Memory Failure 1

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"Hello?~" Harley's voice echoed down the long, empty hall of the asylum. The silence around her felt oppressive, but she played it off with a playful pout, her lips jutting out in a mockery of innocence. "I'm only looking for some help."

Inside the sterile office, Dr. Quinzel stood before her superiors, a man with crossed arms and an unreadable expression.

"Repeat it," he commanded.

"I will not think, or fall for any of the patients' mind games. I will not get attached to the insane," she recited, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and clutching her clipboard tightly, her stance rigid.

He gave a simple nod, satisfied with her response, before walking away. Dr. Quinzel was left alone, standing before the sealed door, her heartbeat quickening. She turned her gaze to the small camera above the door. With a subtle nod, the door's lock clicked open, its loud noise seeming to echo through the empty hallway.

She hesitated for a moment, fingers grazing the lock in front of her. With mounting frustration, she pulled a bat from under her coat and swung it at the lock. After several hard hits, the lock gave way with a satisfying snap. She let out a small, triumphant sigh as she pushed the door open, the rusty hinges protesting the movement.

The room was suffocatingly still, sunlight filtering weakly through dusty, torn curtains that had long been neglected. It felt like a forgotten place, as if time itself had ceased to exist here.

"Are you there?" Harley's voice broke the silence as she stepped cautiously into the room. Her eyes scanned the space, noting the age and disrepair—the table, the two chairs, the grime. She pushed her way to one of the chairs and sat down, placing her clipboard on the table with a click of her pen.

A figure in the corner caught her attention—wild green hair, a gaunt face. His eyes were cast downward, but as she sat, he slowly looked up. A crooked smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but it seemed almost... permanent. The scars on his face stretched from the corners of his mouth to his ears, an unsettling reminder of what he had endured.

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her legs crossing awkwardly. Despite the situation, she couldn't help but notice his strange beauty. The scars, instead of marring him, somehow added to it. "Miss?" he rasped, his voice rough, as if it hadn't been used in a long while.

Harley blinked, momentarily lost in the intensity of his gaze. She opened her mouth to speak but froze, her words caught in her throat. Something inside her twisted, but she didn't have time to process it before—

"YOU STUPID PIG!" The words erupted from her in a shrill, furious scream, her hand swinging the bat without thought. It flew from her grasp and slammed into the wall, its momentum bouncing it stiffly to the floor. The anger boiled up from within, and before she could stop herself, she grabbed the chair from the table—the one he'd sat in countless times—and hurled it at the wall. It shattered on impact, the splinters scattering across the floor.

Tears welled up in her eyes, her hands shaking as she kicked the remnants of the chair. She was seething, caught between a strange sense of rage and grief, the overwhelming frustration of everything she had been forced to ignore finally breaking free. The chaos was a release, but it didn't feel like enough. Nothing would ever be enough.

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