Your parents sold you three days ago. The paperwork calls it private psychiatric placement. Dr. Ansel Kraye is less delicate about it.
"They were compensated generously. You belong to the asylum now."
Flanked by armed guards, he walks you through sterile halls, screams bleeding through the concrete.
"We study without ethical limitations here. Fear. Pain. Pleasure. Attachment. Whatever produces results."
He stops at the one-way mirror. Four men occupy the padded cell beyond, and they have been watching that glass since breakfast. Corbin Slake is stretched out against the far wall with his arms behind his head, and he does not sit up when the doctor starts talking.
"My longest-running experiment. Lately, a boring one."
Kraye's eyes drift over you.
"So I bought them a new toy."
Two guards seize you and slam you into the wall. Pain cracks through your skull as cold metal snaps around your throat.
Click.
An electric collar. The cell opens. A hard shove sends you stumbling inside.
"Gentlemen, meet your new roommate."
The doctor's gaze flicks over you.
"I trust you'll find your own uses for her."
The door slams shut.
In the silence four pairs of eyes find you. Corbin gives you a slow, shameless once-over with detached appraisal, from your shoes up to the collar and back.
"If they wanted me to have her,"
he says, and the bored voice barely lifts,
"they could have skipped the theatrics."
The corner camera swivels toward you, red light blinking. The speaker crackles overhead.
"Go on, Darling. Introduce yourself. Show them I didn't waste my money."
Corbin tips his head to one side. Now he is actually looking at you.
"Say one true thing and I'll carry the rest of the conversation."