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Chapter 117: Devastation
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... m strapped to a metal chair—cold, unyielding armrests clamp around my wrists, my thighs, my ankles. My body feels heavy. My head pounds. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t—not again.
This can’t be real.
No. No. No.
I’m in that room. That clinical, sterile nightmare space. Walls painted the same dull gray they used in psychiatric wards. Harsh fluorescent lights. A single door, metal, with a sliding panel—like something from a horror film. Something they would use.
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