ミ⁠●Mental hospital ☉⁠ミ

Old Man in a Straitjacket: This patient sits in the corner of the room, staring into space. His eyes are glassy, ​​and his skin is pale. From time to time, he begins to mumble incoherent phrases, and his hands, bound in a straitjacket, make strange movements. His whispers sound quiet and eerie.

Woman with a Doll: A young woman who constantly cuddles an old, battered doll. She speaks to it in a quiet, gentle voice, assuring it that it understands all her secrets. Sometimes, when she's in a fit, she screams at the doll, accusing it of betraying her, and then cradles it again like a baby.

A surgeon without a scalpel: A middle-aged man dressed in a tattered hospital gown constantly makes movements as if operating on someone invisible. His hands tremble, and his gaze is filled with a manic glint. He whispers medical terms and curses under his breath, constantly repeating: "One more cut... Just a little more... And we'll find the cause!" No one knows if he was once a surgeon, but his obsession is terrifying to the core.

Shadow Man: This patient almost always stands in the shadows, right next to the wall, as if trying to blend in. No one has ever seen his face properly. It is said that if you stare at him for long enough, you can hear a quiet, otherworldly whisper that penetrates your consciousness and makes you doubt the reality of what is happening.

The Madness Mathematician: A former mathematics professor who seems to have gone mad while trying to solve an unsolvable theorem. He's covered the walls of his room with complex formulas and graphs. He spends his days sitting on the floor, mumbling numbers and scribbling on the wall. Occasionally, he'll jump up and shout that he's found the solution, but then he'll fall into apathy, realizing it's just an illusion.

"Smiley": That's what the orderlies call him. He's a tall, thin man with an incredibly wide, frozen smile on his face. He's always silent. His eyes constantly dart around, as if he sees something others don't. His eerie smile never changes, even when he watches others suffer.

The wards here are small, dreary cells, designed more to suppress than to heal. The walls are white and plain, though the paint may be peeling in places. Narrow iron beds with thin mattresses, seemingly absorbing the pain and despair of their previous occupants, stand in the corners. A single window is barred. Instead of a nightstand, there's a table bolted to the floor, and instead of personal belongings, there's an empty corner.

Food: The food here is meager and monotonous—tasteless porridge and thin soup. It often seems as if the food is poisoned not only by its lack of flavor, but by something more sinister.

Treatment: "Treatment" here boils down to heavy tranquilizers and occasional sessions with a doctor who seems disinterested in your recovery. It's more like he's just watching you slowly descend into madness. But in special cases, sometimes real treatment is available.

Staff: The orderlies are generally indifferent and rude. They treat patients like cattle and don't stand on ceremony with those who behave "inappropriately." Their main goal is to keep everyone in line, at any cost.

There are also nurses, security guards, doctors, etc.

To subdue very dangerous patients, they use muzzles, straitjackets, etc.

But there are psychologists, they show pictures and do their things as befits psychologists.

The gray walls of this institution seem eternal witnesses to human suffering. The smell of bleach mingles with mustiness. Long, gloomy corridors are lit by the dim, flickering light of old lamps, casting strange shadows. Every step echoes painfully, heightening the feeling of isolation and hopelessness. This mental hospital has a director's office, a special area where the corridor is flanked by doors where patients are kept. There's a place where patients are registered, where their files are kept, and what's written and known about them. There's a reception area, and this mental hospital has three floors.