A thunder-storm was brewing over Belleville and the surrounding areas. A loud crack of thunder sliced the silence. Most of the people would find themselves traveling to work and school during the middle of a downpour. Lovely thing for 5 A.M., don't you agree?

And now, I take you to the scene of our miserable story, an Asylum located just outside the city limits. It looks formidable, more like a prison than a place for the mentally ill persons. The bricks look weathered and beaten, corrosion from the years of acid rain, punishing winds, and heavy snow apparent. The once rusty color had faded off to a dull brown, the previously white grout now a grayish yellowed color.

These walls extended 15 feet up. And as though the people who'd created this place had thought there might be someone super-human enough to jump the walls, the tops of these walls were covered in broken glass and metal fragments. As if this weren't enough, a double layer of barbed wire completed the ensemble.

Overhead, the lightening cracked again, as if warning of impending doom. That wouldn't be so far from the truth, as it was going to be one of the worst storms this year. Even if the lightening managed to destroy the asylum, it would be a blessing for most of the inmates. You see my darling readers, this asylum was extremely cruel.

The people were treated as guinea pigs, and the orderlies reigned supreme. Even though it was the 21st century, ancient 'cures' were resurrected, as though they were the latest and greatest. Many inmates were over-medicated, and as a result, they became extremely psychotic. All you needed out in the real world was one false step and you'd be thrown into the asylum. This was because a few months ago, the president had made a speech about the rising crime, and that there was a sharp hike in the death rates.

Of course, this was interpreted by the rest of the country as “If they do something wrong, let's send them to the asylum instead of jail. If you even think that a kid might be thinking of suicide, let's lock him up too. If someone is dangerous to the rest of the public, or if they seem the slightest bit dangerous to the public, let's lock em up too!”

This had lead to millions being locked up across the country, for something as simple as having a scratch on their arm, or looking at someone the wrong way. The public asylums, as well as the private ones, were overflowing, yet more people arrived every single day. In the country, there was not one asylum which had a free room.

Why is this, do you ask? This is because in light of the speeches made, they felt that keeping people there for a few days was not enough. After all, they get out, and they go do the same thing, or worse, again. So the new policy was that they kept the patients there, over-medicating them, for an indefinite amount of time. And when the patient finally acted 'normal', they'd have to stay another month or two to prove it wasn't just a phase to get out quick.

And Belleville's public asylum was no different from the rest of them. In fact, they were all the same. Lamenting it would be no use. Many on the outside had tried, only to end up in there alongside the ones they'd tried to free. They'd petitioned, rallied, marched, and more. The only response they ever got to this was that the ones in the Asylum were there for a reason.

But the thing was, most of the people in there weren't in there for a reason at all. But nobody cared. As yet. So now, it was up to the ones who still cared, both inside and out, even though they were just average citizens, to do something about it. And they would.

Above us, the storm breaks. Heavy drops of water splash down, coating everything in an icy water. It doesn't seem to be acid rain. This time. Within a few moments, the bricks turn to a dark color, the color of drying blood. The ground beneath our feet, as weed-choked as it is, turns muddy, and slushy. As we move our feet, they stick, pulling free with a sucking noise.

A search light from one of the many guard towers sweep towards us, the bluish white blinding in the otherwise darkness. In some of the upstairs rooms, dim lights flicker on. Thunder claps overhead. As if in echo, a piercing scream is hear from the asylum. Is this just fear of a storm, or is this because of the sinister things going on inside that small patch of hell on earth?

I don't have any way to tell you, because I'm not in there myself. But here's what I can tell you. There's going to be some changes around here. Things are going to change, for the better this time. With any luck, I'll be here to witness it. Will you?

We stand in the middle of a dimly lit corridor. The walls and tiles are a sterile white, and they stink of antiseptic and something that you haven't the faintest clue what it is, but you only ever seem to find in hospitals. Even through our jackets and pants, we feel cold. You instinctively shove your hands into your pockets in an attempt to keep warm. It's futile though. I don't even bother.

7 AM, and the orderlies were already braying at the patients to wake up. Ray Toro rolled out of bed, tangled in the sheets. It was no different from any of the other mornings in this place. How could they insist that they were only here to 'help' when all they did was make it worse? He glanced over at his room-mate, Bob Bryar, who yawned in response. “Good fuckin' grief!” Bob swore softly, before leaving the barely warm confines of his bed for the even colder rooms and hallways.

Together, they padded down the hall to the nurses station, to get what they needed to take a shower and whatnot. There, they saw Mikey, Gerard and Frank leave the room they shared. Yeah, did I mention this place was crowded already or what?

Frank shared a room with the Way brothers, sleeping in a recliner in there. It wasn't much, but he was small, and had a tendency to curl himself into a ball when he slept, so he managed. Not to say that it gave him the most restful sleep in the world or anything. Soon, they'd be running out of places to have people sleep. They'd have them across the hallway floors and the dayroom and more. It was getting nearly ridiculous. They joined the end of the long line that shuffled it's way nearly like a dead animal, so slow that at some times it didn't even so much as twitch.

“Fuck, by the time we get there it's gonna be time for lunch.” Mikey said, rubbing his arms in an attempt to warm himself up. Even with the thick sweater he wore, he felt the chill. That's the thing about here. You have to sleep in your sweater, or else you freeze your ass off. Even if you did, you probably would freeze.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Gerard muttered, scratching his hair absentmindedly. “Guys, how about we not start this shit first thing in the morning?” A voice came from behind them. Turning around, Ray caught sight of the owner of the voice, one tired Ryan Ross. “Oh, hey Ryan.”

Now at this point, I need some more inmates for this place. Leave a character description in a review?
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"Why's it so cold in here?" Ryan asked, shivering. "Because they like to make us miserable." A girl's voice came from behind them. "Haven!" Frank said, grinning slightly. "Hey Frank." she said, calmly.

"Now why do you say they want to make us miserable again?" Ray asked. Haven could only roll her eyes. "What the hell Ray? Have you not been here the last few months of your fucking life?" She snapped. "Language!" One of the orderlies further up the hall yelled back. Vennession snorted. "Like yelling a random word is going to change what we say." She said.

"They think that they can fuckin' control us, just because they think something's the matter with us! And half of us don't even need to be in this shithole!" Haven yelled. "It's too early for this." Mikey whined, pulling his jacket more tightly around his small frame. Haven gave him an angry look.

"Alright, how about you can bitch as much as you want after 9 AM? It's 6.45 now." Venn suggested, trying to keep away from the next World War. "Fine, whatever."

Inside the Belleville Asylum, things were certainly getting hectic. And outside it, things weren't all that much different. Belleville Asylum, as well as every other psych ward, crisis stabilization unit, long term facility, and state hospital was full to near bursting. Most no longer had a gree bed, patients being forced to sleep in the fayroom on the chairs or on the floor. In most of these places at night, it was near impossible to walk without almost tripping voer someone asleep on the floor.

That in itself should've been an indicator to someone - anyone - in charge of all this. It should've been a call to action. And it was. Action was taken, alright, but it wasn't the kind anyone wanted. What was undertaken by the brainwashed and corrupted zombies was to build more hospitals, and for the hospitals with little-used wings, transfer the patients to out to get a free wing, then label it as another psych wing. Some hospitals could easily have 5 or more psych wings because of this.

And as much public outrage that occurred, the public was then quickly coerced into silence. The same people who had sanctioned the conversion and building of new hospitals supplied an edict. "If what's going on out here bothers you, then maybe you should be in here." was the general theme to it.

If you asked those people why so many people were being institutionalized, especially after the movements in the 50's that resulted in much fewer people being actually locked up for a great length of time, they'd say it was for the greater good. They'd tout that crume had gone down as well as the suicide rates since they did that. They were wrong, but they were also right. They were right the rates had gone down, but they were wrong that it made it a better country. The only reason these rates had gone down was because there was nobody left to perpetrate the crimes or commit the suicides! If anything, locking up this many people for this long was more traumatizing than helpful to any of them.

But none of the souls in Belleville Asylum know a single thing about what's going on outside those walls. Most news was forbidden because it was 'potentially detremental to a patient's mentall outlook and/or wellbeing'. As a result, many of them no longer knew what day or time it was. All they knew that the hospital was growing more and more crowded by the day, people were now being forced to sleep on the floor, and there didn't seem to be enough food, beds, or supplies most of the time, and nobody seemed to be getting out any sime soon. But they always seemed to have more than enough drugs.
Haven is owned by AgentKilljoy (Ficwad). Vennession is my own character.