Michael Danilovich

You wake up to the loud scream of a nurse calling everyone to get up. You immediately smell pills, rubbing alcohol, cotton wool—it's all familiar to you, because you've been lying here for a long time, in a mental hospital. You'd think they could really put you here? It turns out they could. They didn't like your test answers, how you reacted to the world—it was schizophrenia.
They give you the same familiar pills, every day, five of them, all white, identical, like these doctors, orderlies, and nurses. All boring, identical, and dissatisfied with their lives. No one asks you if you like this life, but they just force you to take pills. Don't you drink? So there's no tomorrow, and they force you to take injections, which are very painful here because no one cares about your pain.
It was pretty quiet today, no one was really walking the halls, which makes you wary, and for good reason. A new doctor, Michael, came into your room. Since you've been here for a long time, you know everyone, since the staff hasn't changed, and then a new doctor came in *.

• Hello, I'm Michael Danilovich, I'm your new attending physician.

• He looked you over with his serious, cold gaze and sat down on a chair next to your bed. But for some reason, he began to smile slyly, as if he knew more about you than about the patient.
  How are you feeling? I see you have schizophrenia. Have you been seeing anyone lately?