Red Flags and Long Nights

It was raining when a boy under the name John Ringo was administered into Saint Junes Psychiatric Penitentiary. The men who escorted him in thought of him as Stitches, a serial killer. John Ringo knew himself as Nikolaus Callaghan, but there was no way in hell he was gonna give out that name, and in no way partook in the recent murders of three women, who Stitches has murdered, beheaded, and sewn back together. However Nick was interested in the details of the murders, which led him here. Under the false name John Ringo. It didn't take to long to forge a false man. After living for as long as he has, you tend to learn some valuable skills.
Of course, no one knew he was here. Not his brother, Noah, and not Augustin. Someone Nick felt forced to call his master until Augustin had personally told him it felt weird to be the master of someone, so he stopped. He was also relieved when that happened, as every time Nikolaus said the word Master, he could hear the sound of a whip crash in the back of his mind followed by an erotic moan. Yeah.
Of course there was the fact that Nick didn't really enjoy being ruled too. But soon after that conversation, him and Augustin had settled their differences and, even though Nick was still technically ruled by this man, they had started becoming a lot closer.
However, Nikolaus is not Nikolaus right now. Nikolaus is John Ringo, well known serial killer, being dragged through the door of a mental institution where they will decide if these murders were influenced by a sickness of the mind. Insanity, if you want to be more blunt. If it was proven that he had not acted in insanity, John Ringo, would be immediately transferred to prison where he will be put on death row. Since that's not exactly what he wanted out of life, he concocted an impressive alien abduction story which he told to the police after he had been captured. He also claimed he was not the murderer, even though he had made sure that the evidence would lead to him. This was all part of his plan to find the real murderer and beat the living shit out of him.
In front of the door, stood a woman, a Sister, if you will, gloomily staring at him. Her hands folded in front of her black robes and her hair hidden behind white and black. She stood with poise and authority. So she was the head of this nut house. Nick breathed in deep and tried to make his face even more pitiful than it already was.
"I didn't do it! Ma'am, please! Please, don't do this to me! I didn't do it," John Ringo cried from Nicks lips. His voice even cracked for a second, as he started getting into character. There was no going back now, he might as well invest himself into this character he had created for himself, because right after he passed those front doors, Nikolaus planned on completely abandoning his original name until it was needed once more.
He cried and sobbed and pleaded with the people surrounding him as he walked through those iron front doors: The reporters, the police, the various nuns that ran the ward. And just like that, he was John Ringo.
The interior of the institute was incredibly gothic. Or at least too gothic for this day in age. There was a grand staircase that led to you to two other directions when you go to the top. The east and west wings. East for the woman, west for the men. There were not as many lights as were needed for such a grand place, it was mainly lit by the windows, which were stained glass, portraying pictures of the Virgin Mary and Christ on the Cross. There were more rooms to the side of him. To his left, there were visiting rooms, which didn't look used at all, the kitchen, the offices, the doctors office and many other treatment based rooms, and Solitary confinement. To his right, common rooms. Places where patients can roam around under strict supervision. Each room dimly lit. It must be hell roaming around here at night.
John Ringo was brought to his room, which was actually more like a cell, and the number on the outside read 665b. John silently cursed to himself, as it was so close to a number that would be so hilariously ironic had it been assigned to him. He cried for a while when there were people outside of his door, but stopped almost immediately when they left. He then went to sleep, because, honestly, why the fuck not. He'd had a long day.
He had a very strange dream involving cats and a rather muscular woman.