Rhyder Assylum Portable: Rebel

The white shell of the Asylum rolled like a ship across the rusted flats, tires whispering secrets to cracked asphalt. It was not a hospital, not exactly; patients did not come to be fixed so much as to be hosted, their eccentricities catalogued like precious contraband. Inside, shelves of patched journals, jars of dried light, and a jury-rigged radio glowed with the patient, obstinate hum of lives that refused tidy endings.