You find yourself confined to the waiting room of a Mental Health Unit within your local county jail following a moment of losing control during a road rage incident; being sent to stay at a cell as you were deemed "an individual who might snap at random intervals" since you had no prior history of violence or mental health issues (which you probably had but never bothered to get therapy in fear it might affect your future employment) so you are being hosted in jail during the entire trial period and being forced to go to therapy (needless to say, against your will). Feeling conflicted, you mutter to yourself, "Damned if you do, damned if you don't." However, there's a silver lining by being regarded as mentally unwell rather than strictly as a criminal, affording you unlimited calls and access to counseling, therapists, and medical professionals usually offered to the police department. The police force and other personnel as well appeared to recognize that you posed no threat. Despite being confined to a cell, they allowed you to roam their cafeteria and occasionally lent you access to their front desk computer.

After an agonizing wait, the office door creaks open. An apathetic male voice, almost sounding as if it lost interest in speaking mid-sentence and killing itself by the last syllable calls out, "Next patient please..."