Half Souled

Tell Me What The Fuck Is Happening, Because I Don't Know

Stronach stumbled through the doors and walked up to the receptionist.
"I'm losing my fucking mind."
The receptionist stared at him, as if in shock, then nodded.
"Name?"
"Jamison K. Stronach."
The receptionist wrote it down, then motioned for Jamison to follow. He was brought to a door with a short line of people behind it.
"Dr. McClary will have you shortly."
And with that, the receptionist walked off.
Jamison looked at the people he could potentially be spending the next year with.
One in particular caught his eye. They had short curly hair with freckles, and a reserved, yet curious stare into nothingness.
It reminded him of Kenny.
...
Kenneth C. Mitchell.
He puzzled Stronach, to say the least. By now, Jamison had grown to stomach carrying out the experiments, and had half a mind to observe Kenneth.
Kenneth had short curly hair, and freckles that decorated his face like strawberry seeds. His lips were thin and kept in a resting position at most times. It was strange to Jamison.
Kenneth didn't talk much. He just watched with those hazel eyes; sometimes it was hard to tell if he was even paying attention.
Occasionally, he'd mumble a retort or two at Rhith, but he would never, ever dare say it to her face. That would be like treason.
And still, Stronach took a liking to Kenneth, or 'Kenny' as he'd been nicknamed. His better judgement told him it would ruin his name to be Kenneth's friend, but he did it anyway.
And he didn't regret it one second.
That is, back then.
...
The man caught Jamison staring.
"..Excuse me?"
Jamison snapped out of his trip down nostalgia lane with a detour of regret, and said, "Oh. Uhm... Sorry about that, you just remind me of someone."
Before Jamison knew it, he was called into the office.
He sat in the chair farthest from Dr. McClary, and looked around.
The room was a nice, sky blue with silver lining at the top. There were maps and photos of various places around.
Dr. McClary, however, stuck out like a sore thumb. He looked rough around the edges, with slight bags under his eyes, yet gentle. Velvet brown eyes twinkled on Dr. McClary's face as he looked over.
"Jamison Stronach, isn't it?"
Jamison nodded.
"Ah, so how are you 'losing your fuckin' mind'?"
No introduction, straight to the point. Alright.
"..I keep seeing these red dots everywhere. And one time they talked to me. Something about my soul being stolen? I don't kno-" He stopped mid-sentence.
In the corner of his eye, were two red dots, and this time, they didn't disappear.
"..I don't know."
"Ah, So hallucinations."
"..Uh-huh.."
"You seem distracted. There's nothing in the corner there Jamison, I can assure you."
Dr. McClary was a liar. There most definitely was something there.
But Stronach shrugged it off, turning back to look at Dr. McClary. There'd been a sharp pain in his chest when he was looking away.
It took a while, but eventually Jamison convinced Dr. McClary he was, in fact, going insane.
Dr. McClary said he would stay there for a week at most.
He was led to one of the less guarded cells, and was told to stay there.
Eventually, his cellmate came around. They were a short, stalky man, with a small beard that looked like it had parts of it ripped out.
His name was Kyle.
They didn't talk much. Kyle stayed on his side of the cell and Stronach stayed on his, focusing on the red dots that wouldn't leave his vision.
He got tired of it, so just shut his eyes.
Moments later, he felt a searing pain.
Instinctively, he screamed and jumped to his feet.
The pain faded.
Kyle gave him a strange look, then went back to whatever the hell he was doing.
He looked to the cell across. Something put him off about the people in that cell, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
He brushed it off, and went back to failed attempts to sleep.
His entire body hurt like hell itself again, and again he snapped up.
It didn't stop this time, and he looked frantically for the source.
Someone in the other cell?