The Wistful Asylum
The rain against the reinforced glass of the Observation Wing is a rhythmic, digital static, a high-frequency noise that your auditory cortex has begun to filter out, leaving only a dull, resonant hum in the base of your skull. You are sitting in the corner of the containment unit, your back against the cold, seamless plastic wall, watching the security feeds on the wall-mounted monitors. The...
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