To Lydia, the facility felt like a bizarre chimera of a high-end hotel and a sterile hospital—sleek lines and understated luxury masking something cold. Her shoes fell softly on well polished tile, the shoes which looked deceptively normal, they felt normal to like the few pairs of skate-cab sneakers she had back home. But upon closer inspection, the small embossed lettering near the heel readDior. Which likely meant they were outrageously expensive for what was essentially a dressed-up pair of Converse.

Another aspect of wealth she didn't get. What was the point of something like this? Unless you were one of three people who could recognize that thisnormalshoe or thisnormalhat was, in fact, a status symbol, in all other ways it was still a normal shoe but marked tenfold the price it had any right to be.

The steps of said needless investment continued to echo in the hallways which only was amplified by their emptiness. Barely any staff. Barring some seemingly annoyed nurses in green scrubs and occasional security personnel nodding at her with some emotion a step above indifference.

She ran her hand along the wall time to time, surprised to find parts of it slightly damp. Daily cleaning?, maybe hourly, keeping everything pristine white. The kind of obsessive maintenance that spoke of deeper interest than simple cleanliness.

The place screamed money, from the recessed lighting to the abstract art pieces that likely cost more than her annual salary. But there were tells if you looked close, you saw the imperfection. Slight wear in the silicone between tiles, barely noticeable chips in the baseboards, hair-thin cracks in the paint where wall met ceiling.

Throughout her little self guided tour, the lack of faces stuck out. Was Logan the only patient at this place? It would be sensible, given Delos's resources, but something about the timeline felt off. Logan hadn't been immediately locked away after Westworld—that much she remembered from the show. He'd been found naked in the desert at the edge of the park, naked in more than just the literal sense. What kind of man emerges from that degree of trauma, and not to mention sunstroke, with their psyche intact? Add losing your birthright and family to the man who caused your breakdown…

She paused at a window, studying her distorted reflection in the glass. How long ago had that been? Logan's volatile state suggested relatively recent events, but she had no way to know for certain at least without straight up asking. Had William already secured his position? Was this some kind of cleanup operation, keeping Logan contained while the company changed hands?

Back in the office,that felt like a lie to think of as her own. Lydia looked at the file again accessing a different section. His prescription regiment. Maybe understanding the pharmaceutical side of his treatment would help her make sense of this place or at least get her mind off the potentially lethal cover up happening behind the veil…
There was a list of prescriptions, neatly cataloged alongside dosages and dates.

From a glance, it seemed straightforward. Antidepressants. Mood stabilizers. Sleep aids. Reasonable enough given the situation. Though examining the specifics yet again told a different tale when she worked hard to dig up the limited info she recalled from the material in her sophomore year of college from the recess of her mind. Back when she was uncertain what path she wanted to go, the psychiatrist or the counselor, she inevitably she picked neither.

The first medication on the list was fluoxetine, better known as Prozac. Not an uncommon choice for depression, often prescribed to stabilize mood and improve emotional regulation. But as Lydia stared at the dosage40 milligrams, twice a daythat seemed at least a tad exorbitant?

Prozac wasn't usually prescribed in such doses, could cause agitation, insomnia, and even psychotic symptoms. She'd learned about it in one of her psychopharmacology classes, There was a whole list of instances where Prozac exacerbated underlying issues rather than treating them.

She frowned, scrolling to the next prescription: olanzapine, an antipsychotic typically used for schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. The notes claimed it was prescribed to "address delusions and paranoia," , unfortunately this one Lydia lacked an informed background on, potentially it could be a good choice, though she reminded herself that Logan wasn't necessarily as delusional as people thought—he had simply recognized Williams' dark side earlier than most and had some genuine mental and drug issues exasperating the problem.

She did wonder why they paired it with Prozac. Whatever the full extent of Olanazapine's effectiveness. Antipsychotics weren't typically prescribed so lacadastically , certainly not to someone whose brain chemistry was already likely a rewired mess from substance abuse. God only knows what kind of damage those fancy party drugs, and the regular coke usage had already done to Logan's mind adding more powerful chemicals to the mix seemed about as smart as juggling knives.

Next was alprazolam, commonly known as Xanax. It was sometimes used for anxiety and panic disorders. But for someone with an active trend of substance abuse that was possibly the most negligent one. It would make more sense if they would just use one or two of these and definitely avoid any substances that would likely lead to Logan developing another craving, that seemed mighty far from the expert minds working with the disgraced heir, and this was not even the end of the list..

Ambien for sleep, notorious for causing hallucinations and sleepwalking. Then Trazodone on top of that, another sleep aid known for dizziness, confusion, andbecause why notworsened depression. Why do they need to prescribe two sleep aids?the pills hes already taking would likely invigorate his system enough where he wouldn't even need a sleep aid much less two.

Maybe they thought they needed something to counter the Prozac's insomnia side effects, even so why not search for a better alternative opposed to doubling down on pills, that could potentially cause more exasperated psychosis. In theory the pills could work like some demented system of checks and balances, but this wasn't theory this was in a human being, and they were playing pharmaceutical ping-pong with already fucked brain chemistry.

Why would the Delos family want their forlorn son treated like some science experiment…? Moreover Logan seemed in worse shape and no doubt was on the influence of something, or some sort of withdrawal, but all things considered he seemed relatively close what what she remembered, sharp enough to read her like a book, clever enough to play his little mind games. If he was actually taking this pharmaceutical cocktail, he should've been either zombie-level sedated or bouncing off the walls aggressively.

So that raised a few questions, was the mad science of the previous psychiatrists somehow sound and they came up with the perfect combination to center logan, none of the medications were affecting him (possible), or—most likely—he wasn't taking them at al or at least most of themBut that opened up another can of worms. Was the facility letting him skip his meds, or was Logan finding ways around their supervision? If he had found blind spots in their surveillance...well, that kind of information could come in handy. She wasn't sure she could safely confide in Logan himself but if there was a place away from Delos, or possibly Williams eyes here well that could prove necessary soon enough.

Part of her still felt the fiction of it all, But she'd met Logan now. Seen something in him that reminded her of of her toughest case, the one that ended long before it should have. She wanted to wake up back in her world, but right now that wasn't possible and she'd rather do something good with her time than continue to engage in whatever mental health atrocity Delos was cooking up with their former Heir apparent.

"Dr. Moore."

The voice startled her, she spun around to see the man from earlier—the one with salt-and-pepper hair. He stood just a few feet away, his suit seeming more like a weapon than clothing. She hadn't even heard him approach.

"I trust the session went well," he said calmly but their was no mistaking the undertone of expectation. "Logan can be… challenging."

Lydia's found herself staring at her shoes again for the briefest moment then looked up in the mans eyes. "It was… enlightening," she replied as sturdy as she could manage.
The man smiled, again it reached his eyes but there was no warmth. He took a step closer. "And what, exactly, did you discuss?"

The question felt less like curiosity and more like a test. Lydia hesitated. "...We talked about his perspective on therapy," she said carefully. "His feelings about being here."
The man's smile didn't falter, but his eyes darkened slightly. "I see. And did he happen to mention his family?"

"Briefly," Lydia said, her voice coming out more like a mouse's squeak than human words.

He took another step forward, closing the distance between them. Though his movements were unhurried still she felt rushed to be anywhere else but here. "Dr. Moore, I hope you understand the importance of this case. Logan's… circumstances require discretion. I trust you'll keep that in mind, and keep thinking forward."

Lydia nodded, the tension still not letting up as he gave her a final, pointed look before stepping past her.

The interaction left her rattled, nerves frayed as she made her way to this strange building's main entrance. The air outside was cool and crisp, quite the contrast to the suffocating atmosphere inside. She paused at the top of the outside steps, taking in her surroundings for the first time.

The facility was sleek and modern, its glass-and-steel exterior reflecting the aesthetics of its insides quite well the air felt normal enough, maybe a bit heavier, she wasn't sure how much of that was nerves and how much elevation. But beyond that somewhat calming familiar feeling of fresh air in her lungs, there was… nothing. No landmarks, no buildings, just a barren landscape that stretched into the horizon.

She glanced around for her car, but the parking lot was empty. A faint sense of panic began to creep in when out of nowhere, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb.
The tinted window rolled down, revealing an automated dashboard. A calm, mechanical voice greeted her: "Dr. Moore, your ride is ready."

Lydia hesitated, it seemed Delos controlled not just this 'Lydia's work, but her movements in quite a literal way. Yet with a therapeutic clench of her fist. She climbed into the car, wondering if this would be the last time she was seen…

A.N. Well I wasn't originally gonna end the chapter here but I felt it was a good end point and a bit of a temporary cliffhanger. I have a bit written past this but I debate if it needs more editing and well I find that I tend to work a bit better when I have at least a bit of the story written in advance of me posting. Trying to do this more often so I don't end up taking 1 year to update a story again.