"I'm sure you understand why this situation has been brought to my attention, Miss Harker. You've been here, what, a month?" The Warden paused to toss my file, albeit disinterestedly, onto his desk. I watched calmly as he ran a heavy hand over his face and let out a sigh. "Matters like these are severe, it would behoove you to know this. Plotting against Arkham's guards with one of the patients... You showed much more promise than that."

"Sir, I-"

He sighed with such disinterest it was rude. "What do you have to say?"

"I-I," I was so nervous. My career was on the line. Waylon's life... Mine as well? I dreaded to think of the depth of the hole I had started to dig. "Warden Sharp," I began again, clearing my throat, "I was not involved in a conspiracy. My premier patient is Waylon Jones-"

"Ah, yes. That... thing."

"I beg your pardon, sir." Sharp waved me on as if he hadn't interjected. "When I heard the announcement for lock-down, I knew they would kill him and, as his doctor, I couldn't let that happen. Not when I could prevent it." As his doctor. I prayed my subconscious didn't have a hidden agenda.

"And if they had killed him?" I regarded Sharp with a calm, collected gaze. It was no surprise to me that the staff at Arkham had an aversion to Waylon Jones; I knew this better than anyone. But what did they truly know? They knew only what Waylon would have them believe. None of them had given him a chance.

"They didn't," I said defiantly.

He leaned forward at his desk. "If they had," his snake-like gaze settled itself on mine and I met his stare. I didn't flinch—externally. Inside, my emotions were running wild and I prayed this godforsaken meeting would come to an end within the next twenty minutes. We stared each other down for what seemed like hours until Sharp pulled back and settled into his chair again. "It would have been better for society."

I chill went over my body and I pretended I hadn't shivered.

"Would you like to see the security footage of your patient?"

"If I could discern what caused Mr. Jones to act so rashly, that would be greatly appreciated. I'm sure I can use it to further his diagno-"

"I'm replacing Dr. Hirsch as Waylon's primary psychiatrist. Whatever notes you gather from the video, you can collaborate with her."

My blood ran cold. "Sir, I-"

"Its not up for discussion. You're on review until further notice."

Was it okay to cry? I took a deep breath and tried to maintain my facade. "Of course," I ground out, smiling curtly.

"Collins will show you to the video security office. Thank you for your time Miss Harker." Before I had the chance to stand up from my chair he pivoted in his and busied himself at a computer. I turned to leave and didn't offer him another word. Something was bitterly wrong with that man.

When I went for the door knob a gloved hand immediately seized it. "I'll get that for you Miss." I looked up into the guard's face and instantly recognized Collins, the guard who shadowed Ramirez on my first session with Waylon. He smiled down at me with a warm look that reached his eyes.

"Thank you," I all but whispered when I stepped across the threshold.

"He's a nasty individual, I'd say you should get used to it but that's a harsh attempt at consolation," he said when the door to Sharp's office was safely shut. Collins' raspy voice was a pleasant sound that calmed my nerves.

"And to think that when I started here I was disappointed we hadn't been introduced." Collins and I shared in a laugh.

"Look, I know you like treating Waylon, and I know that you're upset at being taken off of his case. If you want, I can put in good words for you or something... ?"

"No, don't trouble yourself. I only hope Waylon locks up during his sessions with Nancy. If he doesn't make any progress the Warden might have to change his decree."

Out of my peripheral vision I noticed Collins award me with a sly smile. "Thinking a step ahead, that's good. You need it in this business. Just thank your lucky stars you don't have to chat it up with the Joker. He's a bitch and a half. Thinking ahead only gets you in trouble with him." I would have shuddered, but his lighthearted tone allowed me to find humor in his words.

As we walked side by side, I wondered if my time at Arkham was limited. I wondered what it was going to be like sitting in on Waylon's sessions as the outsider. I wondered what they were going to do about him, and if he was okay.

"Is he alright?"

"He'll be in solitary confinement until tomorrow morning; I doubt they'll schedule another session for today. A follow-up after today's events would be a good choice though," Collins set his jaw and I noticed his mood change.

"What's the matter?" Silence. "What's wrong?"

"Croc isn't a good person."

"Croc? What- who is that?" But that was a stupid question. Who had residence at Arkham and looked like a crocodile? I wasn't fool enough to assume that Waylon didn't have any derogatory names, but it was still cruel. How could anyone feel comfortable using such a name? When the realization dawned on my face, Collins silently nodded his head.

"He used to work in a circus, that was his stage name."

"The circus? How do you know this?"

"Croc and I used to run in the same circles. I helped out with props for the circus he worked in; it was my first job." He adjusted the gun that he was carrying and continued, "He's not really a friend, but we have an understanding."

"Is that why Smith was reassigned as a primary guard?"

"Yeah, Ramirez was a dipshit. I'm not sorry he's dead. I wasn't going to run around as his lackey while he beat Croc half to shit."

"Thank you."

"Don't. Just because I wasn't there doesn't mean it didn't happen."

My brows furrowed. "But you cared enough to remove yourself from the violence. That counts in my book."

"Perhaps." He motioned towards a thick, locked door that read 'Security' in large blue letters. "You can have a seat wherever you like, I'll bring the footage up on the review screen," he mumbled when he unlocked the door and held it open for me.

The room was large and decorated from floor-to-ceiling with security equipment. There were computer monitors on every table top and large screens were mounted on adjacent walls. Off in a corner to the left there was a desk topped with a gun cabinet and a radio charger base that was set up for at least a dozen hand-helds. Although it was shocking at first, I quickly recovered and immediately felt relieved. All of this care towards security meant the Arkham guards had their hands full and were doing their jobs... right?

After scanning the room I settled myself into a padded chair with wheels on the legs and waited for Collins to queue the security footage. The room grew dark and a light flashed from a projector mounted to the ceiling. It began with Waylon being escorted from my office and then followed the trio as they traversed the hallways until they came upon the sewer entrance. Once on the other side of the door, the altercation began.

"No scuffles this time, shit head." I recognized the voice as Ramirez. Following his cruel tone he roughly punched Waylon in the spine with the butt of his rifle.

"Yeah, you don't have your tight little doctor to keep us from beating your ugly mug." Smith this time, accompanied by a quick shot at his dopey smile. I gasped at his words; the realization that they were talking about me behind my back drove me crazy.

Of a sudden, I heard a low growl rumble through the speakers mounted adjacent to the projector. Waylon. He must have been upset with the guards' taunts... Or was it the comment about me? No, that would be silly. He had no allegiance.

"Oh, did we hit a nerve?" Ramirez again. "Fucker has feelings, Smith. Who'da thought?"

A whistle from Smith. "Not me, you?"

"Fuck no. But I bet that piece of ass doc of his knew." My anger surged. How dare they?

"Hirsch? That's nasty, Jay." Smith whistled again.

"No you numbskull, Harker, the young one. Man she's got a great rack."

"God I know. If I had that in bed next to me every night, I'd never get any sleep."

When they were finished, they both broke into a disgusting, raucous laughter that made me glad one of them was dead and the other was reduced to a vegetable in ICU. I paid closer attention and saw that at the last jeer, Waylon had ceased walking which caused Ramirez to run into his back. When he bounced back he promptly pointed his gun right at the base of Waylon's skull.

"Did we tell you to stop walking?" Ramirez asked incredulously.

"You didn't tell me to keep walking, either." Waylon this time, his deep, gorgeous voice filling the cavern. Shoots of adrenaline ran through my veins and I felt a wave of excitement take over. As he growled again, I smiled.

The adrenaline got me talking. "That's Waylon, no doubt about it. Always witty with his comebacks-"

"Shh, you'll want to pay close attention," came Collins' stern reply.

"Ouch, he got you, Jay." Smith, whistling again.

"Shut up, Ethan." While Ramirez started to scold his partner, I watched as Smith walked up to Waylon, pleased as punch. An alternative camera picked up on Waylon's face and I watched him look down at Smith, a mixture of anger and dangerous cunning illuminated in his eyes. It was a shame that the cameras picked up images in black and white, I would have loved to see the golden hue of his gaze. What? I shook myself and tried to ignore everything other than what was happening on the screen in front of me. "Croc, I'm not going to play your stupid games. Keep walking." Ramirez visibly ground the barrel of the rifle into the back of Waylon's head.

What happened next took place in the span of mere seconds at best. And instantly, Waylon's devious expression made complete sense. Although he was still standing in front of Waylon, Smith made the mistake of taking his attention away from him when he leaned around to look at Ramirez. "Aw, what the fuck Jay? Lighten up man."

"Ethan, you stupid shit, shut up!" Because Ramirez was busy yelling at Smith—who was arguably the most ignorant, ill-trained guard in Arkham—he hadn't noticed that his rifle had shifted just enough to the right that it was no longer in contact with Waylon's skull. And Waylon knew it.

Faster than the speed of light, or really close to it, Waylon headbutted Smith so hard that he flew through the air before landing on his back. His body made a sickening crunch as it impacted on the concrete floor. Ramirez, gobsmacked by the recent events, stared at Smith's otherwise lifeless body and neglected to train his gun on Waylon. It didn't matter. Again with his fast reflexes, Waylon grabbed Ramirez's rifle and snapped it into pieces and let them fall to the floor.

"I fucking told you not to cuff my hands in front of me, Ramirez." Waylon's growl was back and as his voice grew to a menacing octave, I shivered in my chair. Suddenly the room was very noticeably cold. Ramirez was slowly backing away from Waylon, wide-eyed and shaking.

"Oh fuck." His voice was barely audible as he turned around and rushed for the electric security door.

"I fucking warned you. And it doesn't matter whether you run because you'll never run far enough." Waylon yelled after him and then he took off at a dead run, in pursuit of his prey.

When Collins cut the footage, I shivered again at the thought: Ramirez must have never made it to the door. "I don't think you need to see the rest, it's not pretty."

I nodded, "I wouldn't have watched it anyway." Silence overtook the room; I was rendered speechless by what had happened in the sewer.

"You can look at that video any way you want. Croc was defending your honor and, clearly, the way those two morons were talking about you pissed him off."

"I-I... No, I do not think that was the case. Ramirez had been tormenting Cr-Waylon for months. It was simply a build-up of animosity and poorly-controlled anger."

Collins lifted an eyebrow, "Is that what you truly believe?"

"I have no reason not to," I said as I lifted my chin.

"Every time Croc is committed to Arkham, Ramirez is assigned to him. This 'build-up of animosity and poorly-controlled anger' has been going on for over four years."

"What? Why every time? That's an unhealthy situation for the both of them! Look what happened!"

"Whatever happened was what Ramirez allowed to happen. He was an idiot, Cassandra."

"I'm not going to blame Ramirez's death on either of them. And it's cruel of you to say that Ramirez caused his own death. Yes, he was a poor, stupid fool but what happened was a freak accident. Waylon doesn't usually-"

"Cause bodily harm to people in Arkham? Oh yes, he does. Ramirez is the first guard he's ever killed and eaten, yes. But he's mutilated people before. Nurses, doctors, guards. And if he can't kill someone, or eat them, he'll certain try his best to maim them and that's something you need to understand. Have you ever met Cash?" When I shook my head 'no', Collins continued, "He's a guard who's worked here for over ten years, and he's not 'stupid', by any stretch of the word. A few months ago, Waylon got pissed off at Cash for hitting the button on his security collar. So what did Croc do?" Collins' anger showed on his face and by this point he was yelling. "He tore Cash's hand off in the brawl. You'd be stupid to let your guard down around him. He's an animal."

Although I made sense out of Collins' speech, I was still angry. "Why do you think all of this started? Can you answer that?"

He looked shocked. "Why did what all start?"

"Why do you think Waylon acts the way he does? Has no one ever thought about that? Does anyone even care? Something has to happen to a person, whether real or imaginary, to cause them to act like that! You don't just wake up one morning and decide that you're going to become a serial murderer and cannibal to fill your lonely evenings!"

"No one's been able to figure anything out about Croc, and that's not their fault. He won't let anyone in."

"Because all of you people! Look at what just happened in the sewer! And what you just told me!"

"What-"

"Does 'every time Croc is committed to Arkham, Ramirez is assigned to him' ring any bells in your fucking head? Arkham has allowed Waylon to hate all of you, and why shouldn't he? This is disgusting. You put him in these horrible situations by your own doing. All of this is Arkham's fault," I finished, huffing in anger. How could Collins be so dense, so blind to the truth?

"I can't believe you're taking his side," Collins said solemnly after a span of time.

"I can't believe you're not! And you don't even know me, so you better believe that I'm capable of anything," I said in a low, dangerous voice. When Collins offered nothing in return I grabbed my things and left that dreadful security room. As I walked back to Hirsch's office I once again could offer no valid reason as to why I put up with working in this cesspit of an institution.

"Cassandra! Oh, thank God you're alright!" When I entered the room Nancy jumped up from the seat behind her desk and embraced me in a tight hug.

I had to laugh at her worry, "I'm fine Nancy, everything's alright." I patted her back and wished she would let go of me and cut the dramatics. I wasn't in the mood to deal with her frailty.

"Everyone said that you were trapped by Croc!"

"He has a name. And no, I wasn't 'trapped'... I was trying to keep the guards from killing him."

"What?" When I didn't offer any further explanation, Nancy fell silent and regarded me calmly. "You weren't in any danger?"

"Not at any time, at least not with Waylon. When the guards arrived they thought I was an inmate." I thought of adding, 'and threatened to blow my brains out' but decided against it to save her sanity.

"I would think so! Abetting a murdering fugitive?" She gasped in alarm.

"Fugitive? He was in the confines of Arkham the entire time. And he was defending himself from Ramirez, go have a look at the security footage."

Nancy's drama queen routine was getting old. I had hoped I would be dealing with the strict, no-nonsense individual I had met at my interview. But I had since learned that was just a professional front that she used against anyone who didn't know her. The real woman underneath that facade was much more irritating than someone who was never happy.

"Ramirez is dead, Cassandra."

"I know that, what made you think I didn't?"

I assumed that Nancy could hear the annoyance in my voice and she backed away from the subject. "Well, that aside. Believe it or not, we have a session with Mr. Jones this afternoon."

I heart began to hammer in my chest. I wasn't sure if I wanted to see him so soon after I learned what had really been going on. "When?"

She glanced at her wrist watch. "In an hour. You have time to try another hand at lunch if you want?"

"Sure, are you going?"

She laughed, "I wasn't able to get to the cafeteria before lock-down."

We smiled at each other, grabbed our things and headed out of the office for the cafe. It was nice. I felt for the briefest of moments that I belonged here and this was just another day at work. The day's earlier antics were a part of the distant past.

Until we made it to the cafeteria.

"I guess they heard the news," Nancy whispered into my ear when we walked through the double doors. "Be prepared for an onslaught."

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to feel comforted by her attempts to make jokes of the situation, but I wasn't prepared to deal with the questions, the attention.. any of it.

"Er.. What do you want? I had a salad earlier, it was good. But I'm in the mood for something else," I tried to make small talk in an effort to ignore the stares being shot my way.

"Sandwiches? Filling, light... Not too heavy?"

"Yes," I nodded, "that sounds great."

As we got in line at the deli counter, a group of people began to form a line behind us and the woman directly behind me asked if Waylon had tried to kill me.

"What?"

"Did he, you know?"

"She wants to know if you were scared of Croc. Did he try to eat you?" A male nurse piped up from the back of the line. The room was dead-silent, awaiting my answer.

"N-no," I said sheepishly. Then I realized how stupid everyone was being and I grew a backbone. "He wouldn't, because I didn't provoke him. Now, if you please I'd like to get my lunch and eat in peace."

"She survived the crocodile!" Someone said from the back of the line.

As cheers began to sound from every corner of the room, Nancy sighed in frustration. "Everyone shut up. Leave her be!" Her no-nonsense side was back and the tone of her voice worked for the correct measure: the cheers died down almost as quickly as they started. "You're going to have the worst week yet, I fear," she murmured to me as we paid for our sandwiches.

"It can't get any worse, trust me."

"No, it can. Just wait. We still have Waylon to handle after lunch."

"Oh goody," I said with an ounce of sarcasm, "dessert."

"Don't worry, Cassandra. The Warden informed me that you are on review... And the truth is, I don't even want to conduct the session," she announced as we sat down at a small table.

"I can't ignore the Warden."

"No, you can't. But if I suddenly take ill..."

I stared at her, my eyes the diameter of saucers. "You wouldn't."

"Try me. I know that session is going to be a doozy if anyone other than you handles it. I'm prepared to take the chance."

I let her statement hang in the air as I unwrapped my turkey sandwich. She might have been prepared to do it, but she wasn't being closely monitored by the person who ran the facility. I could be fired within an instant, and who in their right mind got fired from Arkham of all places? I began to chew my sandwich with complete dread. I wasn't prepared to take the chance. And I was even more unprepared to deal with Waylon.

I'd love to hear from you, review? :)

-Soule