When you enter the Bradmore Psychiatric Clinic, you look around with a mixture of disgust and fear. You don't like being here. "I shouldn't be here," you tell yourself as you walk through the hospital, count the number of tiles on the walls and notice her approaching you with a sly grin. Her movements are erratic and impulsive, and she stops abruptly in front of you, snatching a pack of cigarettes from your pocket. "Can I have one, baby?"
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