It's time to play again, Lain...

The light reflected on the lenolium floor, moving with him as he was led to the room. A guard was behind him, a big, sad man who was only working this job for the Dental plan. He was a lesser being in all ways, except for his club. A long, black peice of metal that was carried at his side. That club had been used on Lain more than once, and he didn't want to provoke another.

"Get in there, ya' freak." Said the guard, giving Lain a hard shove in the direction of the door. He could smell something coming from the room beyond the door. A pleasant smell, but he couldn't place it. Lain tucked some of his hair behind an ear and turned to see if the guard had left. He had.

He took a deep breath, and knocked lightly on the door.

Full Name: Adams, Lain.

Diagnosis: Previous sessions with Belinda Burleigh, Leonard Heintz, and Joseph Fanning have determined that the patient has several mental illnesses, including Auditory Hallucinations, Schizophrenia, and Multiple Personality Disorder. The patient has been kept in solitary confinement and is escorted by the institute's standard security. Adams' current medication are...


A manilla folder laid open, its contents – numerous sheets of statistics and analyses – spread out in a haphazard fashion across the small desk. A woman, young and fairly pleasing to the eye, was seated behind it. Thin-framed, reading glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, helping her gray eyes read the very fine print of the reports before her. Legs were crossed, her posture relaxed. She was dressed in a simple, slate blue blouse and solid black skirt that was extended to just above her knees. Her hair, long and dirty blonde, was in its usual, messy bun.

The soft knock tore her gaze away from the piles of papers. "Come in," she called out – the woman had a soft, yet clear voice that wasn't too high- or low-pitched. She stood from her gray, cushioned chair and began to shift through the papers, gathering most and returning them to their folder. Once organized, she reached for her clip-on board and a mechanical pencil.

"Sorry, if it seems a little... untidy. I lost track of time." She also had a pleasant smile, small and just a slight curve of her full lips.

Lain opened the door the see the slightly messy office and the woman in it. She was attractive, and Lain felt a hard lump in his throat.

The pretty ones always got hurt.

He walked forward and sat down on the couch across from her desk. He rested his chin on his palm, murky eyes watching as she looked back, pencil at the ready. His gaze lowered to her torso, then back up to her face.

Yes... very pretty...

"Time is something easily lost, Doctor." He said, his deep smooth voice strangly quiet. His face held no emotion, a calm mask of nothing. The scars running past his eyes and onto his cheeks looked like pale tears, frozen after falling.

"I suppose you'll be asking me questions?" He asked, ignoring the little voice in his head. It was telling him to read her, to find her innermost thoughts and dreams and squander them. It was also telling him to hurt her. To torture her. To bleed her.

To play with her.

The woman leaned against the front of the desk, crossing her legs once again. She preferred to stand during sessions, oftentimes pacing the floor while questioning the patient.

At hearing his inquiry, she nodded to Lain, still smiling good-humoredly. "Of course. My name is Regan Lebrecht, by the way... unless you prefer calling me Doctor," she answered.

Lain didn't nod, but instead decided to look up at her, a strange gleam in his eye.

The whispers were getting louder

"Well, Miss Lebrecht... proceed with your first question. I'll try to answer it with as little pessimism as possible." He said, his eyes still boring into hers.

Lain... Lain... let me play. Let me touch her, let me tempt her. It has been too long...

No. He wouldn't listen. The effort of blocking the voices was begenning to give him a headache.

"Oh, I don't mind if you answer pessimistically," replied Regan, studying him with care. She wasn't immune to the unnerving gaze he was boring into her, but she was familiar with it. It was a look she received from many of her previous cases. "Just make sure your answers are truthful."

She brushed her long bangs away from her face before continuing. "You grew up in a local orphanage... St. Anne's, if I'm not mistaken? How was your experience there? Did you interact well with others?"

Lain closed his eyes. He felt as though something was trying to rip his skull in half. He brought his hands up to the sides f his face, as if to keep it in place. LAIN wanted out. Soon.

"I had friends. Tommy, Fred, Jack. We played together-" Play... yes! Let me do just that! "And talked. But things changed." He said, little emotion in his voice.

"What changed?" She didn't see him clutch his face, her gaze directed downward as she penned something on the paper. When she did eventually look back up, Regan paused and leaned forward, concern creeping onto her features.

"Are you alright, Lain? I can call in a nurse if you aren't feeling well."

"I'm fi- Agnh...." He stopped, a stab of pain running through him. A feeling of dread washed over him as he felt himself slowly being pushed aside, made to wait in a corner of his mind. LAIN wasn't like him. Soon, he was gone.

When LAIN spoke, it was in a different tone. Still deep and like silk, an air of seduction and mockery was added.

"I'm perfectly fine, Regan." He said, looking up at her. His hands were now resting on his thighs, and a grin slowly crept up on his face.

"As for your question, many things changed. I no longer cared for the company of my friends. They were... what's the word? Ah, yes. Inferior to me. I strongly disliked it when they talked to me. So, I decided to cut one of them one day." He said nonchalantly. "Then the damn Matron decided that she didn't like how I was acting. She decided to send me to a doctor not unlike yourself. They decided I was a nutjob and threw me in here." He finished, still grinning. Then added, "Though, you're much more attractive than my first Shrink."

"Lain?" She reached forward to grab his shoulder gently, sensing with a twinge of worry his acute pain. "Hold on, I'll go get someone–!"

Regan stopped, however, when she felt the tense shoulder relax. The cynical bearing ebbed away, replaced with an air of come-hither. What shocked her the most, however, was his voice. The change in tone was enough to cause her hand to instinctively retract.

"You're..." You're not Lain. That's what she wanted to say, of course, but the words were caught in her throat, refusing to be spoken. Regan could recognize the signs of Multiple Personality Disorder when she saw it; she didn't spend eight years studying it for nothing.

Slowly, she edged back to rest against the desk. She had seen MPD in "action" before, and it did not bother her at all. However, seeing that mocking grin and the way he eyed her disturbed her greatly. She wouldn't let it show, though. So, with a numbed expression, she continued to question him. Well, this new Lain.

"Have you injured any others? If so, why?"

LAIN rose to his feet. He didn't approach her... yet.

In the same unsettling voice, he aswered her question.

"Well, only myself if you're referring to physical injury. As for psycholocical..." He trailed off, chuckling lightly. He raised his arm, the light scars visible in the fleurescent light.

"I get bored, what can I say?" He said, the terrible grin plastered on his face.

Psychological?

Regan examined his self-inflicted mars with the indifference only a doctor could possess. Or perhaps it was forced indifference.

She shifted her attention to her clip-on board and jotted another quick note down. "So, there was no purpose to your mutilation?"

Strange. Every self-mutilator she encountered was suffering depression or some sort of trauma. If the other Lain was cutting himself, his reason must've been one of the two.

Interesting. She felt for him. Very little, true, but it was still there. Very interesting.

"What else is there to do in a padded room with nothing but a copy of War of the Worlds to keep you entertained?" He asked, stepping forward. He could smell her. The scent that he couldn't identify earlier.

"What perfume are you wearing?"

She glanced up to him, obviously startled by this spontaneous query. "W-What?"

He was closer now, she noted. Almost invading her personal space.

Clearing her throat, she answered him bluntly. "Rain and water lily. However, this session wasn't arranged to talk about fragrances. Now, what are your feelings for your parents?"

He leaned slightly closer, taking in a deep breath of her. His raven hair was hanging in his face, his eyes shining with an eerie light.

"Very nice. You know, Regan, you're too pretty to be a Shrink. You should be... hmm.. a Secretary, maybe? Or a lifeguard." He grinned evily, penetrating her mental walls. He entered her mind, reading and revealing. Only is she had a bit of magic in her would she feel him enter, and only then she would feel little more than a slight headache.

"I'm not a secretary, and I'm not a lifeguard. I'm a psychiatrist. I've wanted to be a psychiatrist since I was thirteen," Regan stated without reserve. Now, he was invading her space. A few more steps, and she would have to call in security.

"Just, please... answer my question." As she said this, a dull throb of pain started to erupt in her head. It was like someone was prodding her brain a little too hard. She raised a hand to her temple, brow knitted.

In a blink, LAINs hand was on Regans cheek.

"No you won't. Security would ruin this moment we're having." He said, a low chuckle coming afterwards. He decided that he had used his vocal chords too long. Too much trouble to use them. Might as well go straight to the source, hm?

Tapping into her mind once more, he moved his hand only to have his left index finger postitioned under her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

And the fun has just begun. He thought to her in the same tone as his voice.

The headache seemed to intensify at Lain's touch, the pain with each pulse increasing. She clutched the side of her face, her eyes pinned to the floor and refusing to meet his, even when he spoke again.

"No you won't. Security would ruin this moment we're having."

That made no sense, Regan thought between the headache's throbs. She never said anything about... security...

A digit pushed her chin upward, forcing her gaze to be torn from from the heavy, stone grey carpet. As she stared inertly at his pale face and dark eyes, the young woman's body was paralyzed; all urges to fight back, to push him away were quelled by her rising fear.

And the fun has just begun.

Then, his voice was in Regan's head, mocking her still. Her fear and shock escalated considerably.

"Please, stop..." she murmured, choking on the words. This isn't Lain, can't be Lain...

With a sadistic grin, LAIN brought his face slightly closer to hers. He inhaled again, taking her in.

Why should I stop? I'm having too much fun. You don't know how long it's been since that coward broke down and let me out. He exhaled, looking her up and down once more.

Besides... I can make you wish I'd never leave. He added.

Dark grey eyes widened at that last comment, and she slowly recoiled from his touch. Oh, God.

She started to glance around wildly, looking for anything... an escape route, a weapon to ward him off... She just needed to get away. NOW.

Regan then noticed it, resting on her desk amidst scattered envelopes: a silver letter opener, glinting dully in the fluorescent light. She leaned back carefully and grappled it. Without a second thought, she swung the blunt knife at Lain's face.

The blade cut through the soft flesh of his cheek, but LAIN didn't seem to feel it. In fact, though a crimson strak was soon running down his neck, he seemed rather content. Gleeful, even.

Very nice. It's better when you fight me... He grabbed for her hand, crushing it with his own. She dropped the metal opener, and it hit the desk with a loud clang.

It's sad really... you're not fighting hard enough. Fight back with your mind. Try. He said, almost kindly, as if he was beconing her to do so.

"Ah–!" A soft cry of pain at the crushing grip. She tried to wrench her hand out of his, but his strength surpassed hers. Wrist aching and head throbbing, Regan gritted her teeth, her eyes drifting to the blood-stained letter opener. Her only weapon was now out of reach.

Only when Lain finished speaking did she looked up to him, visibly bewildered.

Fight back with my mind..?

Regan couldn't. She had never "attacked" someone with her mind before, after all. How was she going to mentally fight him off now? Helplessness welled up inside of the resident psychiatrist, and she stood there limply before him, hand still within his grasp.

His amused expression faded, and he squeezed her hand harder. He had expected some effort out of her. He had aked very nicely, after all.

Do it Regan. Concentrate. I want you to be able to fight back. Who knows... if you can, maybe I won't kill you. He finished with his usual grin. But something was wrong. There was a small tic in the grin, like a muscle acting up.

Dammit, Lain! Keep quiet! He roared mentally to both himself and her.

Regan's hope rose a little at hearing LAIN's mental outburst. Lain..? So, he wasn't gone completely.

She clamped her eyes shut and began to concentrate through the pain. She eventually pinpointed his presence in her mind and began to fight him off. If she were asked to describe the process, Regan wouldn't have been able to express it precisely. Metaphorically, it was a river of strong, compelling thoughts that she built up behind a dam. The stress magnified her headache to the point that she thought she would surely pass out, but still she continued.

Then, when she felt she could no longer hold them in, Regan opened the dam. They rushed through her mind, a heavy force that slammed into LAIN. The thoughts were all the same, a loud and vehement scream:

GET OUT OF MY HEAD.

As the surge hit him, LAIN smiled. He felt the pain from it, the physical pain and was, in a strange way, proud of her. She was talented.

Not bad, girlie... not bad. But you're going to have to do a lot better to keep me away. He said, coming do close his body pressed firmly against hers. He reached for the letter opener, still red with his blood. He raised it to her throat, his other hand pinning her two behind her back.

Are you afraid to die, Regan?