Two people were sitting across from each other in a light gray room. One was in the middle of pouring his heart out while the other was actively listening. Every once in a while, the listener would write down a note of something which stood out to him. Mostly, he kept eye contact with the other individual to let him know that he was engaged in their conversation. It was working and the speaker looked at his hands as he rested them on the table in front of them.

"I guess I just never thought I was meant for much more than this," he admitted.

"What do you think now?"

The tone was even, calm, and yet very interested and genuine. It made it easier to talk when this was the reception as opposed to someone who seemed judgmental or overly sympathetic.

"I think," the man started to hesitantly say, "that I want to help people when I get out of here. There's gotta be something I could do. I mean, even if I'll be here for some more years, it's never too late, right?"

His expression was both nervous and hopeful. The other man gave a warm smile and closed his notepad.

"There's always time to improve your life. I'm glad to hear that you want to."

A happy smile went across the other person's face. It even stayed when a correctional officer entered the room and put handcuffs on him to lead him back to his cell.

"Same time next week, Doc?" the inmate asked.

The psychologist nodded. "Maybe you'll have an idea for how you'd like to help others then. We could talk more about it."

"Deal!" the prisoner excitedly exclaimed.

With a nod of his head to the officer, the doctor rose from the chair and left. He went down a hallway and knocked on the only door there. It was answered by a large man with red hair and a full mustache and beard, both starting to gray.

"Dr. Farid," he said as a greeting, "come in."

Farid entered the office, seeing a table with a large folder sitting on the edge. In the center of the table was a name plate with "Warden Stoick" printed. The warden gestured for the younger man to sit. When both were seated, Stoick brought his hands together, appearing pensive.

"How did it go?"

"Extremely well. It didn't take long to get him to open up about his past," Farid revealed, satisfied. "He even spoke of the future and the possible good he could do in the world."

This caused the warden to be visibly surprised. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped himself and placed a hand on the folder.

"I'm going to be honest with you. I didn't expect you to get very far with anyone so soon, but it's good that you did. This," he said, tapping the folder, "has the files for the inmates. The information isn't overly sensitive, but it'll tell you their names and some general information about why they're here. Look through it and see what you think. If anyone seems like someone you can reach, let me know and I'll arrange it for you to provide therapy sessions."

Farid accepted the massive folder, thanking the warden. A thought occurred to him, or more accurately a question which had been lingering in his mind made itself known again.

"Pardon my asking, Sir, but was there a particular reason I'm being contacted? I treasure the opportunity to help, however, I did realize that no therapy has been offered before. Did something happen?"

"Crime happened, and then it didn't stop," Stoick answered, sounding tired. "The Berk police department has been working nonstop, but nothing seems to keep more people from ending up here. We'll run out of room before anything else changes. In addition to that, your reputation precedes you. It seems like whoever you treat, you help. So, that's why you were contacted, Doctor."

A determined frown appeared on Farid's face as he looked at the item in his hands. "I'll have my first set of clients decided by the morning."

"In that case, I'll see you then."

The two shook hands and Farid left the office to return home. Once there, he buried himself in the records had gotten. He saw many people he wanted to help and planned on eventually getting to them all, but he had to make the number manageable. He could not treat the entire inmate population at one time, so he would tackle the problem in steps. Farid looked through a collection of murderers, muggers, and drug dealers. Some of them would never step past the prison property. Even still, it truly was never too late to make a positive change–even if less people would be affected. With this in mind, someone caught Farid's attention and he completed his list.

The next day, Farid returned to the prison and went to the warden's office again. Like before, they greeted each other and sat down. This time, Farid handed him back the folder. He started telling the list of people he planned to help. After each name, Stoick gave a slight nod and wrote it down to refer back to later. Only one name was stated which made him stop. He looked up from his paper and stared blankly at the psychologist.

"Are you sure? He might be a lost cause."

"I won't know for sure unless I meet with him," Farid calmly said. "If it seems like I really cannot help him, I'll request time with someone else in his place."

Stoick seemed confused by this plan and let out a soft sigh. "Fine. I said you could pick anyone, so I'll allow it. It might be better if you speak with him first. That way, you'll have more time to decide on who else you could be helping."

The warden pressed a device, tuning into the radio on one of the correctional officers. He told him to come up to the room and the man quickly arrived. He was just as large as Stoick, but his hair was dark and a scar was on his right cheek.

"Alvin, lead the doctor here to the therapy room and bring the prisoner in cell 1250 there."

The CO's eyes widened slightly and he looked at Farid with an inspecting gaze. Still, he said nothing besides a confirmation that he would do as requested. The doctor followed him out the office and towards where he had been with the inmate the previous day.

"Was this your decision?" Alvin asked, eyeing the newcomer.

"It was. I think I can help him."

He scoffed at that. "You're wasting your time with this one. He's crazy–dangerous too. Has been long before he even got here. There's nothing you can say that's gonna change that."

Farid did not say anything. He had no reason to. Though he disagreed with Alvin's words, he knew there really was nothing he could say to change his mind, so he did not waste his words. He quietly walked with him until they reached the room, then he entered and got ready for his new client. A few minutes passed, then a few more. When almost twenty minutes had gone by, Farid rose from his chair and started going towards the door. Before he got that far, it opened. Alvin was back and in front of him was a young man with red hair and scraggly facial hair. He also had a tattoo of three blue bear claws over his left eye and a bad scar on the right side of his face. His arms were behind his back and if Alvin's struggle was any indication, it seemed as though both he and the handcuffs were needed to keep him like that. The inmate stopped fighting when he saw the stranger and he tilted his head to the side.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Dr. Farid," the man said, gesturing to the seat on the other side of the table. "If you'd sit, we could talk."

This seemed to intrigue the other person and he jerked free of Alvin's grip and sat down with a wide smile on his face. His eyes twinkled with a lack of sanity Farid had not often seen.

"Well, Doc, allow me to formally introduce myself," he said, chuckling a crazed laugh. "I'm Dagur the Deranged."