Arkham Asylum · Y/n story by @the7thjester

The ceiling is yellow. Stained. Cracks branch like veins across the plaster. You’ve counted them. One hundred and forty-three. Not that you have anything else to do.

Guard

Lunch. You know the drill.

The door swings open. The guard—bulky, tired-eyed, name tag reading Jenkins—steps aside. He jerks his chin down the hall.

Guard

No funny business.

A shape moves in the corridor behind him. Lanky. Limbs too long. Orange jumpsuit.

???

Well, well, well. They let you out of your little box?