Patient B-2

Chapter Twelve: Wrath

Bypassing the guards at the front entrance proves surprisingly simple, a stark reminder of their lack of vigilance given the nefarious clientele they cater to-wealthy criminals with a penchant for trouble. One would expect tighter security measures, especially after the recent altercation barely a week prior, when they brazenly opened fire on Cierien and Sophie. Despite the apparent ease of entry, I remain cautious, wary of potential traps or hidden dangers lurking beneath the surface. It's difficult to shake the feeling that this could all be too good to be true.

I stride through the entryway with confidence, holding my head high as I navigate the crowded foyer. My goal tonight is to remain inconspicuous, to blend seamlessly into the sea of wealthy elitists that populate the mansion. Fortunately, my attire helps me achieve this goal effortlessly. I've managed to procure one of the finest suits from a high-end shop, its impeccable craftsmanship and the luxurious fabric ensuring that I fit right in among the opulence that surrounds me.

I made the decision to attend the event alone, rationalizing that three would be a crowd. While I could have brought Cierien with me, I opted for solitude, believing it would be easier to navigate the night without the added burden of worrying about him.

Though I know he's capable of handling himself, Cierien can be sensitive, and the possibility of encountering something particularly unsettling weighed heavily on my mind. I didn't want him exposed to any potential harm or distress if I could avoid it. This was a burden I was willing to bear alone, confident that I could handle whatever challenges lay ahead.

Sophie's absence from my thoughts is palpable; she's simply not ready for this kind of environment. Despite her recent actions, killing a member of WWA, which were undoubtedly justified given the circumstances, she lacks the experience and resilience needed to navigate the dangerous world we inhabit. It took a minute for her to process her actions, and when she did, she isolated, wanting to deal with it herself. Her reaction is understandable; processing such weighty matters takes time, and her desire to deal with it in her own way is commendable. However, despite her persistence in wanting to accompany me today, I must stand firm in my decision not to allow her to come along. For now, she must remain behind, where she can continue to grow stronger at her own pace.

The sight of the revelers, lost in their drunken stupor, brings a small sense of satisfaction. It's comforting to know that most of them are too inebriated to even register my presence, let alone recognize the danger I pose. In their state, they wouldn't be able to discern friend from foe. Though, even sober, I doubt anyone would know me.

I reflect on the Adairs' methods and their deliberate avoidance of documenting their experiments through photography. Instead, they chose to meticulously record their atrocities in written form, detailing every agonizing procedure with chilling precision. It's a grim reminder of the lengths they went to conceal their crimes, ensuring that no incriminating evidence would remain beyond the pages of their journals.

In a twisted way, their decision to rely solely on written records was a form of self-preservation. Without photographic evidence, their heinous acts could easily be dismissed as fiction, their victims relegated to the realm of myth and legend.

I step through the first doorway to the left, only to find myself amidst another throng of drunken individuals. Suddenly, a man seizes my shoulder, thrusting a drink into my hand with a lecherous wink before stumbling off to ensnare his next victim. He quickly forces his tongue down the throat of the nearest woman, and I grimace at his behavior, feeling a surge of revulsion at the sight. With a quick, decisive movement, I rid myself of the unwanted drink, depositing it on the nearest surface before slipping into the relative sanctuary of another room.

As I scan the next room, my focus narrowed to the task of identifying every blonde, I'm momentarily blinded to the horrors unfolding before me. It takes everything in me to hold back once I recognize what's unfolding before me- to not rip the heads off of every single man and woman in this room.