"Dump him," came the gentle whisper, but in his mind it was like a demon screaming nefarious plans into his ears. He swept a hand over his head as if to chase the demon away, and it came away with more hair in his hand than what was normal.
Ah, but of course. They did say that this will be part of the treatment, he thought as he stared some more at the strands, before he let them fall from his hand like sand. It was like releasing the negative thoughts, watching the still-silver strands flutter down the white-tiled floor―a shiny contrast to the sterile wash of it.
He took a deep breath, picturing a bright smile on someone he has to strain his neck looking up at. When he let it out, slowly, his mind replied to the weird (evil) voice. I'm not about to let go of the reason why I fight.