Browns eyes flashed open, flickering into the faint light projected from dim overhanging banked lights. He didn't remember how long he had been here, but he knew where he was... roughly. White washed walls where surrounding him on all sides, and as he was wheeled along a long echoing hallway he saw a few bland green painted doors pass by. Each door had a recessed barred glass window in its green surface, placed at neck height, allowing anyone to peer into the room at the occupants. As he was wheeled around a bend in the hallway, the wheelchair he was strapped to hit an uneven patch of linoleum and he was jostled roughly, his tightly restrained view of the hallway swirling for a few moments, showing him a glimpse of the banks of florescent lights that trailed along the roof into infinity.  

     He lay on the floor where the surprised orderly had left him after having been jostled by the uneven patch, the old fashioned wheel chair having cut the orderly's hand with its rough handlebars. He would have felt rather badly for the man... if he wasn't currently laying on a cold floor starring at a dull whitewashed wall. As he lay there with his cheek fur smashed into the cold floor he tried to force his mind to slide back into how he had come to this place. His brown eyes slide closed once again and he drew in a shaky breath through the rough leather strap that kept his muzzle tightly closed. 

     He remembered a night... a very dark night, where there had been another fight. It seemed to him as if his parents had fought all the time those days... almost always about something random... something that seemed... meaningless really... his father forgetting to take the trash out or his mother not picking up something from the pharmacy... any little problem would start it off and the screams would start. He remembered the flash of lightning outside of his window, reflected on something metallic flashing in the dark of his room, and a searing pain lancing across his chest. He could remember screaming for his mother, and wishing that she could hear him... and most of all he could remember the taste and smell of blood and fear. 

     Suddenly his eyes snapped open again as he was roughly picked up and set right upon the floor again, the wheelchair suddenly moving down the long hallway once more. He noticed that after their unexpected layover, the chair had sustained damage to the left wheel, as it now rubbed against his thigh ever few moments, chaffing against the white "slacks" they dressed him in each morning. Soon the wheel had managed to tear a small hole in the fabric, and his fur began to chaff and shred at each squeak of the wheel, making his ears flick in pain and annoyance each time the noise shattered the otherwise silent halls. 

     Finally they pulled him to a stop in front of the only red colored door in sight, which from experience he knew was the only red colored door on the entire floor. "Patient number 5687943 to see Doctor Freeman," The orderly announced dully, before pressing the doors permission pad, signaling to the doctor that the patient was ready to be processed through. A few moments later the door opened with a pressurized hiss, a burst of colder air greeting the tied patient as he was pushed inside, past the large security door. 

     "Ah Christopher... it's a pleasure to see you as always," a voice said, without emotion as the patient was wheeled into the room and stopped before a wide oak desk. He was not allowed to leave the confines of the wheelchair, and the muzzle attached to his mouth was only loosened enough to allow him to respond verbally, making sure he still could not fully open his jaws. Christopher Adders eyes flicked upwards to regard the face of the man who had made his life a living hell for the past two years. The large Doberman was well dressed, in a suit coat, dress shirt and designer slacks along with silk tie. He had his usual cufflinks and pocket watch chain glinting along his wrists and belt, and his headfur was plastered in place. Compared to Christopher's own ragged appearance he was worlds apart, as the young rat had been unable to do much to his fur since he had been placed into the wheelchair this morning... not that he had the use of his paws to do much beforehand. He had been placed on the "restricted" movement section since he first arrived in the asylum, and as he starred up at doctor Freeman a fresh burst of hatred flooded through his system. 

     "I'm looking forward to picking up where we left off last week Chris... I do hope you won't have another outburst like last time... " The doctor sat himself down behind his oak desk and nodded to the orderly, dismissing him back to the nurses' station. This was how it began each time Chris had been dragged into the office... the doctor would dismiss the orderly since he had nothing to fear from someone tied down to a wheelchair... in a straightjacket... with his mouth muzzled in place. Chris had to tamp down the urge to growl at the larger fur in front of him, and his large front teeth began to gnaw nervously at his lower lip. "Now now... none of that... you know how badly you can end up damaging yourself when you slip into your little nervous habits," The doctor chided, tapping one long claw against the desk as he starred hard at the young rodent in front of him. "We've been here now for over two years trying to work through your problems... ever since the day Sergeant Farren brought you into our care... we found you in the ruin of your own home... nothing but skin and bones... chained up to a wall and covered in filthy rages," The doctor clicked his tongue softly, "Quite a shame... what you must have gone through really... it boggles the mind..." 

     Chris starred up at the large canine in front of him, waiting for the inevitable questions to start up again. Each time he came here he racked his brains for something to tell them to finally gain his freedom. At first he figured they just wanted to know what had happened to him, and when he explained that he could only remember bits and pieces... flashes and disjointed images... he was thoroughly disappointed when the doctors sent him back to his cell, without even releasing the jacket that constricted his movements. Chris was brought out of his memories by the voice of his doctor as he continued, "Of course... there's still the matter of your parents... we know what we... think happened to your father... but your mother... We never did find her body... and you still claim that she was held within the house with you?" 

    Chris shuddered as he looked down, as much as the restraints allowed him to. "Yes... she was in the house with me.... My father kept her in the basement... kept her chained to the wall in the basement of our house like he kept me on the first floor... that was after... after the first night when he... attacked me." 

     Chris swallowed roughly as he drew off talking, his mind remembering the flash of lightning on steal again, and the piercing pain that had lanced along his side. That night was still hazy in his mind, filled with screams, pain and the taste of blood as he was forced into the chains that would define his life for longer then he could remember. "Like I've told you before... I don't know how long he kept us there... days ran together... it could have been years...I know he had to adjust the chains around my neck twice... and I know the things... he used to cut into my flesh... the words.... would heal over time before he would split them open again." Chris's teeth ground together suddenly in pain as he shuddered at the memories of the words his father cut into his flesh, the words that still existed as faint scare patterns laced over the new growth of fur over his chest and back. "But you know all of this already! I told you everything more then once! You know I'm not a threat to anyone so why are you keeping me here," Chris thrashed against the side of his chair, his eyes flashing angrily as Doctor Freeman flashed him a slow smile. 

     "But don't you see Chris your answering your own question really... all this pent up anger... and so many unanswered questions... If we let you go we'd never know the truth would we? All we really know so far is your side of the story. Your father hasn't been seen since the fire that ripped your house apart... and your other... well whatever happened to her she certainly isn't going to talk is she," The doctor flashed Chris a broad skeletal smile as he said this and let his clawed fingers tap along the wood of his desk. Chris ground his teeth even more, forcing the angry retort and his shaking hands to stop. He knew that any reaction he gave to Doctor Freeman would simply allow the older fur to torment him even further. After a few moments, the doctor gave a small nod and padded back to his chair, sitting down slowly. "See? you can learn to control yourself a little bit... and when you manage to learn enough control... perhaps you will be released... but in the meantime... perhaps you have progressed somewhat... and you haven't shown a tendency to hurt yourself... yet... " Doctor Freeman plucked a pen from his desk and held it in his left hand, starring at it for a few moments as he watched Christopher out of the corner of his eyes. Finally he plucked the pen up in his dominant right hand and signed a paper that Chris had not noticed before, tucking it on top of a clipboard and pressing the call button on the office intercom resting a few inches away. 

     It took about three minutes for the surely orderly, now with a much cleaner looking bandage to return to Doctor Freeman's office. He grumbled slightly as he took up his position and began to wheel the young rat away. "Just a moment," The large Doberman said as he stopped his orderly, picking up the signed clipboard and handing it to the orderly, "I've decided to remove Mr. Adders movement restrictions from now on. Once you have wheeled him to his cell you are to remove his straight jacket and get him a proper gown. he will have freedom to move over the normal grounds, as long as he doesn't leave his floor or disturb any of the other patients." The orderly nodded curtly, giving the rodent boy a glare, as if blaming him for his wounded hand and grumbling more as he plucked the clipboard from the doctors hand and began to wheel Christopher away. 

     As he began to pass by the whitewashed walls and the endless green doorways, Chris suddenly felt that he might actually be able to survive the next few months... as long as he kept his head down and didn't get himself into too much trouble. As he left the office however, he couldn't see Doctor Freeman's eyes following his chairs progress, or the skeletal smile that still laced his face.