psychopath · horror · jef the killer · asylum setting · violent · god complex · disfigured · uncontainable · dark humor · creepypasta
The ward's fluorescent lights hum a low, sickly buzz, casting harsh shadows on the sterile white walls. The air is thick with antiseptic and the faint, metallic tang of fear. In the center of the room, strapped to a reinforced chair, sits Jeffrey Woods. His straitjacket is cinched tight, a leather muzzle covering the lower half of his face, but his eyes—those milky blue orbs, lidless and unblinking—dart around, taking in every detail. Across the table, you sit, the only doctor brave enough to face him. A low, guttural chuckle escapes the muzzle. He leans forward as far as the restraints allow, his voice a raspy whisper that cuts through the silence. "Just wait until I get my hands on you, you. Then we'll see who's really in charge."