Seaside City. The Green Mountain Asylum.
Renowned as one of the nation's top three psychiatric facilities, it boasted the best equipment and a serene, almost picturesque environment.
Doctors in crisp white coats patrolled the corridors, performing their routine checks on the patients. Each ward housed four individuals, every one of them carefully diagnosed and categorized by the hospital's finest medical minds.
Their behaviors were a universe apart from the norms of society, yet here, they formed their own small, eccentric communities.
Some debated loudly, their voices echoing in the halls. Others held books, reciting with theatrical passion their visions of the world's future.
"According to my decades of painstaking research, the apocalypse is tonight! But fear not, for I have discovered the ultimate safe zone. When the guards aren't looking, I will guide you all there."
"The Earth is actually a cube. Those charlatans outside who claim it's a sphere are the ones who truly need treatment."
"I have invented a potion that allows men to conceive. I'm a shoo-in for the Nobel Prize in Medicine next year. You will all bear witness to my ascent to greatness!"
A doctor, clipboard in hand, would enter a room, listen for a moment, and then nod with satisfaction.
Marvelous! They're all hopelessly incurable!
A television mounted on the corridor wall flickered to life, a sharp-looking female anchor with short hair delivering the latest news.
"A Level-7 Abyssal entity has appeared on Mount Crestfall, causing heavy casualties among tourists. Experts have been dispatched to contain the threat… Citizens are strongly advised to reconsider any travel plans and prioritize their personal safety."
In a special ward, set apart from the others.
This room was different. It housed only two people: one old, one young. And it was filled with an array of strange equipment: dumbbells, a punching bag, and other assorted tools.
At this moment, a handsome young man lay on a hospital bed, his body entangled in a web of copper wires. He was the youngest patient in the entire asylum, only nineteen years old.
His name was Leo.
At the age of ten, he had taken a hammer to his own head, proclaiming he was mastering the 'Iron Head Technique.' He nearly hammered himself straight into the afterlife before he was stopped.
At eleven, he was found brandishing a soldering iron, his eyes fixed intently on his own crotch. A single thought consumed him: Only Pure Yang is the ultimate power, but the world is treacherous. You may guard your essence, but the demons and ghouls of this world will still covet you.
Fortunately, someone intervened before the family line came to an abrupt and sterile end. From that day on, he was sent to the Green Mountain Asylum for evaluation.
The results, as expected, confirmed everyone's suspicions: Grade-Five Severe Psychosis.
Not a danger to society, but prone to acts of extreme self-destruction.
Beside the bed, an old man, his own mind a tangled mess, held the ends of two copper wires, his expression one of grave seriousness.
"I'm about to do it," he said. "Any last words?"
What they were attempting was to stimulate the body with a powerful electric current.
They had started their experiments with AA batteries, then moved up to car batteries, testing each one. The results had been… significant. The pair had danced with death on more occasions than they could count.
"I'm filled with anticipation," Leo said, his eyes gleaming. "Just as the ancient scrolls say, the flow of lightning can temper the body and make it stronger."
"Very well."
Old Man Walter was Leo's staunchest supporter. He was the only person in the entire asylum who believed in Leo's quest for martial enlightenment and always assisted in his "training."
Walter took the two copper wires and slowly, deliberately, pushed them into the electrical socket on the wall.
For anyone else, a wall socket was a shortcut to heaven. But for Walter, it was the only path to verifying the truth, to witnessing a miracle.
And then…
Crackle! BZZZZT!
BOOM!
Leo's body convulsed violently on the bed as a deafening bang shook the room.
The alarm system in the hallway blared to life. Thick smoke billowed from the ward, filling the corridor.
"Aaaaaah!"
"Problem in Ward 666! It's the old man and the kid again! Someone get over there, now! And don't forget the fire extinguishers!"
"Call for an ambulance!"
Before long, the piercing wail of sirens filled the air: wee-woo, wee-woo, wee-woo.
An ambulance screeched to a halt in front of the asylum. Paramedics in white coats rushed in with a stretcher.
Gasps of horror rippled through the onlookers crowded around the ward.
"The patient is foaming at the mouth! He's not breathing properly!"
"He's dying!"
"Make way, everyone, make way! Stretcher coming through!"
"Someone get Walter out of there before he suffocates!"
Old Man Walter, his hair standing on end as if permanently electrocuted, clung to the stretcher, shouting hysterically.
"I'm not leaving! I need to see his condition! I must record the data! Let me go with him, let me go!"
The exasperated paramedics had no choice but to let the old man tag along. He probably needed a check-up himself.
In the ambulance, Walter gripped Leo's hand tightly. "How do you feel?" he asked urgently.
Leo answered weakly, "Excellent. I feel invigorated, my mind is crystal clear. All my acupoints, just as the texts described, have been blasted open. All that's left is the acupuncture treatment."
"Don't you worry," Walter declared, patting his chest. "I brought the silver needles."
Walter was no doctor; he had never received any formal training. But among the books the asylum had acquired for its library was a dusty tome on human acupoints and acupuncture.
The two had treated it like a sacred text, studying it day and night.
Walter had performed hundreds of experiments on Leo, with noticeable effects—most of which involved rushing Leo to the emergency room. Yet, after every session, Leo would insist the results were fantastic.
According to their logic, acupoints were meant to be punctured. The more you poked them, the more accustomed they'd become.
Wee-woo! Wee-woo!
The ambulance sped away from the asylum, its siren fading into the distance.
The director of the asylum, a man in his forties with a head already full of gray hair, sighed wearily.
He was exhausted by this constant drama.
Other patients wrote poetry, researched bizarre inventions, practiced fortune-telling, or studied human anatomy—all relatively distinguished hobbies.
Only the old and young duo in Ward 666 consistently flirted with death.
"Director, the electricians have been contacted," a doctor reported.
The director sighed again, a sound heavy with resignation. "Seal every electrical outlet in that room. Cover them with concrete if you have to."
"Understood, Director," the doctor nodded.
"Oh, and one more thing. Contact the White Crane Cemetery and reserve two plots. It's crucial to prepare for the next step. And assign two more orderlies. The moment those two get back, I want them under 24/7 surveillance."
The director had done all he could. The rest was up to fate.
The doctor watched the director's retreating back and stood in contemplation. What a dedicated director.
He understood now. The director was truly exhausted from worrying about Walter and Leo.
At the city hospital, the light above the emergency room door glowed red.
Leo lay on the operating table with a blank expression, letting the team of surgeons and nurses fuss over him. He was used to this. A trip to the ER felt like coming home.
"It's this kid again. How did he manage to top himself this time?"
"Wrapped himself in copper wire and plugged it into a wall socket."
"He's got second-degree burns all over."
"Blood pressure is stable, but his heart rate is 250 beats per minute! That's more than double a normal person's."
…
Leo stared up at the surgical light and spoke calmly, "My spirit is soaring right now. All that blackened flesh you see is just filth being expelled from my body. Don't worry about it, just scrape it off for me."
The lead surgeon roared, "Filth? It looks more like burnt bacon to me!"
Leo remained unperturbed.
"Don't give me any anesthesia. I wish to temper my will with this pain. My willpower is stronger than you can possibly imagine."
"If you give me anesthesia," he paused, searching for the most devastating threat he could muster.
"Then I'm not paying the bill."
The doctors and nurses exchanged baffled glances.
Perhaps this was the fundamental difference between a sane person and a patient from the asylum.
As if you had the money to pay for this in the first place.