Ray's first direct confrontation with the Shadow King had almost ended in disaster.
Still, he had come through it unscathed, and it was unlikely the Shadow King would resurface anytime soon.
After all, if the Shadow King could really take over David's body at will, he wouldn't have bothered hiding for thirty years or spent so much time manipulating David from the shadows.
It was clear he didn't want David to become aware of his presence.
Once David began to suspect something, anything the Shadow King tried afterward would raise red flags, making it increasingly difficult for him to break down David's psychological defenses.
Moreover, in a direct struggle for control, he probably stood no chance.
David was a Level 5 mutant. Even if his full potential had yet to awaken, taking over his body wouldn't be a simple task.
If it were, the Shadow King wouldn't have wasted three decades in hiding.
With all that in mind, Ray felt confident the Shadow King wouldn't be showing up again anytime soon.
And the encounter hadn't been a complete loss.
Aside from the mental slap that knocked him out of his false sense of superiority, he'd gained 50 exploration points — even after spending 10, he still had 40 left. A pleasant surprise.
The real downside was that his plan to help David leave the hospital had clearly failed. With that old dog watching his every move, there was no way David could pass a recovery assessment.
For all Ray knew, even Dr. Beth and the other staff had already been tampered with. They would never let David leave, no matter what.
"Do I really have to pull a One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest?" Ray muttered, rubbing his temples.
A potentially unstable David was already enough to make him want to leave. Adding a scheming Shadow King into the mix only amplified the unease.
It was like trying to sleep with a live grenade on your pillow. Even if you knew it probably wouldn't explode, you still couldn't rest easy.
Forcing his way out with brute strength would be a last resort. But staying here no longer felt safe either.
"If it really comes down to it... I'll have to make my move," Ray decided.
He gave himself a few days to figure out a better plan. If nothing came to him, he'd just slip out, label of "escaped mental patient" be damned.
Better that than dancing around a powder keg forever.
---
Having made up his mind, Ray spent the morning racking his brain for a workable solution. Unfortunately, no stroke of genius came to him.
As for David, he seemed to have completely forgotten everything from that morning. He was nowhere to be seen.
It wasn't until lunch that Ray spotted him in the cafeteria.
But when they talked, David didn't mention the test at all. Ray subtly probed, only to confirm that David had no memory of anything that had happened earlier.
Ray dropped the subject.
Even if he wanted to help, he had no viable method for now.
If he blurted out the truth about the Shadow King, it might cause trouble for the parasite — but there was no guarantee the Shadow King wouldn't just wipe that memory again.
And if that happened, Ray would become public enemy number one.
Getting on the radar of a Level 4 mutant the X-Men themselves couldn't kill? No thanks.
He had no choice but to play dumb for now.
Anyway, in the original timeline, the Shadow King had never truly succeeded in taking over David.
With the arrival of the Summerland organization imminent, the Shadow King's exposure was just a matter of time. There was no need for Ray to interfere prematurely.
As for the loss he'd suffered earlier — he'd get even eventually. No need to rush.
After lunch, Ray had planned to return to his room for a nap.
But just as he left the cafeteria, a young nurse stopped him.
"Dr. Raymond , there's a friend of yours here to visit. Would you like to see her?" she asked politely — a tone clearly reserved for someone of respect.
Understandable, given Ray's former standing in the field of psychology. The hospital's staff, especially Dr. Beth, still held him in high regard. Everyone knew he had once been her idol.
Even the residents looked up to him, so the nurses' deference was no surprise.
Even before the original host had lost control to a secondary personality, he hadn't been what most people would call a "typical lunatic."
"A friend of mine?" Ray asked, pointing to himself.
"Yes. A woman. She didn't give her name, but she asked me to tell you this: If you're looking to live somewhere else, she might be able to help."
"Oh?"
Ray found the response unexpected.
A visit from someone the body's original host once knew wasn't that odd — his fragmented memories did include relatives and friends who had stopped by before.
But the message itself was... strange.
"If you want to live somewhere else, she might be able to help"?
That was just a coded way of saying "I can get you out of here," wasn't it?
And what kind of "friend" refuses to give her name and instead passes along a cryptic message?
Ray wasn't being paranoid. This situation genuinely felt off.
He was at least 70% sure that this woman was no friend of the original host.
Something wasn't right.
Still, after a brief moment of thought, Ray decided he'd meet her anyway.
Whatever her motives, and whether she could actually help him leave this hospital legally or not, there was no harm in listening.
Even if she turned out to be a con artist, he wouldn't lose anything by hearing her out.
With a faint smile, Ray said, "No problem. Take me to her."
"Right this way," the nurse said, leading him down the hall.
A few minutes later, they arrived outside the visiting room.
In North America, psychiatric hospital visiting rooms were a bit like those in prisons — small, supervised rooms with a camera and an observer on duty.
But hospitals weren't prisons. The rules were more relaxed.
Visitors and patients could speak face to face without any glass barrier, and the staff typically didn't eavesdrop on conversations.
Most of the time, they offered patients and their families a degree of privacy.
The surveillance was mainly there to ensure two things: that the patient didn't suddenly lash out, and that visitors didn't sneak in prohibited items.
Everything in a psychiatric hospital — from utensils to furniture — was specially designed to prevent harm.
So they kept a strict watch on any foreign object that could pose a danger.