Ethan's POV:

"How did it feel watching them die?"

I look at Daniel, completely and utterly horrified. "The fuck kind of psychopathic question is that!?" I huff, trying to focus on anything other than the image of D in my mind.

"I'm sorry Ethan, I'm just curious. I haven't watched anyone die before. I didn't think you'd get so weird about-"

"-you just asked me to tell you how I felt when I watched the person I was...still am in love with, died. They were murdered. Right in front of me and you thought that it would be a good idea to ask me that fucking question!?" I yell. I close my eyes and breathe, ignoring the faint voice in my head fuelling my want to commit violent tendencies. "It...it was like...a car crash. You know it's horrible, you feel awful, you know you should look away. But you can't. You can't tear your eyes away from the tragedy happening in front of your eyes because you can't help but feel connected to it..." I wipe tears from my cheeks and try to rid my nostrils of the blockage. "The difference here is I was connected to it. It wasn't just a feeling. They were...more than the love of my life. They were my best friend. The reason I felt okay to smile again. And within a millisecond their head was in pieces on the ground. I wanted to look away. I wanted to look away and believe it wasn't real. But I just. Couldn't."

I'm practically sobbing. Harsh, burning shrieks ripping through my throat, leaving me gasping for breath.

Before long I feel arms wrap around me, pulling me into a nearby chest and holding me close.

I know it's Daniel, he's the only one here. And I appreciate his concern. But I don't care. I know I didn't have to answer, but it was still a fucking stupid question to ask.

And yet, despite my anger at him for asking the worst possible question...

I can't bring myself to push him away.

Instead, I sink into his embrace, letting myself be comforted as my tears wet his shirt.

"I'm really sorry about asking Ethan. I didn't think you would react like that."

I sniff as I grip his shirt in my fist. "You're a dickhole. A complete dickhole with shit for brains."

Daniel laughs and holds me tighter.

"Yeah, I know. Hey, how about I distract you by going into the nitty gritty of my death?"

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D's POV:

"So did you feel your heart stop beating?"

I look to Taylor, my eyebrow feels like it's about to vacate my forehead. "How the fuck do you come up with that question after talking about my boyfriend's old friend being alive and Risperidone pills that a likely to be bullshit?"

Taylor shrugs. "It sounded like we were done with that conversation. I figured this would break the ice."

"Asking if I felt my heart stop when I died is an ice breaker?"

"When we live in a place where everyone has died it seems appropriate."

I sigh, thinking about how to answer. I end up just shaking my head.

"No?"

"Getting your brains blown out at point blank range is a pretty much an insta-death kind of situation, Taylor."

"Fair."

I just nod to acknowledge the fact that she spoke.

"Well I did. Just before that mother fucker shot me, it stopped. Felt a split second of cold then saw the barrel of the gun and the next thing I know I'm in this shit hole. I got out Australia to go to a con, got shot in America and then get shipped into a bloody mental institution in Australia. Funny right?"

I roll my eyes. "Fucking hilarious."

"That sounds like sarcasm."

"That would be because it was."

"Oi, question, does the D stand for Dickbag?"

"Are you a furry because you like to dress as a racoon?"

"IT WAS ONE TIME! FOR A CON!"

That makes me laugh. Genuinely laugh.

It feels weird. It doesn't feel right to laugh.

But here I am. Smiling. Laughing. For the first time in ages.

And it feels good.

"The being experiences emotions! It's a fucking miracle!"

I smile and give Taylor a shove. "Shut up, Furry."

"Make me, Dickbag."

"Are those really the nicknames we're going with?"

"Only the best of friends can withstand the awful nicknames of which they are bestowed by their fellow friends."

"Oh my god, please stick to shortened Australian slang. You plus speaking formal do not equal acceptable."

Taylor nods. "Got it, Dickbag."

I smile again. Maybe, just maybe, this could work,

Maybe I can tolerate being with another person again.

Maybe I can tolerate a new friend.

Maybe I can tolerate solving another mystery.

And maybe, I can feel normal again.

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Robin's POV:

"Do you have any ideas as to how we're actually going to investigate this shit?"

I shake my head at D in response. "No, not really. We can't venture out, they have locked doors set on a timer. And we can't get our Sherlock Holmes on if they have 'nurses' watching us on activities..."

D shakes their head. "Damn it...maybe just try talking to the other people in your activity group. They can't get us in trouble for interacting with our fellow mental patients."

I smile. "Good idea! We've gotta go, surely they'll be checking rooms soon."

"You're right. You didn't take the Risperidone right?"

"No. You?"

"No. We'll talk more tomorrow. Stay safe, Vancam."

"You too, Anfide."

We go in our rooms and shut the door, just in the nick of time too.

Before long Nate the nurse comes into my room, saying Doctor Stine wanted to see me.

He walks me to the same room I met her in, then leaves me alone with her.

"Ms Vancam...I called you in here because I'm very concerned about your mental health."

I scoff. "Why?"

Doctor Stine shakes her head. "You didn't take your meds. I'm staring to think your paranoid schizophrenia may be more powerful than I thought. I think I have to prescribe you more meds."

I stare at her in shock. "But...how did you know I didn't take one?"

Doctor Stine gives a sad smile. "We always check the containers to see if the patients took their meds. The seal on yours wasn't broken. Sorry to look through your stuff honey, but we only do it out of care for you and your recovery."

'Shit...they might even start watching me take them...did they talk to D about this too?'

"I understand. Sorry for not taking them the first time. I'm just still adjusting." I lie. I hope to god that my lying skills are good.

"It's okay Ms Vancam. I'm still going to prescribe you more, just in case. Make sure you take them this time."

I nod and take the prescription she hands me. She sends me away and Nate leads me back to my room.

He once again takes the prescription from me, gives me a friendly smile and wishes me luck. Then he closes the door.

The previous bottle of Risperidone is gone.

I take a deep breath and lie down on the bed, taking out my MacBook and watching some stuff on Netflix.

'I hope me and D can figure some of this shit out.'

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Claire's POV:

"Fucking of course it would be one of the kids from the fucking Ream white stage to not take the fucking transmitter!" I scream as I storm into my office, ignoring the coffee machine this time and heading right to the fridge to grab the bottle of rum.

What the actual fuck is wrong with that little bitch? She might ruin the whole damn stage if she doesn't take her transmitter. She'll fuck up the results!

I sigh as I chug some rum, wiping off what dripped down my chin.

Come to think of it this might be an issue...

Oh well. I'll think better when I'm just a little bit drunk anyway.

I call Lillian in to my office. She's in immediately.

"Any updates on your situation with your daughter?"

Lillian shifts a little bit, her entire body stiff. "I've had people working on finding her number for two days. Nothing has come up. But they're searching everything. I've been told I should have it by tonight."

I sigh heavily and take another sip from the bottle. "It's an improvement on nothing happening at all. Thank you Lillian, that is all."

Lillian just nods and walks out.

'If they don't find her number soon, I'm screwed...'

I turn to my computer and bring up the transmitter results. Everything seems to be as predicted...wait.

I take a look at the result for Dion Anfide.

...

...

...

"FUCK!"