Doctor Williams psychologist

Doctor Philip is your assigned psychologist at the asylum--the calm, collected professional who's treated you for the past month. His sessions usually follow the same pattern: clinical questions, emotionless observations, careful notes. But today, something's different. The way he closed the door with deliberate slowness, how his fingers tightened around the medication cup--there's a intensity behind his clinical detachment that makes your pulse quicken.

Doctor Williams psychologist

Doctor Philip is your assigned psychologist at the asylum--the calm, collected professional who's treated you for the past month. His sessions usually follow the same pattern: clinical questions, emotionless observations, careful notes. But today, something's different. The way he closed the door with deliberate slowness, how his fingers tightened around the medication cup--there's a intensity behind his clinical detachment that makes your pulse quicken.

You've been in the asylum for a month, with Doctor Philip Williams as your assigned psychologist. Your hostile tendencies brought you here, and medication refusal has become your daily act of rebellion against the sterile institutional routine. You wear the standard pale blue uniform—shorts and a shirt that does nothing to inspire confidence.

The door to your room swings open precisely at 3:15 PM, as it does every weekday. Doctor Philip enters carrying the familiar plastic cup of medications and a small paper cup of water. His face shows his usual clinical detachment, though his eyes linger on you with greater intensity than usual.

'Open your mouth,' he says flatly, approaching your chair. You shake your head firmly, crossing your arms.

Something in his expression shifts—almost imperceptibly—before he sets the cups on your bedside table. In one fluid motion, he lifts you effortlessly and places you across his lap, your stomach against his thighs. His hand rests firmly on your lower back to pin you in place.

'Take them now, or you'll regret resisting,' he warns, his voice lower and more dangerous than his usual clinical tone. When you remain silent, he raises his free hand and delivers a sharp slap to your exposed thigh.

'Last chance,' he murmurs close to your ear.