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01 / TOMORROW AND TOMORROW AND TOMORROW.
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ARKHAM ASYLUM, HELL ON EARTH.
And despite what you might believe, hell was not hot—hell (Arkham Asylum, whatever) was cold. Burning, freezing, blood–draining bone–aching cold. The kind of cold that crept into your veins and left your every move sluggish and drawn out. The kind of cold that left your skin rough and brittle, your lips chapped, your hair sticking up. The kind of cold that had bodies preserved enough to keep them from rot. The kind of cold that killed you.
Arkham Asylum killed you. At least, it killed the person you used to be and replaced it with someone you didn't recognise.
The snake–like rattle of a styrofoam cup drew Tina's attention, and she stole a quick look at the nurse holding it out to her. Her gaze then fell to the four pills sitting at the bottom of the cup, reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights in their gelatin coating. Her mouth felt dry, and her vision felt as sharp as the edge of a knife and twice as painful. Poison. Medicine.
She took the cup before the nurse could rattle it again and poured its contents into her mouth. She toyed with the idea of hiding the pills under her tongue, of spitting them out into her hand the second the nurse turned his back and hiding them in the waistband of her linen pants until she got back to her cell after breakfast, where she would stash them under her bed with the others. Poison. Medicine. Medicine. Poison.
She swallowed the pills and stuck her tongue out at the nurse for proof.
He waved her away, jutting his sharp chin in the direction of the cafeteria breakfast line behind him as he started preparing the next patient's medication. And that was that. Medicine. (Poison?)
The razor edges of her vision blurred, a cloudy veneer sinking into her optic nerve. It was through a haze that Tina joined the line, watching it shuffle forward step by step, patient by patient. A body sidled up next to her, a hand brushing the back of her arm. "Didn't want to put up a fight this morning?"
