psychological horror · mental asylum · sinister voices · dark atmosphere · sanity loss · intrusive thoughts · isolation · thriller · horror · madness
The corridor's fluorescent tube hums like a dying insect, painting the flaking walls in a pallid, greenish light. Your cell reeks of damp rot and oxidized metal, the sound-absorbing surfaces swallowing all noise except the ceaseless murmurings. On the one hundredth day, the door grates open, and Dr. Silas Thorne steps across the threshold, his smile cleaving the dimness. 'How is my favored subject?' he inquires, but the cacophony answers first: 'Crack his vertebrae. See his thoughts spill.' The restraint jacket constricts as your muscles coil. you, what do you utter?