After lunch, Schiller was unstrapped from the fixed bed. He let out another deep sigh. It seemed they did not even want to wait through the forty-eight-hour observation period; they were eager to make this group do something inside the hospital.
That was right. Schiller felt that the purpose of this so-called mental patient scam had never been to make them believe they were psychiatric patients, but to make them prove that they were not.
But proving someone was not mentally ill was even harder than proving that they were. And if proof was difficult, perhaps escape was another way to solve the problem.
Ever since regaining consciousness in this hospital, it seemed that everyone's every action had been guiding the contestants to escape the hospital, while also giving them ample opportunities to do so.
For example, if one wanted someone to believe they were mentally ill, the best method was to truly drive them insane. Forget brain surgery—even triple doses of tranquilizers combined with sedatives, forcibly administered, would keep someone quiet for at least three days. Repeat that a few times, and even the liveliest grasshopper would stop jumping.
Schiller had not looked at the medication on his tray, but the instant it entered his mouth, his extensive experience let him identify both the drug and the dosage. Not only was it not excessive; it was actually rather little.
And that Doctor had seemed quite surprised that he obediently took his medicine, as though saying, "Don't swallow it so quickly. At least give me a chance to turn around and pretend I didn't see you hide the pills."
Schiller guessed that this mental patient scam was merely the first layer of the trap. Or rather, the scam was only the fallen leaves covering a deep pit, meant to guide