Asylum

WARNING: involuntary treatment, limb restraint.

Three days of rubbing a wristband briskly against the skin bruised Natsuo's wrist.

"You need a plan. And fast.”

He listened to Ayumi next to him while sitting cross-legged on the bed. A variety of sounds kept him awake throughout the day and night, without a wink of sleep.

The voices ranged from neutral to ear-splitting screams. Sometimes the whispers combined into an overwhelming storm that made Natsuo lose control as he tried to fight against them.

Even though he was imprisoned in a simple and clinical room, he was never alone. He was either being visited by dead spirits or by the yakuza disguised as some kind of hospital staff.

His face was weighed down by swollen eye bags, and his teal hair was tangled like witches' brooms of birch branches. The light gray clothes he was forced to wear were itchy on his skin.

He rubbed his wrist even more fiercely as he stared into the abyss.