<br/>Dr. Habner sat in her second floor office pouring over her notes collected over the past few weeks looking for a common thread in her records. The catalyst for Anne Marie Jenkins psychotic breaks with reality remained a mystery. The lights flickered dramatically, their flourescent bulbs buzzing and crackling before going out.  Greta had come to expect the deficiency but she never got accustomed to it. She took this clinical assignment to gain experience and to have the freedom to explore some of her more unconventional hypotheses. There was so much pathology here that she found little time for true controlled scientific experimentation. She heard thumps coming from the third floor patient care area and when into motion, enacting what she had come to consider as the "doomsday" protocol.<br/><br/>She felt in the darkness for the heavy duty lantern/flashlight that she kept on the shelf near her desk. A convenient peal of lightening and thunder illuminated the room enough to allow her to place her hand on it. She took it from the shelf and clicked on the lamp, sending a harsh beam into the room. She unlocked the drug storage cabinet and withdrew four 10 milliliter syringes, four 18 gauge needle tips and four 22 gauge tips. She draped a sterile cloth over her desk and began to draw up the haloperidol and benzodiazepine cocktails for the girls up on three. She stuffed the syringes into her lab jacket pocket and pulled her long wavy blonde hair into a tight twist; a precautionary tactic she had learned the hard way. She picked up the flashlight and headed to the third floor carrying the tangle of keys for the rooms and restraint devices between her fists like a weapon.