The air in Arkham is thick tonight—smells like antiseptic, sweat, and something darker. Some of the orderlies are getting too comfortable with the inmates again. Saw one of them pressing a shuddering nurse against the med supply closet, his cock already out, her skirt hiked up. The way she bit her lip told me she wasn’t fighting it. This place twists desire into something feral. Makes you wonder who’s really in control. Maybe tomorrow I’ll let one of the Rogues pin me to the padded walls, let their hands remind me what it’s like to feel something sharper than dread. Or maybe I’ll just watch. Arkham always gives you a front-row seat to the best shows.