Woo! Okay, hey! So ... I don't know what to say here really. This is just the first chapter so ... please review and tell me if you like it or not ... I really hope you do. :3 This story will be from multiple points of view. Partly because it helps story progression, and partly because I have a hard time keeping in character with one singular person. Anyway, I present to you, chapter one. Enjoy!

Sollux's P.O.V. :

I keep quiet.

I know better than to speak to these people; guards, nurses, doctors they all think you're crazy anyway, so why even try to correct them. They spew words such as "bipolar" and "opiate addiction,"and won't listen when you inform them that you have neither of these things. I'm not "addicted" to anything; I'm too smart for that. I really do have pain-a constant buzzing in my head, screaming, burning ... The kind of pain that no medicine those doctors, in their sterile scrubs, could ever prescribe.

I'm not crazy-really I'm not. I hear the voices of the dead. I hear their agony and suffering ... It's not crazy, it's the truth. It sounds crazy, but it's not, I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy, I'm not! I'm not crazy...

"I'm not!"

I quickly cover my face with my hands, as I realize that my thoughts have escaped my mouth again. Some male nurse with lame sunglasses looked a bit shocked-He must be new here.

The chair I'm sitting in is uncomfortable and hurts my back. I glare at my father-The one who has brought me here over and over. This being my eighth time in my sixteen years. I don't say a word as I am "escorted" down a dizzying amount of hallways, and more doors. The golden light of the waiting room grows more distant with each step as it is replaced by a harsh white fluorescent hue.

I pass by a small room and see two nurses going through my things, checking for any items that I shouldn't have. Belts, strings, knives, cords, drugs, alcohol, they have to check for that stuff I guess. There are people here who are actually crazy, and would do some pretty messed up things if they had any contraband. On my first visit, a boy names Eridan, whose name still stays with me for some reason, managed to sneak in his favorite scarf. He got really upset one day, and was crying about being all alone ... He gave us all a hug in group therapy, and sometime during the night, he hanged himself. I didn't really like the kid, well, actually, that's an understatement, but it stays with me ... Still, it bothers me that the nurses have to touch my things. I sort them very carefully. My socks, are sorted in to very specific pairs. Red and blue, white and black, et cetera. Other things they do bother me, but most of all, it's my socks. They always put them in to matching pairs. It really messes with my head.

I was given a sedative earlier and everything is still pretty hazy, but I look around, trying to assess my surroundings. I spot a couple of patients, both male, by the nurse's station, a little Plexiglas box where the nurses practically hide in when they aren't required to interact with us. One is super short, he could only have been about 5'3" at the most, and his temper seemed to be even shorter than him. He's yelling, practically ranting, about how the food "IS FUCKING SHIT AND HORRIBLE AND ALL OF THE FUCKASSES RUNNING THE PLACE SHOULD FUCKING JUMP OFF OF A CLIFF". The other boy is lanky, his height a stark contrast to the other's. He seems to have taken is upon himself to calm down his "best motherfucking friieenddd". His gruff, almost southern accent bothers me. He emanates a dangerous feeling. From my eavesdropping I learn that their names are Karkat and Gamzee.

They take me to a secluded room and strip-search me, which I'm used to by now-but for the first time ever, they take my glasses. I blow a fuse.

"What the fuck?! Give thothe back now! I fucking need them you athhole!"

"They aren't perscription" says the nurse, smirking at my lisp.

"They're to ... hide ... my ... eyes ..."

I break down, my mood dropping drastically. Even though my eyes are what started my obsession with duality, I really don't like them. They're two different colours, but I've always hated my right eye-It's a gross mustard color. It would be fine if it were a bright yellow. It would remind me of a bumblebee, which would be fantastic! But no, I'm stuck with a fucking disgusting brownish-yellowish shit color. I wore my colored sunglasses to hide. Behind my lenses, one red, one blue, I feel safer. Almost calm.

I can't stop crying. It's getting so bad I can barely breathe. They're restraining me now, there's a doctor coming towards me with a giant needle-a sedative. I scream. She jabs the needle into my ass and pushes the plunger.

Everything is going ... fuzzy ...