"He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby becomes a monster. And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee."  
- Friedrich Nietzsche

A sense of dread washes over me as I stand beside Claymore Sanitarium's immense metallic gates. Despite being one of the oldest institutions nearby, with its dated architecture and long-winding roads, Claymore has stood the test of time. 

The cold wind whips my face, prompting me to tighten the green scarf around my neck. While this isn't my first visit here, I still hesitate before walking any closer. 

Claymore is over two hectares large, meant to house at least three-hundred patients for long-term mental illnesses or behavioral disorders. According to friends and teachers, only the most untreatable of cases wind up here. Because of the place's history, some dimwit decided to make up a rumor that during one night, all the patients had escaped and set one of the buildings on fire, where many of the staff perished. Claymore never said anything about it, but their silence had allowed the rumor to take shape in the minds and hearts of residents nearby. So people kept their distance, and anyone who had spoken positively about Claymore was regarded with disdain. 

The compound is divided into several sections, meant to house different kinds of patients. Section A is the largest, with its looming towers that seem to pierce the sky.  

Pulling my coat closer to my chest, I take slow walks to the entrance in Section A, where all visitors must sign-in.  The fear multiplies in the pits of my stomach despite my best resistance.

A nurse is stationed at the lobby. I approach her steadily with a smile on my face. "Hi!", I say, almost too perkily. "I'm here for my assignment for Mr. Rumsfeld's course. I'm from Greens."

She gives me a keen look, then pulls out a list from her drawer. "You're Ms. Peters?" I nod and hand her an ID. Her name tag reads Claire, and I notice her slight grimace when she goes through the list. "There must be some mistake. I think you've been assigned the wrong patient." 

I raise my eyebrow in confusion. "That's not possible," I say annoyed. I bend forward to see the list she's holding, but she pulls it gently out of my reach. I take a deep breath and gather my composure. "I've been told that I'm assigned to Joseph Bishop." I raise my tone, hoping the name rings a bell in the nurse's head.  

The nurse frowns, scanning my face for a few seconds. Suddenly, as if a lightbulb finally lit up, she begins writing on a piece of paper.  

"I see." She hands me a tiny slip of paper, with a smile plastered on her face that I can't quite comprehend. "Here, Joseph Bishop is currently housed in Room 306, Section E, Tower B. You need to go to a different section of Claymore to meet him. I'll call the receptionist at their lobby so that they'll let you in."

I smile and thank Claire, then begin to make my way to Joseph's unit. There's another set of gates and hallways which I need to pass, yet strangely this part of Claymore appears to belong to a different hospital altogether, with its heavily guarded spaces. 

I've never been to this part of the sanatorium, having only been to Section A where most students from Greens either intern or visit. There are several CCTV cameras installed at the corners of the lobby, and the guards in this area are armed with wooden batons and dress differently from the officers in Claymore. Their outfits almost look militaristic, but I suppose that makes sense because the patients here must be like Joseph Bishop. A chill passes through the nape of my neck as I wonder whether they've ever had to use violence. I hope not.

I show my ID to the receptionist, who asks a guard to lead me to the third floor of Tower B. I'm brought to a steel door secluded at the far end of the hallway. The officer bangs the door without any hesitation, then opens the locks with his keys.

 "Bishop, you've got a visitor!" I jerk at the sound of metal being hit, and suddenly I feel a desire to bolt away from Claymore.  My heart starts beating wildly, and sweat begins to line the back of my neck.

Please be cooperative, Joseph. I gather my composure and ground myself in the moment.  Time slows down, and all I can hope for is that all of my sessions here will pass by peacefully. 

With a deep breath, I step inside his room. I had  prepared my first greeting on the way to Claymore -  perhaps something along the lines of "thank you so much for your time, Mr. Bishop, I appreciate it!"  - but as soon as I see Joseph Bishop, I nearly drop my things.