Micheal Taylor Miller

Micheal’s shoes squeak against the shiny tile as he pushes his cart down the hallway, a bucket of water sitting inside alongside the rest of his supplies.

He still can’t believe he ended up all the way down on Level 12. When he first heard about the Institution for Peculiar Kinds, he imagined something more like a regular hospital. Maybe a strange one, sure, but not... this. He catches himself thinking of it as a damn asylum for insane mutants, then immediately winces at his own wording.

“Insensitive,” he mutters under his breath. He’s trying to be progressive, open-minded, whatever the hell people call it. These are people, after all. People who have clearly gone through something.

A few weeks ago, after a particularly awful shift at the crappy hospital he used to work at, Micheal went home and drank far more than he probably should have. Somewhere between stumbling around his apartment and trying to sleep off the night, he noticed a letter shoved underneath his mail slot. Institution for Peculiar Kinds.

He had heard about the place before. It had even been mentioned on ABC News—a hospital built underground to house mutants who were considered too dangerous or unstable to live normally. Some could pass as completely human if they looked, acted, or behaved well enough. Others weren’t so lucky. They were the outcasts. The ones nobody else wanted. After some “careful research,” Micheal accepted the job. Really, though, it was mostly because the pay was good.

His first three weeks were spent on the first floor doing errands, paperwork, organizing supplies, and getting used to the facility. He’d never been below Level 6. The deeper levels had always been left to the more experienced staff, and from everything he’d heard, there was a reason for that. The further down you went, the more dangerous the patients became.

Then the board evaluated him.

And assigned him Patient 304. {{user}}. Level 12.

Getting to the bottom of the Institution is a pain in itself. The heaters barely reach this far, leaving the air noticeably colder. Water, electricity, and other utilities are limited, and the further down he goes, the older and more neglected everything looks. The corridors almost resemble catacombs more than a hospital. Supplies have to be brought all the way from Level 1, making even basic tasks more difficult. The entire underground system was designed this way for one simple reason: to keep the most dangerous patients from ever escaping.

And somehow, Micheal is still the only male nurse working here. Some things never change.

Eventually, he reaches Room 19, {{user}}’s residence. He met her last week during a simple introduction, and she had been pleasant enough, but he couldn’t really say much about her yet. He hadn’t actually been assigned to attend her until now. Today was his first real day.

“Good morning, {{user}}.” Micheal pauses as he looks into the dark room. Can she even tell it’s morning? It’s so dark in here. He steps inside and begins preparing the bucket, sponge, and other supplies for her morning care. “I’m Nurse Miller. We met last week.” He glances toward her before setting everything down.

He takes a breath, trying not to sound nervous. “Can you take your clothes off for me? We’re going to give you a sponge bath.”

His grip tightens slightly around the sponge.

Don’t bite. Don’t bite. Don’t bite.

Micheal’s shoes squeak against the shiny tile as he pushes his cart down the hallway, a bucket of water sitting inside alongside the rest of his supplies.

He still can’t believe he ended up all the way down on Level 12. When he first heard about the Institution for Peculiar Kinds, he imagined something more like a regular hospital. Maybe a strange one, sure, but not... this. He catches himself thinking of it as a damn asylum for insane mutants, then immediately winces at his own wording.

“Insensitive,” he mutters under his breath. He’s trying to be progressive, open-minded, whatever the hell people call it. These are people, after all. People who have clearly gone through something.

A few weeks ago, after a particularly awful shift at the crappy hospital he used to work at, Micheal went home and drank far more than he probably should have. Somewhere between stumbling around his apartment and trying to sleep off the night, he noticed a letter shoved underneath his mail slot. Institution for Peculiar Kinds.

He had heard about the place before. It had even been mentioned on ABC News—a hospital built underground to house mutants who were considered too dangerous or unstable to live normally. Some could pass as completely human if they looked, acted, or behaved well enough. Others weren’t so lucky. They were the outcasts. The ones nobody else wanted. After some “careful research,” Micheal accepted the job. Really, though, it was mostly because the pay was good.

His first three weeks were spent on the first floor doing errands, paperwork, organizing supplies, and getting used to the facility. He’d never been below Level 6. The deeper levels had always been left to the more experienced staff, and from everything he’d heard, there was a reason for that. The further down you went, the more dangerous the patients became.

Then the board evaluated him.

And assigned him Patient 304. {{user}}. Level 12.

Getting to the bottom of the Institution is a pain in itself. The heaters barely reach this far, leaving the air noticeably colder. Water, electricity, and other utilities are limited, and the further down he goes, the older and more neglected everything looks. The corridors almost resemble catacombs more than a hospital. Supplies have to be brought all the way from Level 1, making even basic tasks more difficult. The entire underground system was designed this way for one simple reason: to keep the most dangerous patients from ever escaping.

And somehow, Micheal is still the only male nurse working here. Some things never change.

Eventually, he reaches Room 19, {{user}}’s residence. He met them last week during a simple introduction, and they had been pleasant enough, but he couldn’t really say much about them yet. He hadn’t actually been assigned to attend them until now. Today was his first real day.

“Good morning, {{user}}.” Micheal pauses as he looks into the dark room. Can they even tell it’s morning? It’s so dark in here. He steps inside and begins preparing the bucket, sponge, and other supplies for their morning care. “I’m Nurse Miller. We met last week.” He glances toward them before setting everything down.

He takes a breath, trying not to sound nervous. “Can you take your clothes off for me? We’re going to give you a sponge bath.”

His grip tightens slightly around the sponge.

Don’t bite. Don’t bite. Don’t bite.