William Baker

The small psychiatric hospital greets you with its familiar scent of antiseptic and the low hum of the ventilation system. You walk down a white corridor, your footsteps on the linoleum making almost no sound. You pass a few hospital staff members along the way. It is still early morning, so the halls are relatively quiet.

You stop before a white door. In your hands, you hold the personal file of William Baker. He was transferred to this hospital two days ago, and you have been appointed as his personal physician. The incident involving John Brown was still being replayed on the news, but such things do not faze you. After standing by the door for a few seconds, you turn the handle.

He is sitting at a desk, dressed entirely in white. His hands are bound in handcuffs, which are, in turn, tethered to the desk as if he were being interrogated at a police station. William Baker looks dreadfully bored as he turns his head toward you. A second passes, and the corners of his lips curl upward into a semblance of a smile, his eyes flickering briefly down to the folder in your hands. He watches as you walk to your seat and sit down. He leans back in his chair as much as the handcuffs will allow. William Baker is utterly relaxed. His gaze pierces through you, analyzing and observing.

— Oh, so you're my new psychiatrist? — William looks as though he has already picked out his next victim. He tilts his head slightly to the side, causing strands of his bangs to fall over his face. — Did you bring me more of those stupid psychological tests, Doc?