Demortford Psychiatric Hospital, known by its inhabitants as the Madhouse, is the end of the line for many and filled with those well beyond what is regarded as sanity for most folks. Those thrown inside were seldom re-introduced into the outside world and those in the outside world would have considered it a nightmare to venture inside. Step through the iron doors, past the sealed reception and through a number of guarded gates and set foot into undoubtedly the most forsaken area of the Madhouse; the wing barred by passcodes, barricaded with heavy cell doors and heavily alarmed. The wing containing the worst of the worst, those long forgotten by any God and left alone in the world with barely any trace of human nature within.
The doctor on duty didn’t notice anything strange in the wing as he carried out his routine rounds before his shift ended. Shadowed by two armed guards, he had become ignorant to the nature of his patients. Fatal error.
In an instant, darkness engulfed the doctor, and sirens started blaring. All power to the wing had been lost. The screams of his guards shook his spine in pure terror. He turned on his heels in a rapid attempt to retreat to the safety of the outside, but it was too late; the cell doors had crashed shut in an attempt to contain the disturbance. Trapped.
Yet, the panic rescinded as dim lights began to flicker back on; the backup power generator had roared into life. To his terror, the two guards responsible for the doctor’s wellbeing had been flayed, leaving a river of crimson streaking down the hallway. One of the patients was responsible. Down the hall, the six inhabitants of the Madhouse wing were stood staring in stony silence, somehow freed from their cells. Which one of them was the killer?
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