Disclaimer: Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers and all related logos are property of Saban Entertainment and/or Disney Entertainment. I am using these characters without permission, but I do not intend to make a profit. If I do, I'll flee the country and refuse to pay royalties.
A/N: This fic takes place in multiple timelines, some that could be considered AU. You'll only give yourself a headache if you try to pick just one point in time.
Take a second to review, its always appreciated.
Dr. Walsh walked down the long, white hallway. Clipboard in hand, he tried to ignore the sounds coming from each room as he passed by. There was clattering, moaning, and the occasional screaming. He thought that after ten years in the business, he'd be use to it by now, but was just as unsettling every time he heard it. Still, he remained focused on the task at hand. Today would be would his greatest challenge, and if his theory was correct, his greatest achievement. In all his time as a doctor, he'd helped many troubled people, but none of them were as delusional as his newest patient. After reading over the charts, and the notes taken by the patient's previous doctor, he knew this young man was probably the most fragmented person he'd ever encountered.
Alongside Dr. Walsh was his assistant, Amanda Abrams. She was in her third year of medical school, training to become a physiatrist. Out of all the students coming in and out the school, Dr. Walsh felt as though Amanda showed the most promise, and that this experience would help her along in her career.
"Have you read over the material I gave you?" he asked as they walked down the hall.
While Dr. Walsh managed to filter out the noise and screaming in the background, Amanda was having a much harder time. She tried to remain professional, but to say that the noises weren't affecting her would have been a lie. "Um, yes sir. Twice in fact, but I'm still unsure with some of the details," she confessed.
"Its fine. Once we sit down and talk to him, we'll be able to find out everything we need to know."
When they made it to the end of the hallway, there were two guards standing in front of a doorway, each of them armed with guns and nightsticks. It puzzled Amanda that the guards would need guns, but decided not to say anything.
"We're here to talk to him," Dr. Walsh said.
One of the guards took a step forward. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to remove anything metal, or anything that can be used to harm you or himself. No clipboards, paperclips, staples, belts, belt buckles, glasses, watches or jewelry of any kind, ink pens, pencils, anything with sharp edges and high heel shoes," the guard explained.
Amanda and the doctor quickly removed the appropriate items, putting them in a basket in the hallway.
"Is this really necessary?"
"Doc, this guy has tried to escape three times in the last week, and each time he manages to take down five or six of my top guys. He's a danger to you, to all of us, and its better to be safe than sorry," he told him.
"Yes, of course," he hesitated. "How will I be able to take notes?"
"You can't. The sessions will be monitored and recorded on closed circuit, and a copy of the tape will be provided for you when you leave. You should be able to get any notes you need from reviewing it," the other guard said.
"Thank you."
The guard turned to the door, inserting his key and opening the door slowly. The second guard stood ready, and as soon as it was open, he rushed in, pointing his gun at the patient. "Don't try anything funny and you won't get hurt," he warned.
The patient laughed, almost ridiculing him. "I won't get hurt?" he retorted.
"Come on in doc."
Dr. Walsh and Amanda walked in cautiously, unsure of what to expect. The entire room was covered in a soft, cushion like material, no doubt to prevent him from hurting himself. There was a window at the top of the room, but so high up that no one would be able to each it. Even if they could, there were bars across the windows to prevent anyone from escaping. There were no chairs in the room, but a small area for them to sit.
"You got one hour doc. If you need anything, just yell," the guard said, rushing out the room and closing the door behind himself.
Amanda got a good look at the patient. He was crouched over in the corner, retrained in a straight jacket. His hair was long, and hung over his face to the point that she could barely see him. She'd read the files Dr. Walsh had given her on the patient, but the files didn't prepare her for what she'd see. She stood a step closer to him, leaning down slightly.
"Hello Tommy," she sighed.