"Welcome to Therapy!"
I opened my eyes, already having a sense of what I was about to see…
My head was pounding as I pushed myself up with my arms. I was lying in a barren, light gray room. The floor was ice cold and made of concrete. Every now and then, you could spot drag marks from an object that had clearly been moved.
The walls of the room were partially painted. Unrecognizable lettering of a language I couldn't begin to understand. When I looked down, I noticed my clothes were gone. Instead, I wore a plain white jumpsuit.
'Does everything have to be white?... I feel like I'm in a mental asylum.'
If only I had known how right I actually was with that comment.
Aside from the drag marks on the floor and the strange symbols on the walls, there was a door a few meters away from me. Upon closer inspection, the door appeared to be the same type I had seen earlier in the waiting room.
'Does that mean I'm not dea-…'
I couldn't even finish my sentence before the door opened. A man dressed in white, carrying an old tube television, stepped inside. His hair looked slicked back and he wore a blue mask over his mouth.
In no more than ten seconds, the man set the TV down in front of me, and before I could even say a word, the door slammed shut behind him with a loud bang.
Slowly but surely, my previous suspicion of being in an asylum was proving to be true.
'But why would I be in a psychiatric facility?'
At that moment, it hit me! My heart stopped, and I grabbed at the jumpsuit's zipper. After ripping open the part covering my upper body, my horrified expression changed.
'Where's the hole?'...
'I could've sworn I got shot. Right before I had that… weird dream.'
As soon as the thought finished forming, the television sprang to life. The flickering colors and scratchy sounds felt foreign – like looking into the past. I wasn't used to operating such an old device.
Yet despite the thick borders and the curved screen, the TV seemed strangely untouched. No dust, no scratches. As if it had just been manufactured – or never really used.
There wasn't much to see. A slim man sat on the other side of the screen and seemed to be watching me. As if he were looking straight into my brain through my eyes… "creepy."
But I couldn't return his gaze. Aside from the fact that he was wearing a gray suit, only his silhouette was visible. Even his face looked airbrushed – like someone had deliberately erased it.
"Welcome to Therapy."
It was the same emotionless voice I had heard many times before.
"My name is Professor B. I oversee this facility for exceptional cases – or, as we call them, anomalies."
'Stop! I'm not infected. That was just an act so I could end my life. I don't have powers!'
None of these words made it out of my mouth.
"Since you pose a potential threat to your surroundings, it is our responsibility to stabilize you… and, if possible, to cure you."
'What is there to cure?! I don't want to be lumped in with those freaks – I want out!'
"Shortly, we will release a non-lethal gas into your room to safely transfer you into our care. If you have any objections or believe this is a misunderstanding, please knock on the door – we will then release you. However, if you believe there is a potential threat you pose to our proud citizens, please remain seated."
The television went black.
'Phew, about time. I thought that was the end of me.'
As I tried to stand up to get closer to the door, something pulled at my leg. A short metal chain had been attached to my right ankle and stopped me from going any further.
'How the hell didn't I notice that?'
Before I had time to remove the shackle, I smelled something strange and toxic. Tiny openings on the TV, which I had previously missed, suddenly began to release white smoke. It was already too late, and with it, my streak of bad luck continued.'"Fuck, I didn't even get the chance to reach the door…'
Weighed down by the gas, I lowered myself to the ground. I didn't want to injure myself once I lost consciousness. So I waited.
And waited.
And… waited?
Somehow, the gas didn't seem to have any effect on me – was it even gas, or just white smoke?
The television turned back on, and again, I saw the same man.
"Congratulations! You've likely noticed by now that you never had a choice to leave this program. This gas was laced with the DNA of an anomaly and is lethal to normal humans. Since you're still alive, there's no doubt anymore. You are an anomaly!"
'What kind of bullshit is this guy talking about? I can't be an anomaly!'
For over three years, people with mental illnesses have been developing into anomalies.
As an anomaly, you can manifest your mental issues into reality. That means, if you've been having suicidal thoughts for years, those thoughts can take a physical form. But sometimes, it also leads to metaphysical abilities.
I once heard of a woman who could see the death of others shortly before it happened, so she could prevent it. Basically, almost any mental illness can result in a power. Some even use them for good and help make the world a safer place with their newly acquired abilities.
Others, however, use them to make the world more dangerous. What else would you expect if a sociopath gained the power to steal other people's emotions?
Two years ago, the world governments united to create a global security system – to protect our world.
Anyone who shows suspicious behavior and refuses to cooperate gets eliminated. Those who do cooperate are either detained or integrated into existing police structures. Or so the media says…
'But what do I have to do with all that?'
'I live a normal life. I wake up at seven in the morning and come home from work at nine in the evening. My life is boring, sure, and I don't have friends or family, but that doesn't mean I have a mental disorder! Just because I wanted someone else to kill me doesn't mean I'm suicidal!'
'Exactly because I was too scared to do it myself, someone else had to. If that had worked, I wouldn't be here now, dealing with these mentally disturbed people.'
Once I was done reflecting on my miserable life, I noticed that the shackle around my ankle had come loose. The television had long since gone dark, but my attention was drawn to something entirely different.
Music floated through the air. Somewhere, I could hear a mix of jazz and theatrical opera singing.
Now that my shackle was off, I stood up. This time, I was able to reach the door and tried pressing against it. I didn't expect much, but I was surprised.
It moved.
"I'm outside?"