A/N: Based on the true story of my experience in 1E psyche ward. All names and descriptions have been changed to retain anonymity of fellow patients. Dedicated to my girlfriend, who stuck with me the whole way through.



Izaya kicked the orderly square in the chest and back-flipped away, only to find another pair or arms trying to pin him down. The flickblade was out and slashing, a frown forming on Izaya's face. Resorting to a weapon against professionals was a sure way to lose it – or himself – to the system. And he did not want that.

How did this happen?

Shizu-chan of course.

Izaya was convinced that this was to get back at him for his most recent offense against the man – thirty days in jail for damage to public property. Shizuo might have been able to pay the fine if Izaya hadn't temporarily frozen his bank account. This had to be revenge, sicking the mental health community against him.

It was one battle he would actually

His eloquent words fell upon deaf ears. It took seven people to pin his wirey and flexible body and worm the blade out of his fingers. By the time the tranquilizer hit him, Izaya had injured five of them.

So he was a little groggy when he woke up in the ER.

"What... the hell...?" he managed. His throat felt like cotton, his limbs were heavy and weak. The beeps and ticks of a monitor next to him quickened while a mildly painful pressure suddenly started to tourniquet his arm – a blood pressure cuff.

132/84 it read. Pulse 92, which quickly rose to 116 when it started to all come back to him. The machine alerted a nurse, who then went to fetch the on-call doctor.

"Well, well, looks like they finally caught you, Orihara-san..."

"Namie-chan?" Izaya asked, a little confused.

"What am I doing here?" she chuckled with a hint of scorn. "You pay me shit – I work here on the weekends."

"Get me out of here."

"Hmm … unlikely," she said, flipping through papers on her clipboard. "You have seven accounts of assault against you, not to mention the call on your suicidal tendencies..."

"Suicidal?" Izaya demanded. "Come on, Namie-chan! You know that's not true!"

"Do I?" she asked, narrowing her eyes, thin and ugly lips curving into a vindictive smile.

Izaya was saturated with a dreadful feeling he hadn't felt in a long time – fear. "I'll pay the charges off."

"I figured as much – and I can't really stop you from doing that. But I think – professionally that is – that a few days in the psyche ward would do you some good."

Izaya laughed, though a hint of nervousness could be heard in its sharpness. "You're kidding!" Namie just stared coldly at him – she was dead serious. Izaya lost his mirth immediately. "You're not."


"What, you want a raise? I can make it happen."

"No, I don't think so."

"Shizu-chan put you up to this!"

"Perhaps. Either way, this will teach you a lesson you'll never forget." She smiled nastily again. "Ever stayed in a mental unit before?"



"Hey! WAIT!"

Namie continued to walk away.


Namie waved her hand, disregarding him and headed back to the emergency room's nurse's station. "Seventy-two hours minimum," he heard her tell another medical staff, who rolled in with a wheelchair.

Thus began Orihara Izaya's stay at One-East at Tokyo Medical Center for Psychiatrics.