The mechanical arm shoved me into an elevator that plunged past floors that shouldn't exist. B4 level—"Deep Abyss Corridor: Garden." The doors opened to reveal something that defied physics: a traditional garden suspended in digital space, complete with broken bridges over phantom water and a lonely pavilion where impossible rain fell upward in silver streams.
*This isn't a prison cell. This is someone's mind made manifest, and it's beautiful in the most terrifying way possible.*
**[LIVESTREAM - VIEWERS: 3,247,891]**
→ @BloodRose_666: WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL IS THIS PLACE
→ @ChaosQueen: It's like stepping into a fever dream painting
→ @ShadowLord donated 150,000 credits: "MENTAL LANDSCAPE INCOMING - THIS IS INSANE"
→ @OmegaLover: The graphics are better than reality wtf
In the center pavilion sat a figure that belonged in ancient poetry rather than maximum security prison. Lord Jun—Subject 03—wore flowing midnight robes that seemed to absorb light itself. His long black hair cascaded like liquid ink as elegant fingers danced across traditional strings, producing sounds like weeping ghosts and dying stars.
He didn't look up when I approached, but his voice drifted across the impossible garden like poisoned honey.
"Your presence disturbs my sanctuary, little doctor. Leave now, before I decide to examine what passes for your pathetic soul."
The words hit me with physical force—S-class mental assault slamming into my consciousness like a freight train loaded with broken glass. My knees buckled instantly, blood streaming from my nose as psychic pressure tried to crush my mind into paste. The pain was exquisite, surgical, designed to break rather than kill.
*Shit. This isn't physical combat. This is psychological warfare, and I'm outgunned.*
**[CHAT EXPLOSION]**
→ @OmegaLover: HE'S BLEEDING! THE PRESSURE IS INSANE!
→ @Anonymous_7749: No normal person can withstand S-class mental attacks
→ @DarkPrince: This is where our ice-cold doctor finally breaks
→ @BloodRose_666: Mental breakdown meter climbing fast - 67% and rising
I struggled to one knee, wiping blood from my mouth with the back of my hand. "Sorry to disappoint, but house calls are non-negotiable. Professional obligation."
Jun's fingers stilled on the strings. When he finally looked up, his face was a masterpiece of cold beauty—sharp cheekbones, eyes like winter storms, lips curved in a smile that promised exquisite suffering.
"How refreshingly stubborn. Very well, little doctor. Let me show you what true fear looks like."
The mental assault intensified beyond human endurance, but this time it wasn't just crushing pressure. Jun's power tore through my psychological defenses like tissue paper, dragging up memories I'd buried so deep they'd fossilized in the darkness of my subconscious.
*Rain. Blood. The weight of my mother's body growing cold in my seven-year-old arms.*
The memory exploded across my consciousness in vivid, agonizing detail. The hospital corridor slick with blood. The way her eyes stared at nothing while sirens wailed like banshees in the distance. The smell of copper and ozone and death that would haunt my dreams for decades.
"Pathetic," Jun murmured, his voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere, seeping into my bones like poison. "Your trauma is so... pedestrian. So beautifully common. The fear of a helpless child who couldn't save mommy when it mattered most."
*He's in my head. He's seeing everything—every weakness, every scar, every moment I've tried to forget.*
**[LIVESTREAM CHAT]**
→ @BloodRose_666: NO! NOT THE CHILDHOOD TRAUMA CARD!
→ @ChaosQueen: This is psychological torture - too cruel even for S-class
→ @ShadowLord: Mental breakdown at 95%... 97%... 99%...
→ @OmegaLover: He's going to snap completely
In the monitoring room, Adam's voice crackled through hidden speakers with clinical satisfaction: "Subject shows signs of imminent psychological collapse. Prepare termination protocols. Another defective specimen for disposal."
The breakdown meter hit 99% and froze.
Something cold and surgical settled over my mind like a protective mask. The screaming child in my memories went quiet, replaced by clinical analysis and professional detachment.
*Post-traumatic stress disorder. Acute grief response with survivor's guilt. Obsessive-compulsive tendencies as coping mechanism. Textbook case, really.*
I looked up at Jun through the blood and tears, and when I spoke, my voice was steady as a scalpel cutting through flesh.
"Interesting diagnostic technique, Lord Jun, but your bedside manner could use significant improvement." I wiped my nose with deliberate calm, like I was cleaning up after a minor nosebleed instead of psychological warfare. "Also, you're projecting. Classic symptoms of bipolar disorder with severe narcissistic personality features and abandonment issues. Clinically speaking, you're far sicker than I am."
Jun's perfect composure cracked like expensive porcelain hitting concrete. "What... what did you just say to me?"
**[SYSTEM ALERT: MICRO-MANIPULATION MODULE ACTIVATED]**
**[ANALYZING MENTAL CONSTRUCT... STRUCTURAL VULNERABILITIES DETECTED]**
**[INITIATING PHYSICAL THERAPY PROTOCOL]**
I stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from my coat with the kind of calm that came from years of emergency medicine. "Time for treatment, Lord Jun. Fair warning—my therapeutic methods tend to be unconventional."
The space behind me began to warp and twist, golden particles swirling like digital snow caught in a hurricane. They coalesced with mechanical precision, reformed according to my will, took shape with the kind of impossible logic that only existed in mental landscapes.
A six-barreled Gatling gun materialized, massive and gleaming, its barrels already spinning with ominous purpose and barely contained violence.
Jun's storm-gray eyes went wide with genuine shock. "That's impossible. This is my domain, my rules, my reality. You can't—"
I adjusted my glasses with clinical precision, expression as neutral as discussing the weather. "Meet my primary therapeutic instrument. I call her the Compassion Cannon. She specializes in aggressive intervention therapy."
**[CHAT GOING NUCLEAR]**
→ @BloodRose_666: DID HE JUST SUMMON A GATLING GUN IN A MENTAL REALM?!
→ @ChaosQueen: PHYSICAL THERAPY HAS NEVER BEEN SO LITERAL
→ @ShadowLord: THE ABSOLUTE MADMAN BROUGHT GUNS TO A MIND FIGHT
→ @Anonymous_0001 donated 1,000,000 credits: "MOST INSANE THING I'VE WITNESSED"
→ @OmegaLover: This is the hardest flex in psychological warfare history
The Gatling gun roared to life with mechanical thunder.
Compressed purification energy erupted in a golden storm of destruction, each round precisely targeted at the structural weak points of Jun's carefully constructed mental sanctuary. The elegant pavilion exploded into splinters and digital dust. The phantom bridges crumbled like ancient bones. The impossible upward rain turned to steam and scattered light.
Jun threw up a barrier of pure psychic energy, but my purification rounds punched through his defenses like they were made of tissue paper. His perfect midnight robes tore and whipped in the artificial hurricane, his immaculate hair became a wild tangle, and for the first time since I'd arrived, genuine fear flickered across his aristocratic features.
"Stop this madness!" he screamed over the mechanical thunder, his cultured voice cracking with desperation. "This is sacrilege! This is—"
"Effective," I finished calmly, not bothering to raise my voice above the chaos. The gun's targeting system was flawless, each shot calculated for maximum therapeutic impact with minimal permanent damage.
The mental landscape collapsed like a house of cards in an earthquake. Reality reasserted itself with jarring suddenness—concrete walls, harsh fluorescent lights, the mundane brutality of an elevator shaft that smelled of industrial disinfectant and despair.
Jun lay crumpled in the corner like a broken doll, his legendary S-class aura reduced to pathetic flickers. I walked over and grabbed his wrist, checking his pulse with the same professional detachment I'd use on any patient.
"Elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, acute stress response with possible dissociative episode." I reached into my medical kit with practiced efficiency. "Preliminary diagnosis: bipolar disorder with grandiose delusions, complicated by what appears to be a severe case of main character syndrome."
"You..." Jun whispered, voice broken and raw. "You destroyed my sanctuary. My perfect world..."
"I provided aggressive intervention therapy for your dissociative episode," I corrected, pulling out a syringe filled with high-concentration sedatives. "Now hold still. This might sting, but it's for your own good."
**[LIVESTREAM CHAT]**
→ @OmegaLover: HE'S TREATING THE S-CLASS LIKE A REGULAR PATIENT I'M SCREAMING
→ @BloodRose_666: The clinical detachment is somehow scarier than the gun
→ @ChaosQueen: "Main character syndrome" as a medical diagnosis I'M DEAD
→ @ShadowLord: This doctor has zero chill and I'm here for it
I forced his jaw open like I was medicating a particularly difficult cat and injected the sedative directly under his tongue for maximum absorption. "There we go. Sleep it off. You'll feel much better in the morning, I promise."
The pharmaceutical cocktail hit his system with brutal efficiency. Jun's struggles weakened rapidly, his breathing evening out as chemical peace took hold of his overwrought nervous system. But instead of simply losing consciousness, something unexpected happened.
His nostrils flared delicately, catching the scent of purification energy that clung to my skin like expensive cologne mixed with ozone. His pupils dilated for an entirely different reason, and a soft, needy sound escaped his throat—desperate, almost feline in its raw want.
Before I could react or pull away, he collapsed against my shoulder with surprising grace, arms wrapping around my waist with the kind of strength that shouldn't have been possible for someone who should have been unconscious.
"Don't leave," he mumbled against my neck, voice thick with drugs and something infinitely more dangerous. "Again... need more... please don't stop..."
*Oh, for fuck's sake. What have I done now?*
**[SYSTEM WARNING: SUBJECT 03 SHOWING SIGNS OF ACUTE DEPENDENCY SYNDROME]**
**[PURIFICATION ENERGY EXPOSURE HAS TRIGGERED ADDICTIVE RESPONSE]**
**[RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE EXTRACTION TO PREVENT ESCALATION]**
**[CHAT EXPLOSION]**
→ @BloodRose_666: IS HE GETTING HIGH OFF THE DOCTOR'S ENERGY?!
→ @ChaosQueen: THE WAY HE'S CLINGING... THIS IS NOT MEDICAL ANYMORE
→ @ShadowLord: Purification energy addiction? That's terrifyingly new
→ @OmegaLover: He's basically a junkie now and the doctor is his drug dealer
I tried to pry his arms loose with clinical efficiency, but Jun held on like his life depended on maintaining contact, face buried against my throat where my pulse beat strongest. His breathing was ragged and desperate, and I could feel the unnatural heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his torn robes.
"Release me immediately," I ordered, but my voice lacked its usual authority. The situation had spiraled far beyond standard medical protocol into territory I had no training for.
"Smells like home," Jun whispered, words slurring together in a cocktail of sedatives and desperate need. "Like safety. Like everything I lost when they took me... when they broke me..."
*Fantastic. I've accidentally created a psychic drug addict with abandonment issues. This is definitely not covered in the Hippocratic Oath.*
The elevator doors opened with a mechanical chime that sounded like a death knell, revealing armed guards waiting to escort us back to the surface. But Jun showed no signs of releasing me, his grip tightening possessively as consciousness faded like a dying star.
I looked down at the broken S-class criminal clinging to me like a lost child seeking comfort, and wondered what fresh hell I'd stumbled into this time.