In my line of work, no patient is the same. Sure, they've all broken the law. Most have hurt somebody, some killed. The key to treating them, however, is to act like they're regular, law-abiding citizens like you, I hope, and I. It can be difficult sometimes, especially when your patient reaches the point of describing in vivid detail just how it felt to squeeze the life out of someone, but it's vital to remember that, at the root of it all, they're only human.

It's also difficult to remember when they're wrapped in a straitjacket and literally growling.

Not much came from my appraisal with Karla, but I decided to accept her case even if only to fulfil my own selfish desires. I want to know what it really meant to be a Cabello. Plus, surprisingly enough, I've never had a patient from a family of crime. I consider her my case study, and so, I return the following day.

I'm warned of her condition before I even enter the interrogation room they've devoted to me for the time being, and then I have to insist to continue with my scheduled meeting. I ask the reason behind the elaborate restraints, but receive no answer. With a bit of luck, I might manage to get it out of her, instead.

She scowls at me from across the table and I almost find myself laughing. I've been held at knifepoint by a serial rapist three times her size, threatened by a man who killed school children for pleasure, and eyed by all sorts of people as I strode through the halls of top security prisons. If it weren't for her family name, I wouldn't suspect her of being capable of hurting a fly. Still, I withhold my inappropriate reaction and open the Manila folder between us.

I decide not to speak. Instead, I simply read over her information again, familiarising myself with what I've already memorised. Eventually, it works. Her growls subside, and I notice the tension in her shoulders slip away. Once she's as relaxed as it seems she's going to get, I finally look up.

"Care to enlighten me as to what pissed them off so much?" I ask, figuring I may experiment with a more casual approach to her treatment. Perhaps that's what the other doctors were lacking.

She raises a brow and leans forward ever so slightly, giving me a once over with her ever-abyssal eyes. Then, sure enough, she divulges, "Officer Hartley lost half her hearing in some war or some shit. Now she can't hear at all." Her teeth are stained slightly red, and I grimace at the image it brings.

"What exactly did you do?" I ask, although I'm fairly certain.

"Just like my papi always said, 'alphas aren't afraid to bite.'," on her last word, she seems to bare her teeth more than necessary, as if aware and proud of their discolouration.

I swallow my revulsion and turn back to her file for a moment, at least until she closes her lips.

"Why'd you do it?" I ask, deciding to just cut the bullshit and jump right in. You never know when it's going to work, and she seemed to respond well to my tone earlier.

Her brows furrow slightly, as though she's confused. "She lied to—"

"You know what I mean." I interrupt, sliding the file over in her direction. "Why did you do it?"

She closes up, staring down at the table as her expression subtly flickers between many. A moment passes, then another, and I realise it's not going to work. Whatever the reason, it torments her.

"Okay," I keep my voice gentle. "Why did you hurt Officer Hartley?"

Her voice is almost a whisper. "She lied to me."

"What did she say?" I probe. God, I wish I could get her out of that straitjacket. They never work as intended, either exaggerating or diminishing the inmate's self-esteem to dangerous levels, either way. "Karla, what did she—"

"No." Her growl is back and she strains against the white fabric, glaring at me. "Don't call me that."

I remain calm, forcing myself not to glance at the door or one-way mirror lest the guards take it as a signal to come barging in. "That's your name, is it not?"

"No, it's fucking not." She snaps. "Fuck you. Fuck this. You don't know me. Get me the fuck out of here."

"You can't leave yet—"

She throws herself across the table, staring down at me with a snarl on her face and squirming as she attempts to escape her restraints. "Doctor, I will tear your fucking head off. Just 'cause my parents are gone doesn't mean you're safe, you got that?"

Guards burst into the room, pulling her away and roughly tossing her to the floor. I watch as one guard presses their knee right between her shoulder blades as another manages to slip a spit hood over her head, preventing her from biting anyone else. In less than a minute, she's whisked from the room.

I give myself a moment to collect my senses before standing, hoping to find a cooperative officer. Thankfully, one stands just outside the door.

"I'd like to see Inmate 776's cell," I declare, tucking her file under one hand. The woman's brows furrow, so I explain, "It will help me understand her."

Sighing, she closes the door to the interrogation room and strides down the hall in the opposite direction of the entrance of the prison. I assume she wants me to follow her, so I do, eventually finding myself in a maze of halls lined with cells. She leads me to the very end, up a flight of stairs, and even further before stopping outside of a steel door labelled C1075. I slide open the slot in the door and peer inside, only to find the room empty.

"Where is she now?"

"Solitary."

I huff and look back into the cell. It's pretty standard; a tiny square room with no windows, a camping mattress in one corner, and what is barely passable as a toilet and sink in the other.

"She has no bedding," I point out and turn back up the officer.

"Laundry day," she says, though I can tell she's lying by the twitch of her eyes.

I hum, opening her file to take note of what I've seen, and ask the officer to lead me back to the entrance.