((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