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The Beginning Of The End

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He started his new life behind the securely locked door of a cell. Or what was classed as a ‘bedroom’ at Bloomingdale Insane Asylum, He slowly opened his eyes squinted into the dimly lit room that was nothing more than a box with a huge metal door before him. He was lying down, well he was crumpled in a pile in the center of the room and the feeling of nausea at the back of his throat and his fuzzy vision told him that he’d been knocked out.

He tried to gather his bearings a little and calm himself. A groan escaped his lips as he tried to push himself up into a sitting position, His body protested and he fell back down onto the cold floor in defeat. He was chained to the wall. He tried to tug at them with his hands only to realize that they were completely restrained. He was wearing a straitjacket.

Panic began to set in as he realized he could barely move the upper half of his body, he had no idea where the hell he was or why he was chained, the only thing he could be sure of was that whichever reason he had been tied up and left in a cell probably wasn’t going to have a pleasant outcome. A sinister laugh from the other side of the door confirmed his theory.

“You can tug all you want but you’re not getting out of that for a while” The voice said, a flip on the metal door was slid open and a pair of cold eyes stared right back at him. Light filled the room and he squinted at the sudden change in brightness. Despite the warning He still tugged relentlessly on the chains each tug becoming weaker than the last as his fatigued body eventually came to a holt and he glanced up to meet those cold eyes.

“Why am I tied up in here, what it this place?” he questioned as he spat on the ground a wet cough of blood, his saliva grotesquely dripping down his chin onto his tightly bound torso. “Welcome to Bloomingdale Insane Asylum” Said the voice as they continued on, eventually introducing themselves as ‘Director Skilton’.

Judging by the tone of the voice they were most definitely female and Skilton was probably a last name. “Yeah, Director Skilton. I run this mad house” There was a pause before she continued “Surely you know why you’re here?”. He shook his head, the clinking sound of the chains moving as they moved when he did. “You set fire to your university dorm”.

It was a short and blunt statement but it was an answer nonetheless. “Then why am I not in prison right now facing the chair?” He asked. Silence hung in the air, eerie sounds from the rest of the building made their way down to the cell, it sounded like laughter but could have been easily mistaken for screaming. Perhaps a mix of both, he shuddered to think.

Skilton clearly noticed too as she seemed to grab what looked like a whistle from her pocket and furiously blew into it. To a dog maybe, the sound would have been unbearable yet it was barely audible to the human ear. “You’ll have to excuse the cannibals, they’ve been like that all week”. His face must have had a look of horror because Skilton laughed, “No worries, The only time they’ve ever left their cells was a one way ticket to the morgue”.

“Anyway, you’re not facing the chair right now or ever because of what you did immediately afterwards”. She rubbed around her slightly lips as if trying to find the right words. “Before the police and fire department arrived you killed a number of 24 people by decapitating them and skinning them down to the bone”.

“Now I’m not a specialist but if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re psychopathic pyromaniac with a case of visible insanity” she stated. He glared at her with a mix of hatred and disbelief in his eyes “I am NOT” he yelled as the chains made a particularly loud banging noise when he tugged as hard as he possibly could against the chains.

Skilton looked smug, “And a pathological liar at that”. He hung his head to the ground. Not in shame but in defeat. “Do you remember any of what happened?” she asked curiously, He pulled a face “No.” was his sharp reply. There was a scribbling sound as pen met paper, she must have been taking notes throughout their entire discussion. “Do you know your name?” she asked. He shook his head again, his memory still foggy, “All I have written down here is ‘Suga’ can you explain what that means?”.

That rung a bell. He smirked and allowed a laugh to escape his lips, he wetted his lips and looked back up at her tilting his head back to one side, his hair all over the place. “Firstly, you’re saying it wrong it’s not ‘soo-ga’ it’s pronounced ‘sugar’ and it’s just a nickname” He paused “Secondly, my name is Min Yoongi. And I didn’t do shit, you have zero proof so you can’t possibly accuse me of committing those crimes”

Skilton looked confused, but it seemed more worried if anything. A mixture of the two you could say. “We have video footage and you were identified by several other people, not to mention one of the guards brought you here from the crime scene to the cell himself” she finished.

Yoongi looked as though he wanted to argue but he knew it was pointless. To be completely honest he couldn’t even prove himself that he didn’t commit those crimes, He swung on the chains hanging his head down as the straight jacket continued to dig into his skin. He glanced back up at her, “So now what? Do I ever get to leave this cell? Or am I just going to live in it for the rest of my life?”
“Oh you will get to leave this cell and join the others, you’re not the worst we’ve dealt with and you’re unlikely to attack anyone when we have security patrolling 24/7 so yes you’ll leave this cell but never this building” she said. “However”, the door unlocked and the light flooded in making Yoongi blink back in surprise.

Two men dressed in surgeon clothes came into the small cell, one of them grabbed Yoongi securely and the other began to unlock the chains that had him pinned to the wall.

“Of course you’ll have to undergo some shock therapy before hand”

Skilton looked particularly complacent with that last comment, As Yoongi squirmed in the mens arms trying to pull free from their grasp as they dragged him out into a brightly lit corridor. They threw him down onto a table and strapped his wrists and ankles to it.

Yoongi was yelling and grunting trying his best to pull from their grasp, terrified of what they were going to do to him.

Skilton sauntered in and for the first time Yoongi got a good look at her. She must have been mid 40’s as there was visible wrinkles on her face, She had well kept ginger hair in a french twist and deep maroon lipstick stained her lips.

The same cold gray eyes bored into Yoongi, she was slim. An immaculate white knee length pegged skirt with a slit and a black illusion shirt accompanied with a white blazer to match the skirt and to top off this incredible look, a pure lacey white jabot and white gloves.

She had the notebook held in one hand and another horrible looking hook in the other. The hook, looked as though it was made for nothing other than bringing pain to people. It made Yoongi wonder what other kinds of ‘therapy’ Bloomingdale Institution made their patients withstand.

A needle was stabbed into Yoongi’s neck, and black dots swarmed his vision. As he desperately fought to stay awake. Skilton leaned in and hair-raisingly whispered “Welcome to hell”

He blacked out.