damned_institute | Dayshift 32: Doctor's Office 8 [Dr. Disraeli]

"You have a doctor's appointment today, Kevin."

Did he? Kimbley realized as he was following the nurse that he'd told the person on the bulletin board he'd meet them during second shift. Ah, well. He could find them at lunch - or they'd find him. (He didn't get any names the night before.)

They approached the office, but the name on the door was different than the last doctor he'd met with. New staff? It didn't matter. He'd gone through enough doctors and psychiatrists in his life; one change was hardly worth a mention in his mind. The nurse opened the door and introduced him, and Kimbley slipped in, arms crossed over his chest as he eyed the new doctor.

Nothing of particular note.

He sat down in the provided chair. Such a pristine room. It would look exceptional if it were coated with blood. He didn't speak; let the doctor start the conversations. It's what they were there for, right?

Ah, so it was Mr. Federline who would be first. Probably a better option. Jizabel never had done well with children, teen-aged or otherwise. Even little Mikaila had given him a good deal of difficulty before, that is when she had been little, and she was supposed to be a subordinate. Not anymore though. All of his seemingly child-like subordinates had just sprung up and left like nothing. What a strange occurrence?

"Good morning, Mr. Federline," Dr. Disraeli greeted, smiling in his usual way. He did not have to motion to the chair before the patient took it himself, apparently accustomed to the whole experience. Ah, that was right, his file had said something about a previous doctor. So he'd been reassigned, had he? That could go two-ways. "My name is Doctor Jizabel Disraeli, and I will be your new therapist during your stay."

Introductions set, he realized the man expected that he begin the conversation. How amusing, wanting control of things so quickly. "Would you like to begin? We can talk about whatever you'd like today since this will be our first meeting." Later meetings were when things could be forced, but for now, it was best to be safe - allow the patients to feel however secure they wanted. It was all fiction, in any case.

So he may have started the conversation, but now he was shifting it right back onto the patient. Kimbley smirked the tiniest bit as he watched the doctor with his weird gold eyes. Whatever he liked? Really?

"That's a little vague." He didn't bother with the name business. They were bound and determined to call him Kevin, and fighting it would just be pointlessly frustrating. "What I'd like to talk about is how I'm going to kill every last person in this building and detail exactly how for each individual, but I have the feeling you want to try and get somewhere with this." He'd taken hours away from psychotherapists like that before. And usually a large chunk of their sanity.

Where Dr. Disraeli was being vague, it seemed that Mr. Federline would prefer to be a just bit more vivid.

The doctor only smiled back at the morbid response, watching the patient's hazel eyes with a curiosity of all Jizabel's own. Not only were his eyes interesting - hazel always did hold a special place in Jizabel heart - but his interests bordered those of Delilah. Being able to commit a mass murder was one of the abilities essential for a soul snatcher. For any member, really, but the underlings got far more blood physically on their hands.

"I allowed you control of the conversation, so you may speak on whatever you would like," Dr. Disraeli pressed slightly, indicating nothing with his expression. He merely continued to smile pleasantly, "I am a doctor, so it is not as though I've no experience with the utterly grotesque," he reassured as well. If Mr. Federline was concerned over that, which Jizabel highly doubted, it was still better to indicate that he did not wish to be spared the gruesome details. He would actually enjoy hearing everything. Jizabel genuinely wondered just what a person such a this who so blatantly voiced threats of violence, might be able to conjure for separate killings of a mass of individuals. As Death, he was well versed in his own methods, and knew those of the Organization as well, but there were always new and innovative ways another might find to make a human bleed.

"You may begin, if you wish," still smiling, Dr. Disraeli prompted the patient once more.

And so the good doctor gave his permission. Some people just weren't that frightened of bloodshed. It was critical if you were a soldier, and yet the number of his own "comrades" who fled from him upon his return to camp after a day's work was disgusting.

Or maybe they were afraid of their own blood adding to the stains. He never asked.

"I'm sure that file," and here Kimbley indicated slightly with his head toward the desk, "tells you all about my delusions. That I thought I was a soldier who could blow people up with the slightest touch." His fingers twitched a bit, the tips curling in. "That's how I'd start here. Start collapsing doorways and windows so people are trapped like the panicky animals they are before moving in. One touch - "

Kimbley lifted a hand, the tattoo vivid against his palm, and touched something invisible in the air with his forefinger.

" - and their bodies become active explosives." His grin grew, sharp and thin as a blade. "You know the composition of a human body, being a doctor; what's in you or me is the same as what's in a bomb, provided you combine the substances correctly." The outstretched hand closed into a fist. "And I can do that. It only takes a little concentration."

Kimbley shifted in the chair a bit, as if to get more comfortable.

"I'd take out most people like that. Whether alone or sending a single walking bomb into a group, that's how they'd go. Eventually I'd start blowing them up bit by bit, limb by limb." Joint by joint, layer by layer, cell by cell. "I'd save that for the people I like best. Turn them into fleshy stumps spewing blood and organs from newfound orifices. Then I might put them out of their misery by letting their poor overworked hearts explode ... or just hurl the remains at people who haven't been bothered yet."

Initially, it had been a bluff - and for the most part, it still was, a time-wasting tactic that would solidify the 'insane' designation in his file - but there was honesty behind his words. He truly wanted do all this, and it was clear in his eyes if not the tone of his voice. Weird gold to him, hazel to the doctor - they gleamed with a vicious, bloodthirsty inner light.

Dr. Disraeli gave the file a passing glance, but did not linger on it. There had indeed been a good deal concerning explosives and a belief in being able "blow people up" with a touch. He also recalled a mention of additional tattooing the patient had preformed on himself to match the delusion, and could see the corresponding marks Mr. Federline still sported as he gesticulated along with his explanations.

Such an imagination he had. But that was to be expected. Even when insane, a person could still hold a particular genius not found in the normal human psyche. It was yet another standard necessity for Delilah, that insanity that drove one to brilliance. This was by no means a recruiting job Jizabel was on, yet he continued finding reasons why Mr. Federline (or perhaps he went by another name in that fractured mind) could be an asset to the Organization.

That was, of course, if it were even possible to accomplish the feats he was suggesting. The Dark Arts could only delve so far, and science was still progressing towards a more usable state. There were sure to be ways of combining proper chemicals and such to create a way to literally detonate a human being - what a fascinating thought it was, really - but mere touch would never do it. Not limited as they currently were. There would have to be some peremptory measures - forcing something foreign into the system, or at the very least using an actual bomb to get the work done. Still, making a human bomb was a concept Jizabel would be taking back to the researchers at Delilah. Imaginative though it may have been on Mr. Federline's part, there were still plausible ways to make things work, and it was Delilah's job to create those ways.

"You must not have many friends then," Dr. Disraeli mused jokingly, allowing himself a slight chuckle. He truly had enjoyed Mr. Federline's specific detailing of how he wanted to kill others, but the good doctor could only allowed himself to take it in lighthearted fun. As light-hearted as the subject could be taken, that was. "And what might you do with those who would fight back? Or who would prove faster than yourself, and therefore be able to keep from your touch?" he questioned further. If the man though he was a soldier, then he had best present a tactical answer appropriate to his believed abilities.

Ah, a challenge. Kimbley's razor grin grew even wider as his arm slipped back across his chest.

"If anybody kept just out of my reach, or kept me on the defensive - " as laughable as the idea was, it had happened before, and unfortunately resulted in his death " - then I'd have to unfortunately sacrifice personal pleasure for getting the job done." Very textbook, he thought. "As soon as an opportunity would be presented, I'd take out the hallway surrounding them. If the walls collapse, the ceiling's going to fall, and there aren't that many people alive who can avoid getting crushed by so many tons of concrete."

Far less pleasurable than watching them explode and coat the hallways with blood, but still effective. Hadn't he taken out an entire city section that way?

"As for friends, I just don't seem to have the social touch," Kimbley said, almost lightly. "No matter how hard I try, they all end up dead or serving as witnesses at my court-martial."

"True, there are not many... however there are some, you would agree?" Dr. Disraeli returned, realizing that this was to become a quick challenge between the two. Mr. Federline may not have realized it, but Jizabel himself was also a soldier in a very loose sense of the word. Others in Delilah had far more experience than he, but he'd had enough to know that not all of the textbook tactics worked. There were always the exceptions, and those always showed up at the most terrible of times.

The matter with Riff was still unresolved, after all.

Jizabel grinned when the matter of "friends" was explained. What an answer, and one that Mr. Federline likely did not mind either. "You see people as stepping stones, then. Or, at the very least, that is how they believe you see them." The was more a comment than a question. If Mr. Federline did not mind it, then it was sure to be true and went without needing confirmation.

"Some. Inconvenient and infrequent, but yes, they exist. Usually very lucky sorts." The topic of survivors held no interest with Kimbley, unless he was letting them survive for a very particular reason. Mustang, for one. "Still, a collapsing ceiling is going to daze everyone who doesn't have a steel skull, and while they're picking themselves out of the rubble I'll ram a slow-acting explosive piece of shrapnel down their throat. That is, if the regular shrapnel doesn't kill them first."

Friends ... what a unique term. He'd never seen any use for them, which may have been why he was sentenced to death and wound up serving life in solitary confinement (for seven years, anyway). They were useful in almost zero ways - as stepping stones, yes, although ones on fragile bases that would crumble once you were done with them.

"That's one way to put it." It was a good analogy, anyway. "If they can get me somewhere I want to be, I'll humor them. Once I'm there, they can die." Greed got him out of prison, Archer got him away from Greed and back into the military. Greed was dead, and Archer was ... well, he assumed Archer was either dead or still being an uptight prick to new recruits. "I'd actually prefer it if they died. Nothing to come back and bite me in the ass that way."

It was almost frightening in a way, just how well suited this man would be for Delilah. But even that seemed to come to a setback somewhere. Though they may not have enjoyed each other, the members of Delilah were still an organization bound by rules about taking the lives of nobles. And just about every member held some connection to the noble blood. Killing a noble aside from oneself ended with horrible consequences. Even Jizabel understood that and had restrained himself from ending Cain's life. A man like the one before him though would only take what he wanted regardless of how many he had to kill.

As good as his insane genius might have been for the organization (granted he could prove his methods) the risk was not worth it for the consequences. How sad.

"Then what is it you're looking for? Or, I suppose, was it you were looking for then? When you killed so many?" Dr. Disraeli took the conversation in a different direction, trying to find the specifics. Much as he liked, and dare say respected the violence Mr. Federline could think up, Jizabel had a job to do beyond thinking for Delilah's purposes. This was supposed to be his own research anyway. How had he strayed back to them again? Perhaps this wasn't the best of outlets for taking a break after all.

The most interesting topic Kimbley could think of to be brought up was the idea of his goals.

Mostly because he had none.

He knew what he was. A human, just like all the others. Empty. Filled with blood and bones and other meat, so many products that meant nothing outside of the thin skin that bound it all together. When he railed against other people, swore they were useless and their lives meaningless, he wasn't being hypocritical - he applied the same standards to himself. Humans were animals, pure and simple; he'd just gotten in touch with his animal side a long time ago and could control it with relative ease.

So what was he looking for, back before the military and the fifth and Scar's hand going through his abdomen?

"Blood," he said, uncrossing his arms and hooking them over the back of the chair instead. "I wanted to see untold death and destruction. I wanted carnage. I wanted people to die, plain and simple." He wanted his own pleasure as their bodies dissolved under his fingertips.

Now not only were his eyes glittering with barely-repressed bloodlust, but his voice was low and ragged, as if he was recalling the best, most violent moments of his life. It could almost be called sensual were it not for the sheer bloodthirsty tone that undermined it ...

"I bet you started small then..." Dr. Disraeli pressed again, this time heading towards a part Jizabel would have rather avoided. But he knew it was there. If, as an adult, someone wanted nothing more than to slaughter humankind, then unless they had gone through circumstances alike to Jizabel's own (which Jizabel had convinced himself none possibly could have) then as children animals had been the targets. That was the nature of humans with power, whether big or small, to destroy whatever was around them, smaller or weaker than them.

"Or would you say you were simply born with that desire for blood?" Another thing Jizabel doubted. Even he wouldn't have admitted to such a thing, regardless of how much he currently despised humankind. "And, more importantly, do you still long for it?"

"You mean animals." Kimbley snorted a bit. "They kill each other enough; I only went after them when I was bored or desperate. I've always preferred human pain over anything else."

As a child, he remembered, he'd watched fights with a focus unheard of in boys his age; he'd taken part in fights himself and gone far beyond the limits of acceptable roughhousing, refusing to stop until he was pulled away. Animals squealed in pain, but only for a little while; humans went on and on, howling and begging and pleading uselessly.

Cliche time: it was music to his ears.

"I started with those my own size. Call it small if you will." A brief pause, the slightest quirk of one eyebrow as his tone took on a slightly sardonic tone. "I still want blood. It's all I've wanted since I got here - that, and a way out. But when you try to kill someone here, the guards are on you in seconds. Never enough time for decent pain to be inflicted."

Physical pain, anyway. He was sure Mustang was still recoiling from their last encounter in the shower.

Blood was all he wanted. Just the satisfaction of having made something living bleed its last. Nothing but carnage and destruction... he did not even have a real purpose for what he did other than satisfaction.

Jizabel suddenly found this man sickening.

"With that mindset, I'm sure you know as well as I that I cannot let you loose on the... unsuspecting public," he warned, but to be fair added, "though, I must admit, that would be a sight to see."

Whatever the case, Mr. Federline did provide what Jizabel would view as an appropriate punishment for humans. Maybe not the best person to judge human sin, but still a punisher nonetheless. All humans would pay in the end anyway, some more so than others. Turning Mr. Federline loose would have been, for Jizabel's own cliché: just what the doctor ordered.

"They didn't," Kimbley said, his smile ever more sardonic. "I was in the military. Not only is that away from the 'unsuspecting public', but it's in a place where psychopathy is almost common. Why not have me released there?"

He had since realized that he was spilling his "fake" backstory to this doctor almost unprompted, and he was a little irritated by that. But why not? Let the doctor think he was insane. It was true, just not in the way they believed. He'd almost never been declared sane, except during his very first and last psychiatric evaluations.

Sane, but instability is a likelihood. Careful observation is needed.

"If you want to see it, doctor, then why not give me the key to the chemical lab and let me loose?" He knew it was almost guaranteed not to work, but what the hell. "It'd mean less patients for you to deal with."

"Because, unfortunately for you, there happen to be no wars that you may participate in," he answered, tilting his head once again.

So far as Jizabel knew at least, there were no major wars currently in progress. That did not mean some were spotting about in various places, but for this man, even with his blood lust he would only be allowed onto a battlefield colored in the blood of his own nationality. And even then he would never be trusted to keep from only killing what might be designated as his "enemy".

Dr. Disraeli allowed himself a laugh at Mr. Federline's attempts to compromise. Less indeed! "I'm certain it would," he agreed readily, "but as much as you seem to enjoy slaughter, I enjoy exploring the human mind. You'd be taking away my fun then." He was still making light of the whole thing. What else was there to do really since it amused him so? Another therapist might have shushed him the moment he started mentioning murder, but not Dr. Disraeli. Not Jizabel. "Can't have that," he mused.

"I'm sure it won't be long," Kimbley muttered, only half to himself. Peacetime wasn't the default; war was. It would only be a matter of time before another war erupted in whatever world they were trapped in. Not that he particularly wanted to go out into that world without his alchemy.

The doctor was taking this all much better than all the other psychotherapists he'd had, even the ones who claimed to be experts in the field of dealing with genuine madmen. Hadn't his last doctor been equally calm about the whole matter? This place employed some unusual doctors. Or maybe he was just getting lucky.

"I assume that you've been having fun exploring my mind, in that case." A twisted, fractured, blood-covered library of chemicals and reactions and battle tactics. "What conclusions have you come to? Or am I not privy to that information?"

"And I would agree," Dr. Disraeli nodded. War was the default, and it was not hard to create. Even Delilah could easily pull the strings to cause one, if so desired. For now though, they hid behind the peacetimes and scurried along the back alleyways.

He turned his eyes upwards and away from Mr. Federline's eyes. "That could be taken a few ways as there are two options for exploring the human mind. I would actually find the physical more pleasing since that is my area of expertise, but alike to yourself, there are things even a doctor will end up shunned for practicing." Such as brain transplantations. He'd managed one of those, and recently. "Far more safe being a therapist."

After lifting a hand in a dismissive gesture, he decided to force himself back to topic. "But yes, I will say your mind is a fascinating one, albeit quite morbid," he smiled once more, "Which should be enough of a conclusion to satisfy you. Do you draw?" he asked suddenly.

So this doctor was more of a scientist. Rather pull the brains out and see how they worked in a new setting rather than take wild stabs and guess what prodding one aspect verbally would result in. Why would he bother working as a therapist, then? Taking a break, or judging victims for his next science project?

"Do you draw?"

The question was sudden, and caught Kimbley a bit off-guard. He blinked, his grin fading a bit in the face of the unexpected query. Did he ... ?

"Not really," he said, tilting his head to the side a bit. "Not in any way that makes obvious sense."

He'd expected the surprise, so he was more than willing to explain the reason behind his strange and sudden question. "I ask because I'm curious. If you speak as you have with me towards any of the staff or those friends you apparently do not have, you'll end up sedated or worse." And that would only hinder any progress. Jizabl may not have particularly cared for how his patients did for themselves, but he needed them to at least show some progress. That would reflect on him in this place, and he needed to keep up the charade, after all.

"It doesn't matter if it makes sense or not really, but drawing can be a good outlet for your more... let's say creative ideas. Especially when you can't voice them outside of this office without getting into a good deal of trouble." Dr. Disraeli reached down towards a lower drawer and pulled a binder of notebook paper out that had yet to be used. "More fun making humans explode on paper, than simply in your mind, am I right?" He set the pad atop his desk. It would be interesting if Mr. Federline actually agreed to something most adults would think stupid or otherwise childish.

... was this guy serious?

The first time Kimbley had gone to therapy, when he was around 12, they'd handed him a pad of paper and asked him to draw what he thought of himself, his friends, his family, the works. He'd thought it was stupid then and outright refused to comply, even when they nearly begged. After several minutes of nonstop nagging, he (younger and rather more easily pissed off) had snatched up all the red pencils they offered and scrawled in stick figures the horrible atrocities he wanted to inflict on them. Compared to what he did as an adult, they weren't really that bad, but coming from a 12-or-so-year-old it had looked terrible.

And now here he was, 20-some years later, with the same thing presented to him.

"I'd say it's more fun in the mind than on paper, since I'm not a very good artist and I like being able to 'see' their bodies being strewn across the walls." Besides, he'd be tempted to draw a few alchemic circles and see what he could get to transmute in this room, and that would only end badly. "If I spoke like that to the staff I'd be sedated, yes, but I'm not stupid. And the other people here are more determined to get out than to turn in their fellow inmates. If I start to disturb them, they move." He shrugged. "I haven't been sedated yet, and I've shared these opinions several times."

... admittedly, mostly with like-minded people, but they were still friends he apparently didn't have.

"Be fair now," he requested, since apparently Mr. Federline felt the need to be slightly defensive against the offer, "I have to act like a therapist at least once during this session. Be glad I'm not asking you to say, lay back and tell me how much you weren't loved as a child." He could only continue to smile now. This session certainly was proving more amusing than most. "It is only an offer, in any case. What you do outside of here is your call, naturally."

"You've gotten me to speak more in an hour than I have over most of my time here," Kimbley said as he reached out and took hold of one of the pencils, tapping the sharpened end against the blank notebook. "That should count toward your 'therapy'."

He didn't really feel like drawing. Honestly, he wanted to leap over the desk and jam the pencil in the doctor's eye just to see what would happen, but in the interest of not being sedated and locked in solitary for the rest of the day (and probably the entire night) he resisted that urge. Instead he considered his options, counted the first ten lines on the page, and started to scrawl a transmutation circle.

Not a person, but not one that would work, either. It was the completed explosive circle, the same one tattooed on his palms when they were connected.

"So tell me, doctor," he said as he drew, eyes glancing up lazily, "what's the plan for the next time we meet? I'd hate to just repeat myself while you try to gain a new perspective on my insanity."

Jizabel hummed approvingly when Mr. Federline took up the notebook regardless. There was something he wished to get out in something other than words, Jizabel could tell. The human mind just could not hold the span on his creativity, no matter how great the mental depiction of human splatter on the walls would be. Of course with Jizabel present, there was also one more outlet Mr. Federline could choose, and that though alone had Jizabel's hand held close to his pocket.

Really, would this be the first patient to attack him? How welcome it would be though. A patient like this had practically earned himself a good lashing out to make good on his thoughts of blood and gore. Just so long as he didn't mar his face. Jizabel had to be careful of that, lest he be scolded.

"You are right. Therapy can be defined many ways," he could not see very well what Mr. Federline drew out, but could tell that he was at least drawing. Good. "I'm sure I can think of something more entertaining by next week. How about some finger paints?" he laughed once more, "not quite the right color, but if you're so intent on seeing something blood-like... and my office does need some color, as you may be able to see." Oh this was far too amusing. So sad that it needed to end.

"Would you mind finishing here? Apparently I'm double-booked today."

Kimbley waited until the doctor had completely finished speaking - had asked him to leave - before putting the finishing touches on the transmutation circle and setting the pencil down. He leaned back in the chair again, eyes still locked on the doctor, and let his smile grow.

"That might earn you some ire, doctor. I'd hate to think you were patronizing me." His voice was light, but the threat hung silent in the air. "I'll look forward to next time, regardless."

He stood and turned his back on the doctor. Normally, he never would have done something so stupid, but it was unlikely that he would be attacked - not here or now, when the doctor was a professional and there was a nurse likely less than ten feet outside the door. His fingers were on the doorknob when it opened from the outside, the nurse glancing at her watch before catching sight of the patient in the doorway.

"Oh, Kevin, you're ready to go?" He didn't respond, but she smiled anyway and stepped back to let him out. "I'll go get your next patient, Dr. Disraeli."

Kimbley didn't look back once the door shut. He had plans for the rest of the day.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he assured, though his constant smile might have betrayed that he was. Just a little. Patronizing the insane could be such a fun sport.

He kept his seat as the other rose, noting the moment when Mr. Federline's back was turned. How very unwise? And yet Jizabel allowed him to go regardless. There was no merit in subduing this one; he'd not lied at all during their session, which meant he very well was thought insane by not just the staff. And besides that, he no doubt thought Dr. Disraeli merely a patronizing bastard merely playing pretend. No harm letting him go un-drugged.

Not that he could have managed a drugging with whatever rats had been in his office.

"Until next time then," he waved lightly, then breathed a bit of a sigh in preparation for his next. Amusing or not, Mr. Federline's session had taken a bit of energy to manage. Hopefully the teenager soon to come wouldn't be too much hassle.

Zuko wasn't exactly happy when his nurse grabbed him by the shoulder as he tried to take a seat in the Sun Room.

"Not that way Wilfred! You have to meet with your doctor today," she scolded as she dragged him through the doors.

"Wha-- oh," Zuko groaned. Right, the intercom mentioned doctors. He thought about questioning the nurse about what that really meant, but the answers the staff gave were always a waste of breath.

The walk to the office was thankfully short, this nurse had been surprisingly accommodating with her speed, even asking about his leg and if he needed crutches. Once they were at the door she waited with him until the doctor was ready, then directed him to a chair before wishing him well and exiting. Zuko crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, he'd kept his eyes on the doctor since entering the room. The one in charge of Landel's also claimed to be a doctor, but the prince doubted that the man in front of him was anything but another pawn.

The first of his meeting had been quite interesting, that was for certain. He could only hope the younger of the two patients would prove just as amusing.

Though he did doubt it.

He watched as the boy entered with a little help from his nurse, frowning just slightly. And just what had happened to Mr. Chen's leg, he wondered. And that was not even the most interesting of Mr. Chen's injuries. The facial scar, after all, was much more visible and easily drew attention to yet another pair of hazel eyes. There seemed to b a trend going with the striking eye-color in this place. Too bad none of them belonged to the person he desired to take such eyes from.

"Good morning, Mr. Chen," he greeted, returning to a smile once the boy was settled, sloppy though his posture may have been. And here he'd expected something more considering what the patient file mentioned. This boy was supposedly well bred despite having a large conflict with his family. "My name is Doctor Jizabel Disraeli. I'll be your therapist during your stay here."

The glaring was well noted, along with the clear distrust and apparent disinterest in the whole situation the boy was emanating. Nothing but a spoiled brat, then. Well, with his roster he was bound to have gotten one sooner or later. Pity that it was sooner. Jizabel had been in such a hopeful mood after Mr. Federline's session. "Since this is to be our first session, you are welcome to speak on anything you'd like," he offered. Since it had worked with his first patient of the day, he saw no reason not to make a second attempt at allowing the patient the floor. This boy did not look as though he would like to be led through a conversation anyway.

Zuko frowned at the name he was being referred to by. If this was how the conversation was going to be, then he didn't want to waste his breath. Unfortunately, he was stuck in the room for the rest of the shift, and he wasn't too happy about wasting his time either.

"There's nothing I want to talk with you about-- unless you can tell me why I'm really here." He didn't expect a truthful answer out of the doctor, but he might as well let the man know his terms of the discussion.

"Ah, but that is precisely the reason why you are here though," Dr. Disraeli folded his fingers atop his desk, not smiling, but not necessarily frowning either, "because you do not remember-- all those terrible things you did, specifically your actions towards your family."

His head tilted to the side, eyes still focused across at the boy's face. A burn mark such as that would have earned him a good scolding by his own father. Alexis was quite strict about Jizabel keeping his face from any further scarring - the small slit Cain had managed had been all he would allow. The case according to Mr. Chen's file was a far different matter though, regardless of how similar the indications of abuse were. "Or their own towards you."

"What do you think you know about my family?" Zuko tried to sneer at the man's comments as if they meant nothing, but the doctor was treading in dangerous territory. Remembering Homura's message left him feeling uneasy, but Zuko reminded himself that nothing the staff had said so far sounded anything close to the truth. All of it was there in that stupid file sitting in his closet, and he mentally kicked himself for not reading it over before coming to the session. He would have been better prepared for the crap that was about to spew out of Disraeli's mouth.

"Enough," Dr. Disraeli responded, choosing in this case to be vague. The boy was clearly angry with something, and giving him what he wanted was hardly how Jizabel would reward such bad behavior. "And by your earlier words, I would assume it is a subject you wish to speak on. Family is quite often responsible for admitting their own to places such as this, you realize."

This situation was no different. Yet another family not so tightly knit that ended up fractured. Extreme cases always did end with at the very least one family member gracing an institution's doors. Tragic, and yet oh-so appropriate. It was a punishment for both parties for allowing things to crumble so terribly.

"Is that so?"

Zuko shifted in his seat. He wouldn't put it past his father or sister to have him thrown in a place like this-- if this was his world. But he couldn't blame either of them for his current position. Even if they had the means to send him here, there were plenty of Fire Nation prisons to torture him in, and Azula would probably want to watch.

"Yes," he nodded,

Jizabel almost found this boy cute by temperament alone. So demanding when it was Dr. Disraeli who was supposed to be presenting the questions. Maybe he could have some reward for that. Jizabel would have granted Cain some amount of humor given the same situation. It was only fair.

"And in this case, they indeed were responsible," he provided, "Even that mother whom you've not seen in a while. She must be so concerned over her little boy."

"This is a joke." Zuko gave a derisive snort, trying to hide his increasing agitation over the conversation. Disraeli could talk about his father or sister all he wanted, Zuko didn't care what he had to say about them. But no one from this place had any right to talk about her.

"She wouldn't, and if you had any idea what you were talking about, you'd know that," he replied slowly, an imitation of calm.

"Do I seem to be joking, Mr. Chen?" Dr. Disraeli asked, tone amazingly stern, "I've better things to do with my time than that."

Really, this child had no idea what he was really up to. If he did, then yes, it might have been considered as a "joke", but Jizabel's business was never for mere fun. This was research, and however much fun he had as a result of that research was only that, a result. Nothing more.

He leaned back in his chair slightly, noting the defensive tone Mr. Chen had taken. "For how long it has been since you've seen her, you appear to know a lot about your mother then," he commented, "But I suppose that would only be natural. Seeing your parents split as they did would have been a traumatic thing for one so young."

"However, unless you believe your mother has changed from when your parents separated, then tell me: what part of this would she not have done when she only thought it best for you?" he asked, focusing on the mother. Speaking on her had gotten the boy to talk more than he had before now, so it stood that he felt the need to speak in defensive of the woman. A boy who loved his mother, and who was truly loved in return.

"Placing you here was out of love - a parental concern for one's child, you see. To deny something like that would be the same as denying her love for you," he smiled slightly, "would you not agree?"

"Separated?" Zuko let out a bitter laugh at the doctor's claim. "That's a strange way to put it..." Yes of course his parents were separated-- because his father was a power hungry tyrant who had no problem sacrificing his own family to get what he wanted, including his wife. At least Zuko knew that she was alive, but his blood still boiled at the thought of his father's actions and how his mother had paid for them. She didn't have to do what she did-- he wasn't even totally sure of the truth in his father's lies about that night, but she told him that everything she did was for him.

"So my mother protected me from being killed, just to send me to a place that tries to kill me every night? Gee, that makes sense..." Zuko retorted, but his hand was gripping the arm of his chair, forcing him to stay in his seat. If he really wanted this nutjob to shut up he could jump across the table and take him out before anyone outside realized what was going on, but risking another night of sedation wasn't worth it. He needed to get his rage under control, back to where he was before he got here.

"How would you like me to put it, then?" he asked, curious. Mr. Chen apparently had his own thoughts on the matter, protesting the doctor's words as he had.

But then something else was said that drew Dr. Disraeli's attention away from the subject of family. "Someone has tried to kill you here?" His expression turned to one of surprise. Mental Hospitals may not have been the safest of places considering those it housed, but saying that there was an attempt made on his life each night was a bit much. Perhaps he was merely exaggerating the reason behind his injured leg. And aside from that, patients were supposed to be in their rooms at night. Not that there were not some clever enough to get out of their rooms for some reason or another, but this boy would not fall into that "some" for Jizabel. Young Mr. Malloy however...

Dr. Disraeli gave his left desk drawer a passing glance. Maybe that was it.

"If you honestly believe your life is being threatened here," he looked back up, "please let me know, Mr. Chen. It is the job of the staff to ensure every patient's safety within these walls." It wasn't necessarily his job to ensure so, but the therapist was there to draw out information for the rest of the staff also. These meetings had more than a few reasons for being conducted, after all.

"It's his fault that she left, but if your file can't tell you the real reason, why should I? You're no help, you're in on this."

Zuko paused at the doctor's second question. "You don't know about that?" He could be lying-- after all, the nurses denied it too, but Zuko would rather talk about monsters and get off the subject of his family.

"You should stay here one night and see what happens. Or maybe try talking to that lunatic you work for. I guess he doesn't tell you all everything."

Dr. Disraeli sighed, "Your file is about you, Mr. Chen, not them," he presented no defense, "I've no details other than the fact that your parents are no longer together." A fact that, by now, could not be disproved if Mr. Chen tried to step back.

"It is only my second day as a Doctor here," he explained since apparently he was supposed to know something about this patient that he did not. "Therefore I'm not as well informed as some others of the staff, I'm afraid. Besides that, I've been instructed that therapists are not permitted to stay during the evening shifts." The part about Dr. Landel he chose to ignore. It wasn't professional to speak about one's employer no matter what the situation. "If there is something I should know about the night, then either you will have to tell me, or I'll need to speak with your nurse instead."

This wasn't just aggravating Zuko, now it was giving him a headache. Fine, he might as well just say it, maybe it would get him kicked out of the office. That would be nice.

"All of our doors open at night. Monsters attack people in the hallways." He jabbed a finger at his leg. "Something that looked like a giant cat did this to me."

"Really?"

Dr. Disraeli placed a hand to his chin, eying the boy in contemplation. He knew better than to completely trust the words of an insane child, but ignoring them was not something he'd do either. There was always something that could be gleaned from what even the psychotic said, and this was no different.

But for there to be "monsters" in the hallways... but no, Jizabel had yet to attempt anything here. All of his experiments were on hold as well. Was it possible that the Organization already had a hand on this place? Or was he just giving the words far too much credit? The latter, he decided. Really, what purpose would Delilah have had for a mental institution? Unless, of course, they had finally decided that every last member needed admittance. What an amusing thought.

"And this happens every night, does it?" he decided it would do well for him to pry into such an area. Really, he had nothing to lose. If it was merely a fantasy of the boy's, then there was no harm, but if there was more to it, then Jizabel wanted to know. What dark secrets did this place hold, if any, and could he use them to his advantage?

"Yes, every night," Zuko answered suspiciously. He couldn't tell if the doctor was humoring him or actually believed his words, but seeing as how he hadn't been thrown out he didn't have much of a choice but to continue.

"What I ran into isn't even the worst of the things that are out there..."

"You've met other things than cats, then, on these other nights?" he asked. The boy clearly had more he was not telling, and since Jizabel was interested, he would not be letting Mr. Chen go until he was satisfied. Or until the hour was up, whichever came first.

He tried to recall if he'd seen anything hinting towards monsters or even normal household animals in the patient file, but could not think that there was anything. So this story was probably based out of here then. To his knowledge, the only animals on the grounds would be the birds and perhaps squirrels that came and went in the outdoor areas. Maybe a stray cat had climbed in over a fence.

"One other," Zuko admitted, talking more to himself than the doctor as he slowly recalled what happened. "The first night I was brought here, I saw a man attacking people in the Sun Room... but he was taller than any human-- he wasn't a patient."

He'd almost forgotten about that encounter, which wasn't too surprising since his group didn't actually engage the creature before they found themselves back in their beds. That was probably a good thing...

He considered a moment before reaching for a bottom drawer again, the same one he'd gone for during Mr. Federline's session, and for the same reason. This time though, there was an actual subject aside from intricate blood and gore - a tall human in the Sun Room, was it?

"Do you think you could draw this man for me? Or the giant cat, perhaps?" he asked, setting a new binder and a pencil towards the far edge of his desk. "It doesn't have to be perfect since you may not be the best at drawing, but I'm curious." And he was. Mr. Chen did not seem to be lying, so that naturally meant he believed the strange words coming out of his mouth. There had to be pictures to go along with them. What did this boy think he'd seen attacking him during the evening hours?

Dayshift 32: Doctor's Office 8 [Dr. Disraeli]

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