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The girl who dreams on the back of a giant space turtle.
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((Isabel Ramirez continued from Rückenfigur))

Isabel trudged through the wards of the asylum, Tina's blood splashed upon her shirt and Tina's scarf wrapped around her neck, two trophies earned by the crime she committed.

Isabel was listening for other students, potential threats. The island they were on wasn't exactly very big, according to the map, and the asylum was a blatant, massive point of interest. She needed to get out of this place and stay out of this place if she wanted to stay safe, but the twisting hallways and manic architecture of the asylum left her befuddled and confused as to where she actually was.

So she wandered into another one of the wards, solitary confinement. The gates blocking off the ward were left open haphazardly, and as Isabel passed through them she couldn't help but feel as if something was horribly wrong. Still, Isabel continued further inside, hoping to maybe find a stairwell that would lead her to the bottom floor of the asylum. Isabel glanced into each of the solitary rooms as she passed by them, looking around for useful supplies or people who've already lost their minds.

Isabel stopped dead in her tracks as a scream echoed through the hallways, originating from deeper into the ward.

Isabel dodged into one of the confinement cells, hiding behind the massive metal door, sock flail in one hand and the man-catcher ready in the other. And there she sat, for a few minutes, waiting. She heard footsteps, pained grunts, and voices as they approached the cell that she was hiding in. The voices grew clearer, more distinct as they grew closer, one she recognized from earlier in the day. Clarice. It seemed the two of them had followed similar paths. Despite knowing that her voice should signify friendly faces, instead of leaving her cell, Isabel stayed inside of it. Everyone was an enemy, a potential risk to her well-being. She tensed as they walked past, only subsiding when their footsteps and voices were inaudible. Isabel stood, bracing the man-catcher again, and walked out of the cell. A trail of blood leading deeper into the ward had been left behind, presumably by the person in their group giving out those pained grunts.

Despite all of her instincts telling her otherwise, Isabel followed the trail of blood deeper into the ward, letting the yellow brick road of violence dictate her path. As she got deeper, she heard new grunts of pain and the sounds of crying. Someone else was still here. Still, Isabel kept walking, until the noises reached a crescendo as she turned a corner. A familiar face, standing, pressed against a wall. A twisted arm, blatantly broken. A bloody sword, lying on the ground. A wicked halberd, leaning against a wall.

"Oh hey, Conrad. Fancy meeting you here..."
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By the time you hear the next pop, the funk shall be within you · Solitary Confinement