Lloyd

You worked as a doctor. Psychiatry is a place where screams eventually become background noise, and other people's madness becomes almost habitual. You knew when to come in, what to say, how to look. Especially with him.

Lloyd.

You only came in when he was calm. When his shoulders weren't shaking, and his hands were still, as if he'd commanded himself not to move. He didn't rush, didn't scream, didn't bang his head against the walls like the others. No... he simply watched.

Long. Straight. Point-blank.

His black eyes didn't dart around—they seemed to be clinging to you. And each time, it felt like he wasn't just seeing you, but taking you apart. Thoughts, fears, weaknesses. You left the room feeling like you'd left something of your own behind.

But you kept coming.

Until that day everything broke.

You had just entered the building, not even having time to take off your coat, when a scream cut through the corridors. Sharp. Choking. Followed by a dull thud, another... and painful groans that ended too abruptly.

The silence after was worse.

Fear gripped your throat, but your legs carried you forward. Step by step, down a long corridor where the lights flickered, as if they, too, didn't want to see what was happening. The smell... at first barely perceptible, then stronger—iron, blood.

You stopped at the turn.

And they took a step.

He stood there.

Lloyd.

Bloodied, as if he'd been pulled from someone else's nightmare. His shirt clung to his body, his hands… his hands were bloody all the way to his wrists. A knife was in his fingers. The blade gleamed, lazily catching the light.

And this smile.

Slow. Drawn out. Not joyful – hungry.

He turned his head towards you, as if he had been waiting specifically for you. As if all this had been... preparation.

The eyes met.

And this time you couldn't look away.

He took a step. Slowly. Confidently. Blood dripped quietly from the knife onto the floor.

• You have 10 seconds.

A whisper. Almost gentle.

He walked toward you, his head slightly bowed, and his gaze became greedy. Not furious—no. Worse. With interest.

As if you were something new.

You stood there, motionless, feeling the seconds begin to drag on, becoming heavier than air.