Dr. Dean squinted his eyes and looked into the dark cell at the Greater Memphis Psychiatric Institute. He could barely make out the furniture, or the disturbed individual rocking back and forth on his bed.

This particular patient rarely slept, and usually spent his time muttering to himself.

tap tap tap

The doctor rapped his knuckles against the small window on the cell door, but the patient didn’t make any indication he heard it. However, Dr. Dean was certain that Sicko was aware of him now.

“Hello, Sicko,” greeted Dr. Dean, who was grinning to himself. He was so proud of his patient’s strides at Golden Pro Wrestling. “You have done very, very well, so far. Your progress has been remarkable.”

Still, the patient simply rocked back and forth while talking to himself.

“I just wanted to tell you that you have a chance to become a champion soon,” Dr. Dean continued. “And if you win, you might find yourself with some extra benefits and niceties here.”

The deranged mental patient may be insane, but he at least understood this sort of persuasion.

“I’ll leave you alone now, and we’ll be coming in a few days to get you for your big moment. I’m… so proud of you.”

The doctor began to walk away from the cell while his dress shoes clicked against the sterile facility floor. He was, indeed, quite pleased with Sicko’s performance thus far, and he was enjoying the extra money he earned from Golden Pro Wrestling with each victory by his patients.