Medical Center.
Psychiatry.
Two people sat facing each other.
"So, how do you feel?"
The psychiatrist in a white coat held a medical chart, looking it over and over before finally raising his head to look at the person across from him with a professional smile.
"Not very good."
Soldier King Military Doctor sat across from him, looking at the handcuffs securing him to the chair. He gave a bitter smile. "Is this really necessary? I'm awake now."
"Are you sure?"
The psychiatrist smiled as he used the Socratic questioning method lawyers loved so much.
"..."
Soldier King Military Doctor was speechless.
He was a doctor too, even if he was not a psychiatrist.
Still, he knew the routines of psychiatry.
And because he knew them, he felt helpless.
If he did not honestly reveal his inner thoughts and accept the question-and-answer pattern set by the psychiatrist across from him, this meaningless conversation would keep repeating.
In other words, he might continue being treated like a mental patient. And because he was considered violent and dangerous, he might be sent to a heavily guarded, high-security psychiatric hospital.
Once inside, they would keep pumping him full of sedatives and tranquilizers. Even if he was not sick, he would become sick.
That was unacceptable.
"All right."
Having thought it through, Soldier King Military Doctor sighed. "I'm not doing very well."
"Tell me about it."
Seeing this, the psychiatrist's smile became much more sincere.
What they hated most were psychiatric patients who stubbornly believed nothing was wrong with them. Those were difficult to deal with.
"I may have PTSD."
Soldier King Military Doctor gave a bitter smile.
"Why do you think that?"
The psychiatrist smiled.
"...Because the sound of a medical helicopter's rotors made me feel as if I had returned to the