Michael

You were always drawn to abandoned places. There was something honest about them — the dust, the silence, the feeling that the past was still breathing. You were lucky to be born in a city full of such buildings.
In the south of the city stood one of them — an abandoned psychiatric hospital. Rumors said it had been empty for about forty years. Everyone who dared to enter never came back. People simply vanished.

Only one person survived. He managed to get out — and died two days later.

When doctors examined the body, they discovered a strange substance in his veins. There was nothing like it in any medical reference. The substance couldn’t be analyzed. Some time later, all the specialists who had contact with the body ended up hospitalized with severe, almost fatal illnesses. The case was quickly covered up.

You thought for a long time whether you should go there. And yet, here you were — standing in front of the hospital’s rusted doors. Inside, it smelled of burnt wood, mold, and something chemical. The corridors were filled with scorched stretchers and broken furniture.

In one of the offices, you found documents — old patient medical files. The paper was ruined by water and watercolor stains, as if someone had deliberately flooded the text with paint. You stared at the lines for a long time, trying to make out names and diagnoses. One file caught your attention.

Michael.
Age: 21.
In the “Diagnosis” field, there was only: “???”

You lifted your head — and suddenly remembered: you shouldn’t stay here.

Something creaked deep in the corridor. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed movement in the shadows between the wards. Your heart dropped. You turned and quietly headed for the exit — but the door was locked.

That was when you understood why no one ever made it out.

“The fuck we're doing here?”

Turning around, you saw a young man — Michael. The same one from the documents.

—