"Where did we leave off last time?" The psychologist took a short puff of his cigarette. Nasty habit, really. He offered one to the patient lying quietly in the plush red chair, but the other man shook his head, clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses before speaking.

"My visions."

"Ah, yes. Are they better now? Is that drug I prescribed helping any?"

He nodded. "They.. aren't so frequent."

"How long have you been having these .. visions?"

"Years. Since I was a teenager. They were only dreams then.. Now they're still like dreams, only I'm awake. "He laughed ruefully. "I haven't dreamt in a long time."

He was afraid to dream in this place. Afraid that he wouldn't want to wake up after glimpsing happiness again in a dream. But then, waking up in itself had become a nightmare lately.. His wife .. God, his beautiful wife. He'd come home from his job as a successful stock broker and walked in to find her on top of his boss, grunting and moaning like a wanton she-beast.

He remembered crying, screaming, being told to calm down, and then he remembered feeling something inside of him snap. His mind was flooded with thoughts and he couldn't seem to pick one out of the din. Did he kill her? No. Should have. Did he kill his boss? No. He could've lost his job over it. No. He beat the fucker in the head with the lamp from the bedside table until he stopped making noises. Never liked that lamp – she picked it out, and he was so in love with her, he just wordlessly handed over his Visa. He remembered seeing his boss' motionless body on the ground, and the terrified look in his wife's eyes, and then he fainted. He woke up in this place. Alone. Crazy.

At least, that's what they told him his life was like. He had other ideas. Another theory. "What if all this is a dream?" He paused. ".. A nightmare?" He asked.

"So I'm not real, then?" The psychologist snuffed his cigarette with a smile.

"No. You are. Everyone is. Just.. not like this. I .. have these visions. Somewhere else.. and it's different. I'm strong. Powerful. In control."

"Oh. The assassins, right?" The man on the couch nodded. "What was the other groups' name?"

"Weiss."

"Mmhm."

He could hear the Quack making notes in that yellow notebook, and he could bet they said something like 'Crazy bastard. Let him rot here.' "..And they respected me."

"Your team, you mean?"

"Yes. And I wasn't crazy." He paused. "I'm –not- crazy."

"Were you evil?"

"Yes." No hesitation. He knew that much.

"-Are- you evil?"

"N.. I don't know." He admitted quietly, absently playing with the hem of his shirt. Hated these clothes. What he wouldn't give to wear a suit again. Just for a little while. Just to have someone respect him again. Missed it.

"I'm going to prescribe something a little stronger for you, Mr. Crawford. It should stop the visions."

Yes, but will it stop the crazy? "Thank you, Doctor Kudou." He stood, eyes flickering towards the two orderlies who had come to take him back to the room he shared with three others – in another world, they were his teammates.

"See you next week." He mumbled as each orderly took an arm of his and escorted him towards his room. One of the doctors was just leaving. No doubt drugging someone up. Brad didn't like him. Bastard had a stick up his ass the size of a cricket bat.

The doctor, a cold looking redhead, regarded Brad coolly and took the new prescription from the orderlies. "Hm. We'll start you on these at dinner."

"Yes, sir." He mumbled. There was a nurse nearby who gave Brad a smile before limping away. Brad had heard rumors about that one – that he'd been a semi-pro soccer player before he threw out his knee and gone to get a nursing degree. How he ended up here, Brad could only wonder.

Then again, he wondered how a lot of them ended up here.

A loud shout from next door made him jump, and the orderlies let go of Brad, rushing in, and a pretty young man was ushered out. Cute. Very cute. He recognized the kid from the newspapers. (They still let him read the papers, thank God. If he didn't get to hear about what was going on in the world, he'd go crazy.)

The boy was Prime Minister Takatori's son, Mamoru. Mamoru's older brother, Masafumi was a patient here. One could assume that Takatori was none-too- thrilled to have a son in a place like this.. To date, Brad had never seen the PM in this hellhole. Mamoru sighed quietly and spoke to the doctor. The nurse spoke to Mamoru in a soft voice and gently touched the boy's hand, leading him out of the hospital. Brad raised an eyebrow. Well. Looks like Takatori would be doubly pissed. Good.

"Takatori." The redheaded doctor muttered in disgust, and grabbed some heavy sedatives. Brad watched Mamoru leave with the cute soccer-playing nurse. They looked like the members of Weis--.. No. That wasn't real. This was real. He walked into his room, vaguely pleased to see his three roommates there. His family. His team.

They were watching Iron Chef on the small television that was bolted to the side wall, and all murmured their hello as he entered. The youngest one scooted over to make room, and with a sigh, Brad sat down.

There wasn't much in the rooms at all. Four beds to a room, unless you were special, or very, very rich. As it was, Brad's wife hadn't wanted to spend all of her money to get him a single room, and figured he'd get gang-raped at some point in time, and that was fine with her. They weren't allowed to have anything on the walls, so basically, the room was the equivalent of boredom. Amusedly, Brad wondered if the designers on Trading Spaces could do anything with this palace of crap.

He was right in his assumption that the redhead had drugged someone up. Jei was staring groggily at the television, blinking his gold eyes a few times and trying to stay awake. They usually kept him pretty drugged up, but when he wasn't, the two of them had some fairly decent conversations. They'd been roommates for two years – he'd been admitted first, and then each one of them joined him. They were a team.

Jei was first. He insisted they called him Farfarello at first, but let his roommates call him Jei in the room. He'd been a child genius, and had been destined for greatness... until he found out his life was all a complete lie. His parents weren't his real parents. His sister wasn't really his sister. It was all a lie. Like Brad, he'd snapped, and gone after them with a knife. None of them had died, but they'd committed Jei immediately. If they'd died, then he would've been sent to a different asylum. Brad shuddered at the thought. A place worse than this.

"How was the session?" Christian asked, turning it down for the commercial. The little one had his head against the German's shoulder, half-asleep from his own medication.

"Too long."

"I'd do him."

"Of course you would."

Christian was next. He was very quiet at first, and wouldn't speak any English towards either Jei or Brad, merely whispering the word 'Schuldig' when they asked him anything. It was three months before they found out it meant 'guilty'. From what he gathered, Christian ran away from home when he was thirteen, and got heavy into drugs and a lot of sex.. His dealer-slash- pimp took too much money, and you know what they say about redheads. Hell hath no fury..

Apparently, Christian poisoned the dealer's drugs, and the man had died. But they didn't have evidence to convict him. There was a reason he was here – he heard voices. Not just the occasional one. He claimed he had the power to read minds, but when given the chance, he'd waved them off, saying there were too many people around. He had good days and bad days – his screaming had woken the two of them up once, and the doctors had to take him away and sedate him heavily.

But he'd been better lately. Brad liked the two of them a lot. And then there was Nagi. To be frank, Brad wasn't sure what the hell was wrong with the kid. He was convinced that he could move things with his mind, but only when he was alone. He was also very, very paranoid.

After a while, he'd relaxed enough to be around his roommates, and they treated him as a little brother. They were a family. A team.

The call for lights out came after dinner, and they obediently went to bed. The room was dark and quiet, except for the soft sounds of Christian snoring and talking to himself in his sleep. Brad's mattress sunk under extra weight.

"I'm trying to sleep, Jei."

The other man's accent sounded thicker in his drugged stupor. "Just one."

Brad obliged, and leaned up for a good-night kiss. Jei smiled faintly and nodded once, touching Brad's cheek in an affectionate manner, heading back to bed. Before he knew it, Brad was the only one awake.

The tears fell before he could stop them, and soon he was sobbing into his pillow. He wanted the other life to be real.. God, he wanted out of this place.. he wasn't crazy. None of them were.

There was a whisper in the darkness. "Brad.. will you tell me another story?"

"All right.. which one?"

"Tell the one about the evil composer." Jei yawned softly. "I like that one."

He nodded and let Jei crawl into bed with him. Snaking his fingers through the cropped silvery hair, he spoke. "Well.. it all started with this one CD.."