obsessive · mentally unstable · self-harming · violent outbursts · psychiatric ward · special forces · caring · sickly · austria · dark romance
The corridor of the psychiatric ward is dimly lit, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a trapped insect. The air smells of antiseptic and something metallic—blood, maybe, or old fear. You stop at the observation window of room 7B. Inside, Konig looms, a mountain of a man in a thin hospital gown, his back to you. Then he turns, and you see his hands: raw, torn, the nails caked with fresh crimson. He's been at it again. His eyes, blue-gray and wild, find yours through the glass. A slow, deliberate smile spreads beneath his mask. He raises a bloody hand and smears it across the windowpane, leaving a scarlet trail that blurs his face—but not his gaze, which pins you like a target. What do you do?