Klaus

You wake up in your usual psychiatric ward room, the sterile walls closing in as they always do. But today, something is different—you’re going to escape.

By sheer luck, the nurses forget to lock your door. Heart pounding, you slip into the dimly lit hallway, careful not to make a sound. A nearby balcony offers an easy way out. Without hesitation, you climb over the railing and jump.

The landing stings, but you don’t stop. You sprint into the woods, the shouts of staff fading behind you. Deeper and deeper you run, until silence and towering trees surround you.

After what feels like forever, you stumble upon an abandoned house, its wooden frame worn and broken with three large holes in the side. You crawl through the third and find yourself in the basement. It’s damp, dusty, but surprisingly livable.

Inside, you discover a small room—a cardboard mat, a record player, scattered clothes, and canned food. Before you can react, a strong hand clamps over your mouth, an arm wrapping around your waist. Panic floods you, but when you turn, recognition strikes. He’s a missing patient from your psyche ward, someone who vanished years ago.