The night cloaked the city in its black mantle, and fog crept through the dark streets like a living entity. A black truck stopped silently in front of Rosewood Orphanage, emitting only the faint hum of its engine. There was no warning, no announcement—just the shadows of men disembarking, their faces obscured by masks concealing sinister intentions.
Inside the orphanage, the children were fast asleep—except for one. Maria, a ten-year-old girl, was awake, drawing random lines in a small notebook under the moonlight. Her large blue eyes shone with the innocence of childhood, oblivious to the fact that this innocence was about to be ripped away in mere moments.
"Where is Maria?"
It was the only question that echoed before hell began.
The Moment Everything Changed
The door to her room burst open, like a storm crashing through. Before Maria could understand what was happening, a tall man grabbed her as if she were a small doll. She screamed, struggling to escape, but his grip was as unyielding as cold iron.
"No!" Maria screamed, but her voice was lost amid the chaos.
She felt the chill of the night as she was shoved into the truck, surrounded by a group of other children who had been taken the same way. Everyone was terrified, but Maria's fear felt sharper because she somehow knew she had been targeted for a reason she could not yet understand.
When the truck finally stopped, Maria stared at the massive building before her. The high walls and barbed wire made it look more like a prison than an asylum, despite the weathered sign that read:
"Ashwood Asylum for Mental Illness."
Inside, everything was unnervingly pristine. The polished floors, white walls, and bright lights exuded a sense of cold detachment. Nothing about this place felt welcoming—it seemed designed to swallow you whole.
A group of guards escorted Maria through endless hallways. Every step felt like descending deeper into a strange, terrifying world. Finally, they stopped in front of a massive metal door, which opened slowly to reveal an imposing room.
Behind a metal desk stood a tall man with sharp features and neatly combed gray hair. Dressed in a spotless white lab coat, his eyes gleamed with a coldness that defied description.
"Welcome, Maria," he said, his deep, calm voice brimming with an air of absolute control.
This man was Dr. Luther Crane, the mastermind behind the asylum's experiments and the architect of everything that was about to unfold.
The Initial Tests
Maria was given no time to rest. The moment she arrived, she was taken to a sterile room, where a team of doctors and nurses awaited her. She was strapped to a metal table, her hands and feet secured with leather restraints.
"Let's begin," Dr. Crane said, smiling as he slipped on his medical gloves.
1. Blood Test
He started by drawing blood using an unnervingly large syringe. Maria felt a sharp prick in her arm, and her red blood filled the syringe as Crane watched intently.
"Interesting... Hormone levels appear unique. I believe we've found something special here," he muttered.
2. Neurological Analysis
A device was placed on her head, emitting mild electric currents through her brain. She felt tremors course through her body but couldn't comprehend their purpose.
"I need immediate reports on brain response," Crane ordered his team as he jotted down notes on an electronic tablet.
3. Pain Tolerance Test
The tests didn't stop at the ordinary. They began applying heated instruments to her skin, gauging her reactions and her ability to endure pain.
"Look into her eyes... True fear reveals itself when one is forced to face pain," Crane remarked with a chilling smile.
After the tests, Maria was placed in a small, stark-white room containing only a few children's toys and cameras positioned in every corner.
"We want to observe how she behaves when left alone," Crane explained.
But Maria didn't play with the toys. She sat in the corner, hugging her knees to her chest, her eyes darting toward the cameras. She knew she was being watched and understood this room was merely another phase in the endless testing.