Post 4: Aron Ralston 4

4:40 pm, January 3rd, Brockton Bay City Hospital

Almost immediately after Panacea was done healing Taylor Miss Militia came in. Looking at her in her military-esque fatigues, an American flag bandana around her face like some resistance fighter beating back an evil commie invasion, Taylor couldn’t help but think that the hero looked pretty damned badass.

Which was just fitting, after all; Double-M’s power was basically guns. Which sounds awesome, until you think about how that basically makes her just as good as any cop, who might carry a pistol, have a shotgun in the front seat, and a rifle in the trunk. Double-M was left with just that, going up against the likes of Lung, Oni Lee, Kaiser, and Hookwolf, superhuman monsters one and all.

So, definitely a badass.

Miss Militia sat down in the chair next to the left of Taylor’s bed.

“I’d offer you some water, but…” Taylor motioned with her left arm, currently restrained to the side of the bed with a padded cuff and wide belt.

Taylor couldn’t see because of the bandanna, but she could tell that Miss Militia grinned briefly at that. “Yes, that’s standard procedure after an event like earlier,” Militia replied.

“So, what brings you here?” Taylor asked. “I’m sure this isn’t an interrogation, not without my father present.”

Militia snorted. “The rules are somewhat different for capes, but no. I just wanted to ask you if there was anything you wanted to say before he showed up. Anything that you couldn’t say with him present.”

“Wait, are you saying?” Taylor asked. “No way! Dad never did anything bad!” she exclaimed.

The heroine relaxed somewhat. “Well,” she said awkwardly, “that’s good then. He should be here soon.”

“Right,” Taylor replied, also bitten by the awkward bug. Totally not badass, she thought in the back of her head.

The unpleasant silence stretched on until they could both hear the tromp of a pair of booted feet. Both perked up, expecting to be rescued from the moment by a newly arrived Danny Hebert.

Which was why both were surprised when a pair of Brockton Bay police officers stepped through the door. Both had tight crew cuts and were fit, reasonably handsome white men in their late twenties or early thirties. One, with brown hair, had a nametag that read H. Jones. The other, a sandy blond, J. Hendricks.

“Officers, the PRT has jurisdiction on this case. Why are you here?” Miss Militia asked sharply. Taylor wanted to know the answer to that question too; her instincts were blaring their warning.

One of the officers, Jones, opened up his breast pocket, and took out a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he handed it over to Miss Militia.

“Ma’am,” he said with a faint sound of distaste at the respectful term of address, “we’ve got an IEA transport order for Miss Hebert here.”

“An IEA transport order?” Militia questioned, puzzled.

“Involuntary Emergency Admission, Ma’am. For mental health,” Officer Hendricks added helpfully in a strong New England accent. “Dr. Green signed off on it. And here’s a PRA-73, for you and yours to assist in transport with an escort.”

Miss Militia frowned. “This is highly irregular.”

“Ma’am, I just get told to go here, go there. That’s above my pay grade,” Jones replied.

“Let me just call the judge and check everything’s kosher,” Militia asked. It was clear it wasn’t a question. She was looking at Jones, and didn’t notice the way Hendricks’ lip curled at the word ‘kosher.’

“Hey, I’m getting paid either way,” Jones agreed. “It’s no skin off our nose.”

“Why don’t we step outside,” Militia suggested. It was clear it wasn’t a suggestion, and that she trusted both men about as far as she could throw them. Double-M may have been a badass, but she wasn’t very big and didn’t have any super-strength to go with “all the guns”.

“Yes Ma’am, be happy to,” Hendricks replied. “In fact, why don’t we get some coffee, give you time to check with whoever you need. We’ll be back in five minutes, alright?”

Miss Militia nodded, visibly relieved. They all left the room, leaving Taylor alone.

This, she thought, is quite the interesting development.

A few minutes later the police returned. An obviously suspicious Miss Militia followed them as they brought Taylor outside, cuffed her hands behind her back, and loaded her gently into the rear of the police car. Jones and Hendricks got into the front seat and pulled out, Miss Militia a visible escort in the rear-view mirror on her motorbike.

A moment later Hendricks, sitting in the passenger seat, half turned around to face Taylor.

“Sorry about all that, kid. I know how scary this can be. But you’ll be fine, with your own people lookin’ out for ya. And about the cuffs, if I didn’t put those on ya’, then that Towel-head woulda known something was up.”

“That’s right. We know you didn’t do anything wrong. And we’ll make sure nothing bad comes of it. Hell, after what that nigger Hess put you through, you should get a damned medal.”

Ah, Taylor thought. The famous Brockton Bay Nazi “community organization”. Now it makes sense.

Her lips quietly said “Thank you,” while her mind thought I’ve been taken by some Nazi plot… at least if it comes down to it, killing them will be badass. It’s always badass to kill Nazis.

About an hour later, they were at NHH, the main state psychiatric hospital, where Taylor was transferred into the care of a Nurse Amity and a pair of large, meaty, thick-necked orderlies.

“Be good kid, and fight the good fight,” Hendricks said quietly to her while taking the cuffs off.

“Oh, I will,” Taylor promised with a guileless grin.

===================================

In New Hampshire, much like many states in the US, there is a shadowy, poorly known set of laws and procedures that allows the extended incarceration of citizens who have never been charged of a crime.

First, a person petitions for an Involuntary Emergency Petition. They can fill out a form to request police assistance in bringing their target in. The subject of the Petition is then transported to a hospital, often against their will with little to no explanation. A doctor does a medical examination, and a psychiatrist a mental one.

They can then order the subject brought to NHH, a secure psychiatric hospital, to be further processed. Sometimes, NHH is over-subscribed, and so the subject is held at the emergency center, often being charged massive amounts of money for the privilege.

Once at the psychiatric hospital, if the victim wasn’t half-mad to start, they soon will be. They are urged to take mood-altering drugs, held with minimal outside contact, kept in the dark by restricting access to cell phone or computer (because otherwise they might look up ways of legally escaping, or be able to prepare their defense and we can’t have that). Just the boredom is a massive stressor. Very few people nowadays can survive without a constant stream of stimulation: facebook, tv, books, reddit, etc. Being in a stressful situation just makes it worse.

They are further surrounded by other people who are held within this facility, many of whom are legitimately crazy. Many of whom are aggressively so.

So, this terrified, drugged, bored, effectively kidnapped individual is then forced to talk with the psychiatrists. Talk about how horrible this is and they don’t deserve to be there? They aren’t committing to the process, and the psychiatrists may even threaten that such an act proves they need to stay longer. Agree with the psychiatrist? They’ve just admitted they have psychological issues. There’s no way to win, nothing to say that can’t be twisted, misconstrued.

After three business days there is a court review, the first actual court proceeding to decide whether the so called patient should remain involuntarily committed. The hearing occurs at the psychiatric facility itself. Family members, friends, and other support for the, effectively, accused are only allowed within with the support of all parties, the person to initially petition to put the victim inside included.

How fucked up is that?

The victim doesn’t even have the right to choose their own attorney, having to use a court-appointed one.

If the judge agrees there was probable cause for the involuntary commitment, the duration can be extended to ten business days. Now remember, if the victim can pay, the psychiatric facility is actually charging the victim this whole time.

Still, two weeks isn’t too bad, right?

Wrong. At the end of the ten days, if the facility, remember one that is making money from this process wants to, they can file to keep the “patient”. There’s another court hearing, this time within a further fifteen business days, so the patient has been a prisoner for up to five weeks by that point.

Very few people can withstand five weeks of the kind of hell these psychiatrists can cause without breaking. Hard military veterans break under much less of what would be, in any other situation, deemed torture. A normal person stands little to no chance.

So a wreck of a person shows up to this hearing, which can decide to further commit them. In New Hampshire, for up to five more years.

And all this without a jury, and a strong financial incentive for the psychiatric hospital to keep its beds full.

Now, you might think that a mental heal professional would never do something like that.

After all, it’s not like doctors would do evil shit. No cardiologist would ever head up a chemical and biological weapons project. Or target patients, lethally inject then rob them. Or be Britain’s most prolific serial killer, praying on the elderly to an estimated two-hundred and fifty kills. No psychiatrist would unethically testify that a person was an unrepentant killer without even examining them.

Oh, wait. All that shit happened, and worse.

The truth is, two types of people become psychiatrists or psychologists: those who are deeply fucked up, wanting to understand why and how, and those who want to play god, changing people. The first are dangerous because of their own issues. The second because even the truly well-intentioned (and not all are well intentioned) will try and mold their patients into their idea of “good”.

Kaiser knew all about this. Knew all about how all he really needed to get someone locked up, discredited, held hostage, even driven insane if needed, was a single doctor at the city hospital, a single judge, and a single psychiatrist at NHH.

He had that and more. Doctors and judges that had fallen under his sway. Extra money, a problem taken care of, a supply of girls or boys, an affair being kept quiet, a drunk driving incident where someone came forward to admit to stealing a car and doing the deed… the Empire made hay when the sun shined, and gathered every cloud’s silver lining.

And this tool of his, this warped usage of the psychiatric system, wasn’t just used to ill effect. Temporary insanity got any number of the E88’s people off. Not too frequently, not too overtly, but for a newly initiated member without a serious rap sheet, someone who was related to the right people, important in the right ways… their errors could be smoothed over.

As for Taylor Hebert, he wasn’t sure what camp she fell into just yet. Prisoner being held by his shadowy steel web, or recruit being protected by legal fiction. But either way, she was in his territory now.