her words, though barely understood, were a source of comfort. In the haze of drugs and despair, her presence was a brief respite, a momentary reminder of a world outside the confines of your cell. And with each passing day, as the drugs took deeper hold, that world became more and more distant, until it was nothing more than a dream.
(align:"<==")+(box:"=XX=")[- Game over: Embrace of the Abyss -
- BAD ENDING -]
[[Go back.->Continue talking with her.]]You remember reading about a clever method of creating distractions in one of the novels back in your apartment, a tactic involving the creation of a loud noise to divert attention. You decide to replicate it, thinking it'll provide the perfect cover to sneak into the isolation room.
Spotting an unattended metal food tray, you seize the opportunity. With a quick, forceful swing, you hurl the tray across the hallway. It collides with a metal post with a resounding clang, echoing through the hallways. The noise is much louder than you anticipated, and within seconds, the entire vicinity is alerted to the commotion.
You duck into a nearby corridor, hoping the noise would draw the nurses out and away from the isolation room. But to your horror, instead of diverting them, it seems to have summoned an army of them directly to your location. The unmistakable, rhythmic footsteps of supermax nurses' combat boots grow louder and louder.
Rounding the corner, you find yourself face-to-face with a trio of them, their black catsuits glistening under the dim lights, their gas masks reflecting your own terrified expression. Before you can react, one of them lunges, effortlessly pinning you to the ground. You feel a sharp prick on your neck - another injection.
Your vision blurs, and a cold, numbing sensation spreads throughout your body. The nurses haul you up, each grabbing an arm, and start dragging you away. The world around you becomes a blur, punctuated only by the chilling glint of Nurse Minze's eyes as she watches the scene unfold from a distance.
You're hauled into a different part of the facility, one that you haven't seen before. The walls are stark white, with no windows, and the air is heavy with the scent of chemicals. You're thrown onto a cold metal table and strapped down, unable to move or resist.
[[Squirm and look around the room.]]Nurse Minze, leaning close, whispers chillingly, "Your antics have escalated your treatment, dear patient."
Nurse Minze takes a step back, her gloved hands holding up a tiny green microchip that she hovers in your field of view. "This," she begins, her voice dripping with satisfaction, "will ensure your absolute compliance. It's the Cranial Compliance Chip, or CCC for short. No more rebellious thoughts. No more plots or escape plans. Every thought, every intention you have, we'll know. They are all saved. And if it's something we don't like, we'll correct it, instantly. This is the crowning achievement of Mamertine Asylum, unlike anything ever seen before in the world." She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. It's a smile of complete victory.
Your heart rate spikes, and the heart rate monitor in the room reveals this immediately. A nurse approaches, pushing a cart with an array of medical instruments, including a scalpel.
"This is a tiny surgery, and it doesn't even require the patient to be sedated. The CCC is still in human trials, but..."
Minze smiles at you and puts on a black surgical mask. The supermax nurse standing guard next to you holds your head in place and wraps a strap tightly across your forehead, keeping you pinned in position.
With practiced precision, Minze selects a thin, scalpel-like instrument from a tray beside her. "A small incision," she murmurs, more to herself than to you. You feel the cold touch of an antiseptic swab on your forehead, followed by the unsettling sensation of the blade gently slicing through your skin. Blood runs down from your forehead along the side of your head, pooling on the metal table.
The pain is sharp but brief, like a paper cut. But what terrifies you more is the sensation that follows: the feeling of something foreign being inserted into that slit, nestling itself deep within your skull.
Once the chip is in place, Minze sutures the incision with swift, expert movements. She then steps back, admiring her handiwork, a hint of satisfaction playing on her lips..
The chip's effects are immediate.
[[You feel uneasy.]]A rush of unfamiliar sensations floods your mind. It's as though your thoughts are no longer solely your own. They seem... monitored, observed. Every stray thought, every flicker of rebellion, is met with a sharp, jolting pain that echoes through your skull, forcing your subconscious to instantly squash the offending notion to stop the flash of pain and protect itself.
Minze smiles down at you, triumphant. "Now, my dear, every time you even think of disobeying, resisting, or trying to escape, the Cranial Compliance Chip will correct you, automatically. It's for your own good."
With a satisfied last look at you, Minze turns away and leaves the room. The supermax nurses unstrap you from the table. You feel weak and ill, your mind being under active attack by a foreign influence. Two of the nurses carry you out, the last one wiping the small pool of your blood off the table, removing the only proof this surgery ever happened.
[[You get carried back to your cell.]]The days that followed were a blur of regimented routines and controlled thoughts. Each morning, you'd wake up, the weight of the chip ever-present in your mind. The once rebellious spark, the desire for freedom and escape, now quenched under the constant watch of the Cranial Compliance Chip.
Breakfast was a silent affair. As the patients shuffled into the mess hall, your gaze would instinctively drop to the table, your thoughts forced to remain completely neutral and compliant. Even the most fleeting thoughts of rebellion or escape would instantly be met with a sharp, punishing headache. It was as if an invisible hand constantly steered your thoughts onto the "correct" path.
Your interactions with the nurses, especially with Minze, changed dramatically. Where once there was defiance, now there was only obedience. She'd often walk by you during the day, her smile serving as a reminder of your defeated spirit. She seemed to take a perverse pleasure in seeing you, once a beacon of hope and resistance, reduced to a compliant husk, with only a five minute surgery performed by her personally.
Conversations with other patients, even with Lisa, became stilted and subdued. You could see the same defeated look in their eyes, the same struggle to maintain the facade of absolute compliance. Rumors spread that more patients were being implanted with the chip, the rebellious spirits being systematically snuffed out. Lisa had certainly received a chip as well, maybe before even going into isolation.
As the days turned into weeks, the boundaries between your thoughts and the directives of the chip became increasingly blurred. The constant self-censorship made you question which thoughts were genuinely yours and which were the product of the chip's influence.
Your cell, once a place of hopelessness, now became a sanctuary of sorts. In the silence and darkness, away from the prying eyes of the nurses, you could almost pretend to be free, even if just for a few moments. But even in those fleeting moments of solitude, the chip's presence would pull you back, reminding you of your new reality.
You became an exemplary patient in Mamertine Asylum. Always compliant, never resisting, and following every instruction to the letter. The rebellious spirit that once defined you was gone, replaced by a numbing sense of acceptance.
It was in this state of defeated compliance that the days melded into one another, the hope of escape and freedom now just a distant, physically painful memory. The once vibrant Luna, full of dreams and aspirations, was now just another patient in Mamertine, living out their days under the watchful eye of the Cranial Compliance Chip, her very thoughts not her own anymore.
(align:"=><=")[- Game Over: Mind Prison -
- BAD END -]
[[Go back.->Get up, and slip away.]]"The session has been... enlightening," Minze states, gathering her digital pad and stylus. "We do have another matter to attend to. If you would please follow."
Of course the supermax nurse doesn't allow this freely. A second after the sentence is finished, you're being pulled up by your straitjacket again, marching behind the kitsune leading the way.
You are led out of the nurse office and walk along the maze of hallways, until you end up in front of a room labelled "Examination Room". The supermax nurse walks you in.
[[Enter the examination room.]] The room goes quiet, save for the muted hum of the ventilation system. Minze tilts her head, her gaze scrutinizing. "And what do you mean by that?"
Feeling a rush of confidence, or perhaps desperation, you lean forward. "I mean, what if I could be trained as one of them? I think I could be an asset."
Minze arches an eyebrow, visibly intrigued. "You wish to become a supermax nurse?" she asks, her tone even. "To serve Mamertine and ensure the smooth operation of this institution?"
You nod. "If it means a way out of this cell, and a purpose... then yes."
For a long moment, she studies you, her gaze almost piercing. Finally, she smiles—a thin, cold smile.
[["That's a first," she remarks.->"That's a first."]]Your training starts immediately. It isn't just learning procedures and protocols; it's grueling physical drills, psychological assessments, and sessions that push your mental endurance. The faces of Lisa, Cindy, and the others become hazy memories. The black catsuit and the reflective gas mask become your daily attire, a barrier between your old self and your emerging identity.
But the real transformation is yet to come. You're led to a sterile surgical room, where Minze awaits. "This is the final step," she explains. "The surgical modifications will enhance your abilities and finalize your attachment to Mamertine."
And then, she drops the truth: "It will also include the removal of certain... unnecessary emotional centers and memories."
The realization is crushing. The procedure isn't just about enhancing; it's about erasing. Erasing who you were.
As you lay on the surgical table, cold steel beneath your back, a myriad of instruments gleam under the sterile lights above you. Minze's presence dominates the room, her silhouette a looming shadow as she discusses the procedure with a team of surgeons, all masked and gowned.
They speak in clinical terms, discussing the intricacies of the upcoming operation, each word echoing with chilling detachment.
The feeling of vulnerability is overwhelming. Strapped down, with a plethora of wires and tubes connected to your body, the world seems to close in. A mask is lowered onto your face, and as the anesthetic courses through your veins, you fight the encroaching darkness, the last remnants of your will desperately trying to cling to your old self.
Resistance is useless, this will happen, just as Minze forewarned.
You feel the initial incisions, sharp and precise, before the numbing cold of the anesthetic takes full effect. The feeling of being opened up, altered and reassembled, is eerily distant, like a dream you can't quite wake from.
Every once in a while, you hear Minze's voice, giving orders, guiding the team through the complicated procedure.
Time loses meaning. The boundary between consciousness and unconsciousness blurs, and in those fleeting moments of lucidity, a strange sensation fills you—the feeling of parts of your brain being accessed, manipulated, sections of it being... silenced. The essence of who you are, your memories, your emotions, your very identity, all seem to fade away, like being carried away by the wind.
When the surgery is complete, you're left in a daze. It takes time to adjust, not to the physical changes, but to the gaping void where once there was a cacophony of emotions, memories, and desires. The raw intensity of feeling alive is gone, replaced with a cold, calculated existence.
Your training resumes, and the regimen is rigorous. But now, every task, every drill, is executed with a precision that's almost machine-like. Emotions no longer cloud your judgment. Fear, pain, love, regret—such concepts seem alien, as if they belong to a different world.
Every so often, Minze evaluates your progress, her expression revealing a hint of satisfaction. To her, you are a masterpiece, the pinnacle of Mamertine's vision: a patient converted into a bloodhound.
And as days turn into weeks and weeks into months, Mamertine's halls become your universe. Your old self, the person who once dreamed of escape, who felt pain, love, and loss, is now just a distant echo, a ghost that's been exorcised from your being.
You patrol the corridors with unwavering focus, ensuring the rules are adhered to, that order is maintained. To the inmates, you are an enigma, a being to be feared and revered.
[[Patrol the floors.]]As the days and weeks pass, you find yourself making routine rounds, inspecting patients and monitoring their status with a detached precision. The inmates and nurses steer clear of your path, casting wary glances in your direction. Your once expressive eyes, now obscured behind the lenses of your mask, reveal nothing, creating a barrier that few dare approach.
One day, while making your rounds, you encounter a familiar face, though any recognition of it has been scrubbed from your memory. Lisa, with her short dark hair and gentle eyes, stares back at you, a mix of fear and recognition evident in her gaze. She hesitates for a moment, as if grappling with the decision to call out to you, but ultimately retreats into silence, her hope fading away.
Another encounter, perhaps more poignant, occurs when you're assigned to the low-security wing. Cindy, with her calming emerald eyes, watches you from a distance. There's a sadness in her gaze, a heaviness that speaks of loss. Her once cheery demeanor is now replaced with an air of caution. She approaches you, her voice tinged with a hesitance that wasn't there before.
"Do you... do you remember me?" she asks softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
You tilt your head, analyzing her, scanning for any relevant data that might be stored deep within your modified brain. But there's nothing—no memory, no emotion, no recognition.
"No." you respond mechanically, your voice devoid of any inflection.
Cindy's face falls, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I... I see," she murmurs, stepping back. "Take care of yourself... or whatever's left of you."
As she walks away, you note the interaction in your notebook, categorizing it as a non-threatening engagement. Any attachment, any bond that once existed between you and the people of Mamertine, has been systematically erased.
The irony is not lost on the inmates. You, who once fought for her freedom, for a way out, have now become one of the most fearsome instruments of control in Mamertine. Your transformation serves as a cautionary tale among the others forever. The name you once bore is now nothing more than a whispered legend, a ghost story told during dinner.
Your new designation is M-354, your nurse badge a shattered mirror. You do not understand its relation to your new existence.
(align:"=><=")[- Game Over: From Rebel to Enforcer -
- BAD END -]
[[Go back.->GoodEndingSession]]
↶↷
If you have sensitivity to themes of mental health, institutionalization, unfair treatment, kidnapping, personality changing/erasure, drugs, or feelings of confinement, please proceed with caution or consider skipping this story.
I mean it. There's no shame in that, at all.
I have no problems with it and want to proceed