Creak!…Goes the door opening to the Laboratory of Doom. Damp cemented floors; walls graffiti with cartoons; craquelure and chipped coated interior stonework; a moist climate throughout the halls he lurk. Light bulbs in the foyer flicker — a shortage; dangling from the ceiling. Bizarre resonates dwell throughout the building. Third door on the left — Room 43-11. He aperture the door dreading deadly sin seven. The room of surgery, in this psychiatric ward. Observing at blood on the floorboard; tables; eyeballs; and open jars of lard. Door slams shut, bang! — and locks, 2:45 a.m. approximately hangs off the clocks. Sudden blackout, knocked out the luminosity. Felt the vibes change to malice from generosity. For him trying to get away from Felicia in haven, while in fret and timid, bawling out davens. She led him into the antechamber, trapped and spellbound. Rummage around for a light — feeling the area that surrounds. A ceiling lamp pull-chains appeared; he yanked to behold a mess; rusted cherry wooded table; attached shackles for wrist and talus; straps for the abdomen, neck, upper and lower limbs. Made especially for his size; exceeding to the rim. Without warning became giddy and fainted on top of the rug. She had slipped him a few psychedelic drugs. Promptly cognizant of my wrist and ankles attached to metal shackles and straps across my body, tighten; hearing recurs of crackles. A bright red light emerged between my eyes and a lady; with emerald green eyeball; brilliantly smiling at I.