Dr. Louise Cameron sat behind her sleek functional desk and admired the view out from her San Antonio office window. Rich architectural history ebbed and flowed off into a twilight distance as Louise considered the possibilities and the dangers that lay ahead. Her journey here began three weeks ago with a call from the Texas state commission; a ruling had been passed, a judicial kneejerk reaction that was hurried through the courts with unheard of expediency; new, tighter restrictions on the mental health of sports entertainers were required in light of the suicide of one Nikki Black, a professional wrestler known for her main event matches out of Chicago. Nikki also happened to be the girlfriend of famed San Antonio minor celebrity, Dante Cross; a former impact champion in the state's own blood and guts federation,"W2K"; so while the trail of suspicion and blame for her apparent self inflicted demise originated some distance away, it still managed to reach all the way across the country; slithering like a snake, a gathering storm that raged from the streets of Chicago, building momentum and fury until it arrived down south, screamed up a shit storm in the federal system, and eventually parked its ass on Louise's doorstep.

At first, Louise had considered the position a dumb joke, "professional wrestlers", if you could even call them such a thing, were certainly not high on her list of desired clientele; Louise had spent the last ten years building a rock solid reputation for corporate rethinks and courtroom mind fuck's; she was the "go to woman" if you wanted a nail a mass murder to the wall with a cast iron psych evaluation or sow seeds of doubt into the competency of a political rival. Years before she had garnered critical acclaim for her sterling work with returning soldiers from Bosnia; unravelling an armies inner demons and eradicating them with a delicate touch. Each soldier costs the US army four million dollars throughout there projected lifetime; that meant that Louise had proved to be an extremely valuable asset; a deprogrammer par excellence. A psychotropic Florence Nightingale shining a light home for service men and women who still had a few million dollars of worth left in them. Such economic miracles did not go unnoticed; she was soon contacted thereafter by the NFL, the NBA; sports giants searching for that intangible answer they needed to get their star quarterback's on track; or that homerun in the bottom of the ninth. Louise answered the call without hesitation; the money on the table was astronomical, the work load nominal; it didn't really matter to her that she was seen as something of a sell out by the rest of the psychoanalytical community; Louise had no desire to live out her life surrounded by cats and musty text books; as was the fate of her parents, both psychoanalysts; No, fuck that; fast cars, good restaurants, great sex. If it could be had, she would take it. But the fast track had proved to have some bumps in the road. A string of bad calls had cost her a chance to stand by Senator John McCain on the road to the white house; it didn't matter if he was destined to win or lose, the prestige was the key; now a domino effect was on the verge of bring down Louis's well kept little world. She needed a high profile new crusade. A new Bosnia; Iraq was already taken, besides, as her literary agent had already pointed out, Iraq had no "feel good factor" associated with it; Louise needed a war she could win, or at least contain and spin in that general direction.

So when Nikki Black bleed herself to death in her apartment bathtub, it was like a little ray of heaven had shone down on Louise Cameron; although she would take some convincing (and a lengthy spell at the negotiating table) to convince her as such. But convinced she was, and so as the clock struck five in the afternoon; Louise straightened her blouse, slipped off her black stiletto shoes; checked her pulse was at a nominal seventy five per minute and completed her ritual by addressing the intercom.

"He can come in now, Susanne" Said Louise sharply.

The plush oak doors to the office opened slowly, the first thing Louise saw was his shadow on the newly varnished wooden floor; the silhouette stretched out forever; a creeping mass of black had had no discernable horizon. A flood of shape without substance; Louise began to judge the height of the man by the length of the shadow. Dr. Cameron had thought that her file was riddled with typo's; "seven feet tall? He can't be, surely." Yet the facts were beginning to unravel before her eyes and proving the documents to be correct.

In stepped Kryptt; seven feet tall, three hundred pounds; a giant in a world of children. Louise got up and coached Kryptt to a couch, foregoing a guest chair that seemed much too fragile to stand the burden of the man. 

"Wow woman, you work quick huh?" Smirked Kryptt.

"Sorry, it's just that I don't think the aeron could take the strain" retorted Louise.

Kryptt smiled, Louise seemed much younger than he had imagined before entering the room. Her skin was tanned yet smooth; he guessed she was about thirty three or four; her black flowing hair and sullen deep black eyes had a faint hint of Italian around the edges. Her accent however was pure Texas southern belle; smooth and warm to the ear; as still as a lake on a hot summer's day. Louise was certainly dressed for the role though, black polar necked sweater, black slacks; a hint of black tights beneath that excited Kryptt's libido; Kryptt guessed she would have fainted if it wasn't for the air conditioning, which was set several degrees shy of freezing. Kryptt wondered if he should say anything, but guessed that this might be a test and that he'd rather not give too much away just yet.

Louise sat back down in her chair and exhaled a gust of air with a smile; she unfolded a pair of steel rimed glasses and hooked them to the tip of her nose, bumping her age up to forty; which didn't please Kryptt. Still, again, he guessed this was part of the plan; after all, this was her private little universe, her world. "The problem with psychoanalysts", mused Kryptt; "is that they need to justify their existence; they need to see problem's so they have something to solve. Otherwise you have a very lucrative profession, suddenly redundant."Kryptt decided wisely not to share his findings with Louise right now; after all, she did have good legs.

"So, doc...You want to tell me what this is about?" inquired Kryptt.

"It's about you."

"Really?" Kryptt arms unfolded, he held them out and up as he gave thanks to the room, "All this is for me? Why thank you ma'am."

"You're welcome."

"Anything else on offer?" Enquired Kryptt with a playful grin; even though he meant no harm, Louise did feel slightly unease with this banter, it was his size; everything the man did carried with it a sense of menace.

"'Fraid not, Mister..."

"Just, Kryptt. I keep my real name safe from prying eyes and loose lips. No offence."

"None taken, but don't you think it's important to be who we are, rather that who we pretend to be, just for a few hours a day?"

"Honey, I couldn't agree more, but as for me? I need the practice. So it's Kryptt for now." 

Louise leaned back in her leather recliner and tapped a sliver ball point pen on her chin; made some undecipherable notes on her notepad, added a giant question mark for good measure. Kryptt leaned in and tried to catch a glimpse of the notes, no dice.

"Did I fail a test there?"

"No, but that's interesting. Tell me, do you feel as if you did?"

Just as Kryptt had predicted, she was already looking for imperfections to extrapolate. Like a virus and a cure in one. Head fucks are the worst, especially when administered by a master.

"No, no I don't. Why do you say that?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Huh?"

 "Why ask if you failed a test? Did I mention there was a test?"

"No, but..."

"Then why mention a test? Hmm. Interesting"

Louise returned her gaze back to her notepad, more question marks. Kryptt just shook his head. His eyes wandering around the spacious office, zeroing in on a wall clack, another forty five minutes of this torture to go.

Louise looked up.

"Okay, how about we play a little game. Word association"

"Shoot" Said Kryptt

"Up"

"Down"

"Black"

"White"

"War"

Kryptt smiled, "Fun"

Louise leaned forward in her chair; it creaked and moaned under a surge of interest.

"Fun? Why did you say that?"

"Because my life is a war; a constant war; a war I choose to fight, to set myself apart from this fucked up rat race, to rise above the ground level bullshit that every poor bastard outside your nice, five hundred dollar a week view has to deal with. While you sit here in your fancy, ivory tower picking part psyches; back down there in the real world? I have to dismantle people under much more "physical" conditions. This is my life, it's not perfect, it's a dirty fucking game, so I do the best I can to have as much fun as I can. Take this Nevyrmorr for example.

Louise scurried though her folder's to find the name.

"Ah, the man with the vampire fixation"

"Yeah, well. I think it's a little more complicated than that. Nev lives in a world of shadow, of pain; you might think on paper you know him; because he seems to have something a death wish; he always appears to be just one step away from the nut house, what with all the chances he takes in matches, all the threats he drops; but if the truth be told? You don't know shit about, Nev. None of us really do. Look at how he dealt with the kidnapping of Morganna. Takes a stable mind to see though that nightmare and walk out alive. Now he has to fight for the custody of his son, again, you might think he's walking a tightrope, but he's made of sterner stuff. When you're born into a world that's always one step away from you, always another step closer to the light, you have but a single choice to make; either accept your fate and live with it, or check the fuck out. Nev chose to embrace his world, all the darkness and the hate and channel it; focus it into his own war, with his own army; Phoenix, Whysper, Morganna. Now he's with Christian Michaels. That's the challenge I have to face this week. The army of PCW. As big as I am, as tough as I am; they have the numbers. And that's one equation I don't relish facing.

"Then why do it? Why fight on?"

"I fight on because there's a cheque with my name on it that says so; because I choose this life, not out of desperation; but due to one unmistakable fact."

"Which is?"

"I'm good at it. I have the talent and the will to succeed. Because even when I fail; I learn, and that just makes me stronger. Nev says he doesn't need wrestling; that he can walk away from it if he needs to; I disagree. In a wrestling ring; all the disadvantages he has in the so called real world melt away. All the scorn and the fear that's directed at him are reconstituted and reformed; from pariah to savour at the sound of a bell. He'll never leave the squared circle; he'll always be back, his passion for this game runs though his veins much faster and deeper than he'd care to admit. I know why am here, to prove to you that I'm fit to wrestle, that I am of sound mind and body and all of the above. Do you want to know the truth? I don't know how anyone can prove that they're sane and work in this business. Then again there's nothing sane about ninety per cent of the shit that goes down outside this door. As far as I'm concerned it's just one lunatic pointing the finger at the other; it makes people feel safe to see us, to know that there's a line that we'll cross that they never would, but that doesn't make us insane, just braver."

"So, would you say that someone like, Deadpool is sane? Or Exodus? There is a difference between bravery and insanity. It's just that in your profession Mister Kryptt; the line is somewhat more blurred; unless you know where to look."

"I won't argue with that logic, there's some dark corner's to this business. Just like there's a dark side to every business"

"That may be, but not everyone is pummelling each other with steel chairs week after week, are they?"

"Doc, listen"

"Mister Kryptt. The sooner this so called profession of yours wises up to the fact that it can't run from the truth, that a world built upon violence, can only beget violence, the better"

"The verdict's already in, huh?"

"All this is, Mister Kryptt...is making the world a safer place. What's wrong with that?"

Kryptt's expression turned cold and serious; not so much with menace, but with concern.

"Doctor Cameron; you know one of these days? Your gonna turn over a rock, and find a snake there; just waiting to bite your head off. So I hope you're ready for that, because all the psychobabble in the world can't save you from the horror's I've seen. People like Deadpool and Exodus; they're insanity is obvious and isolated. You can spot them a mile off, so don't over-congratulate yourself just because the feds have files on us. I know you want play watchmaker and see how the machine ticks; but one day. Your gonna cut the wrong wire, and this place? This redemption you've built for yourself? It's gonna fall, a long way down. Take care Doc, this session is done."

Fade.