"Please stop screaming!"

Alain's eyes shot open. The first thing he saw was his own reflection, the wrinkles on his face and a few light strands of hair. He was unable to move; trapped in a stiff straitjacket. A woman with her hands on her hips was glaring at him angrily.

"Stop being so loud! You're distressing the other patients!"

She gestured her hand to a few other middle-aged adults. A lemon-haired girl and boy, a blue-eyed girl who was constantly giggling to herself, a red-haired girl sat slightly closer to him, a boy with green hair and eyes, and a group of three huddled up, conversating calmly to each other. All in thick straitjackets.

Alain gasped and looked back at the window. He was kept high above the ground. The only land he recognized was what looked like Professor Sycamore's lab, or its remains after it was...burned down?

"That poor man. Had to be isolated because of his condition. He kept spitting nonsense about how he was possessed. Well, I guess that's what happens when you're a retired Professor"

Alain began to thrash around violently, though his limited movement held him back. He was forced onto his back as a sharp needle made its way into his skin.

They couldn't retell it. No one could. 

That is why I, Liúlàng de Háizi, must tell it myself.