Lincoln scrutinizes the psychological evaluation on the screen. A hasty ADHD diagnosis on top of an early prescription for Ritalin. He sighs. At least the new psychiatrists understand how to treat what they diagnose, even if they're wrong.

A shudder dismisses the feeling of crawling blattellid legs on his arm. For a few minutes, all is quiet.

The feeling returns. He shudders it off again with greater force and annoyance. It doesn't go away. He looks down in a frustrated search for the source. He is desperate not to spot a roach using the warmth of his skin for rest.

It's gone, but a small reflection of light behind him grabs his attention. He snaps his head towards it. In the dark room, Elizabeth is standing a few feet away.

"The- fuck-! Belial, what are you doing!?"

No response. He grabs the desk and lifts himself to his feet. His heart is beating faster as he keeps his eyes locked onto his superior.

"Have you taken your meds? Why are you awake? It's 3 AM."

He looks down at the couch she was just laid on for the night, the metallic reflection of her arm still clearly visible by the light of the computer as she quietly snores.

His eyes fix back onto where she stood. Nothing greets him. The room is totally dark and totally empty. He grabs his flashlight off of the table and sets it to low, scanning around.

Nothing.

He sits in the chair. He waits. He turns slowly towards the screen. His leg starts bouncing. He clicks off of the document and onto the next evaluation.

All is quiet.