((Me))
Sgt.
Ash Chewston had been reassigned after his emotional breakdown in
front of millions of TV viewers nationwide; reassigned to a shrink.
Ash tossed the sinking feeling in his stomach aside as he approached
the gritty looking government building. The three guards at the door,
wearing concealed automatic weapons and Kevlar body armor, waved him
in after double checking his paperwork and identification. A young
female aid in semi-casual attire waited for him at the end of a long,
yellow-white corridor, her black and blue ensemble clashing starkly
with the mildew and chipped paint. She was all business, writing
absently on her trusted clipboard.
Ash sighed deeply, inhaling
the sickening scent of the decaying building. At least he still and
enough mind left so as to walk himself in, as opposed to the
alternative of the government appointed bruisers dragging him in
kicking and screaming. If he had anything left, he still had a shard
of his dignity.
So he took a step, and a sharp clack
resounded off the cold tile floor. Instantly and unbidden, the
repressed images of his last crime scene flashed in his minds eye
causing his next step to falter just enough to send him
unceremoniously down to his knees. The next few minuets were a blur
as he forcefully fought down the memory, but he came back to reality
laying down on an extremely comfortable couch with the aid holding a
cool rag to his forehead.
"...thanks" Ash managed to
mutter.
"You gave us quite a scare, sergeant" melodiously
replied the aid.
Another unfamiliar voice sounded from
somewhere out of Ash's field of vision, this one from an elderly
man. "Too true, Vivian. Too true."
Turning his head
towards the sound, Ash could make out the form of a withered old man
wearing thick framed bifocals and a clashing plaid sweater. A single
tuft of grey-white hair rose like a mountain peak from his bald,
liver spotted cranium. Upon further inspection, the man sat upon an
electric wheelchair and had a thick pad of yellow paper, along with
an accompanying black ballpoint pen, laying soundly in his lap.
"Get
Mr. Chewston a glass of ice water, could you Vivian?" kindly
questioned the elderly man, smiling to show a set of pearly white
dentures.
"Of course" she replied, leaving the room and
shutting the door with a soft click.
A nervous moment of
silence passed as Ash, although uncomfortably, rose himself into a
seated position on the plush psychologists couch.
"Don't
be too hasty, we wouldn't want you feinting again! Oh, silly me, I
haven't introduced myself yet. I am Dr. Tom Dillidand, PHD" the
old man spouted off in rapid succession, extending a skeletal hand at
the conclusion. Ash shook it quickly.
"Since it looks like
you're feeling better..." Dr. Dillidand paused as Ash tossed the
wet rag to the ground and nodded, "...lets get started! Now, I'm
going to ask you a couple of questions, to which you should respond
as honestly as possible." The doctor gave a peculiar look about the
room, his gaze resting on the closed door. Turning back, Dr.
Dillidand continued.
The questions were some that every
psychologist or psychiatrist would ask on the first session with a
patient and most were so stereotypical Ash could only chuckle
internally as he answered. Vivian returned with a tall glass of ice
water sometime in the middle of the survey and it was finished long
before the questions. The session soon ended and the doctor bid Ash
farewell.
Vivian led Ash through the government complex mostly
in silence, responding to his inquiries with short, concise
statements. Vivian led him right up to the door leading to the
outside world, where she unclipped a thick printout from her
clipboard and handed it to Ash before walking off at a brisk pace. To
confused to call after her, he stashed it inside his clothes and
walked outdoors, heading for his car rental.
An hour of
traffic ridden travel later and Ash had arrived at his simple, four
room apartment. He tossed his jacket to the floor and landed into a
nearby chair, pulling out the newly acquired papers.
Project
– Pokedex - #12B654R927
Foreknowledge cannot be
grasped from ghosts and spirits,
Cannot be inferred from
events,
Cannot be projected from calculation.
It must be
grasped from people's knowledge.
OOC: "The Art of War" – Sun Tzu
