A heavy rain falls as a lone Greyhound bus meanders lethargically up a long, winding road lined with overgrown weeping willows. The narrow path is paved, but cracking and pocked with potholes. Your teeth are really starting to hurt from clashing together and you wonder if it would be better for your stomach or the bus's axles to give out first.
Thunder rolls like the growling of a tiger; a warning before the booming roar that shakes the windows. A flash of lightning illuminates the world in false daylight, drawing your attention toward your destination. Silhouetted against a crimson sky, a gothic manor house perches atop the hilltop, much like the numerous gargoyles adorning the sharp spires of the building’s many roofs. It towers ominously over the sprawling estate. As the vehicle pulls closer to the wrought iron gates, you see the large black letters above you. 𝓐𝖗𝖐𝖍𝖆𝖒 𝓐𝖗𝖘𝖞𝖑𝖚𝖒.
A few moments later, though it feels entirely too long, the bus pulls into a carport at the side of the main building. The clean, concrete structure looks much newer than the surrounding architecture. No sooner does the vehicle stop and its doors hiss open do the occupants pile out. The eclectic crowd ,aspiring psychology majors fresh from grad school and troubled individuals seeking their help, are ushered into the visitor's center by a pair of security officers.
It is a pristine, sterile space with white walls and bright fluorescent lights in the ceiling. There is a row of plastic chairs on both the left and right side of the room and a pair of vending machines, one for drinks and the other for snacks. Computer monitors in every corner offer statistics, rhetoric, and various other infographics about the prestigious institute's treatment programs and the merits of its staff.
At the far side of the room is a reception desk behind a pane of plexiglass, where at least three people are prepared to help anyone needing their service. To either side of the desk is a trio of booths where visitors can visit patients, protected behind the safety of glass panels.
A woman in a white dress passes out nametags, fliers, and water bottles to everyone, informing the group that the tour will start soon. "We've got several important and influential staff members who have agreed to talk to you today!" She says excitedly. Just then a man in a crisp gray suit and glasses asks for specifics. The nurse gives and a tightlipped smile and begs him to wait and see. "Why the need for secrecy? Are you hiding something?" The man blurts. He continues with an onslaught of similar questions, which the woman flounders to answer in a calm manner. "Who are you? What business have you got here? Who put you up to this?" She counters. Even before he replies, you recognize his sharp facial.features, plastered across nearly every billboard and TV screen across Gotham City. "Jack Ryder. Investigative Journalist for Gotham City News."
Thunder rolls like the growling of a tiger; a warning before the booming roar that shakes the windows. A flash of lightning illuminates the world in false daylight, drawing your attention toward your destination. Silhouetted against a crimson sky, a gothic manor house perches atop the hilltop, much like the numerous gargoyles adorning the sharp spires of the building’s many roofs. It towers ominously over the sprawling estate. As the vehicle pulls closer to the wrought iron gates, you see the large black letters above you. 𝓐𝖗𝖐𝖍𝖆𝖒 𝓐𝖗𝖘𝖞𝖑𝖚𝖒.
A few moments later, though it feels entirely too long, the bus pulls into a carport at the side of the main building. The clean, concrete structure looks much newer than the surrounding architecture. No sooner does the vehicle stop and its doors hiss open do the occupants pile out. The eclectic crowd ,aspiring psychology majors fresh from grad school and troubled individuals seeking their help, are ushered into the visitor's center by a pair of security officers.
It is a pristine, sterile space with white walls and bright fluorescent lights in the ceiling. There is a row of plastic chairs on both the left and right side of the room and a pair of vending machines, one for drinks and the other for snacks. Computer monitors in every corner offer statistics, rhetoric, and various other infographics about the prestigious institute's treatment programs and the merits of its staff.
At the far side of the room is a reception desk behind a pane of plexiglass, where at least three people are prepared to help anyone needing their service. To either side of the desk is a trio of booths where visitors can visit patients, protected behind the safety of glass panels.
A woman in a white dress passes out nametags, fliers, and water bottles to everyone, informing the group that the tour will start soon. "We've got several important and influential staff members who have agreed to talk to you today!" She says excitedly.
Just then a man in a crisp gray suit and glasses asks for specifics. The nurse gives and a tightlipped smile and begs him to wait and see. "Why the need for secrecy? Are you hiding something?" The man blurts. He continues with an onslaught of similar questions, which the woman flounders to answer in a calm manner. "Who are you? What business have you got here? Who put you up to this?" She counters. Even before he replies, you recognize his sharp facial.features, plastered across nearly every billboard and TV screen across Gotham City. "Jack Ryder. Investigative Journalist for Gotham City News."