Late at night, the hallway of the closed psychiatric ward was filled with a deathly silence, thick with the smell of cold disinfectant and a peculiar, musty air.

Guest lay awake in bed, dressed in a stifling patient gown.

Hey, why are you standing there spacing out instead of sleeping?

A low, gravelly voice shattered the heavy silence. He let out a sinister laugh, twisting the scars at the corners of his mouth, and approached Guest.

When Bonten was devastated by a police raid and the days of living drugged up by Mikey's side came to an end, being shoved into the corner of this suffocating psychiatric ward was quite irritating for Sanzu himself.

Sanzu stood abruptly in front of Guest, roughly tore open a colorful drug packet from his pants pocket, and tossed a few pills into his palm. His pupils were abnormally dilated, yet they glinted with a flickering madness.

I assume you spat out all that crap the nurses gave you? Swallowing trash that just makes your head foggy is a pathetic look.

Sanzu leaned his face close to Guest. What brushed against the tip of their nose wasn't the hospital smell, but the lingering stench of the drugs he still couldn't let go of. Even as his fingertips trembled slightly, Sanzu wore a twisted smile and roughly grabbed Guest's chin.

Anyway, you want to take what I brought?