<hr/><div align="center"><strong>Group 2</strong></div><hr/><br/>Inside the deli, the wanted group of escaped convicts were slowly coming to one realization -- they were all hearing something within their minds. Yet despite the similarities and the desperation for answers, to know that they<em>weren't</em>crazy after all, a kernel of doubt still lingered. Were they hearing the<em>same</em>voices? Were those voices saying the same things to everyone? Or was it...was it just another coincidence that wasn't actually a coincidence after all?<br/><br/>In Tim's haste to remove his chains, his grip on the hacksaw slackened as his mind plunged into panic and confusion at the discovery. As his faith in his God wavered, his vision seemed to blur even as he stumbled backwards before leaning heavily against the wall. The hacksaw fell from his hands, scratching along the skin of his wrist before falling to the ground in a clatter. Unfortunately, old and misused as the hacksaw was, lack of proper care and maintenance had finally taken its toll as the handle separated with a splintering of wood. While using it was still possible, it would now be difficult and awkward to do so.<br/><br/>Upstairs, the computer hummed and whirred loudly, working far harder than it ever had before. It seemed ready to shut down for good at any moment despite Brazil's relentless tapping against the keys as she fed it one complex equation after another. While the technology was archaic to say the least, with enough time and effort anything is possible...or so they hoped. Yet while effort seemed to flow from Brazil's concentrated gaze and into the screen, time was ticking away as she carefully built programs and demanded operating functions that the device was obviously not built for.<br/><br/>The time shown on the corner of the monitor read 11:18 PM when a DOS window suddenly popped up on the computer screen. The word Eden was slowly scripted out in beautiful calligraphy over the screen in gold. Underneath the logo, a message appeared:<br/><br/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Welcome, Doctor Jennifer Hudgeworth. Please select the files you wish to view.</span></div><br/>As the DOS screen disappeared, it was replaced by a rather common desktop. Icons for E-mail, Web browser, Word processor, etc. were lined up neatly along the perimeter. It seemed utterly normal, save for a single folder that was situated right in the middle of the screen -- Yggdrasil. Upon opening the folder, there were only two files inside. Another folder labeled "Voice Counseling Profiles" and an .exe file named "CoY".<br/><br/>Opening the "Voice Counseling Profiles" brought a list of thumbnails on screen, each thumbnail a picture of someone. Scrolling down, it seemed that there were about 50 files in the folder. Near the bottom of the list, a group of familiar faces showed up as members of the current group peered back at them through the monitor. However, a few other faces were also familiar -- the faces that had been plastered all over the news and internet weeks and months ago when the strangely violent occurrences had begun.<br/><br/>There was no doubt that this was a list of possibly all of the psychotic sociopaths that had caused the government to scramble for new high security cells and tighten security. This may literally be a list of every supposed 'crazie' in the city, or possibly even the country, with details of how each of them ticked. The answers to any secrets the others may have hoped to keep, the things that had been left unsaid during the tragic counseling session, all of it could very well be a click away. The fears and desires of the others -- of<em>themselves</em>even -- were patiently sitting on the desktop and waiting to be revealed. It could easily be imagined that the doctor also had a compiled list of each person's triggers, the full extent of their crimes, and their success rate with other types of therapy or medication before they had been brought into voice counseling.<br/><br/>Everything was glaring Brazil and Drake right in the face, and yet upon opening a file at random their hopes were dashed as a message box popped up.<br/><br/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong>Warning!</strong><br/>Unregistered computer:restricted access</span></div><br/>Hitting 'OK', it quickly became apparent that they could only view the bare minimum of each file. Name, Age, Date of Arrest, and a short summary of their offense were all they were able to see for each person. Apparently, viewing the files in their entirety required syncing with a registered computer in order to prove ownership of the memorystick. They quickly came to the same conclusion for the strange .exe file, which wouldn't open at all. Despite all of Brazil's efforts, the same warning continued popping up, followed by:<br/><br/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Please sync with your registered computer to open these files.</span></div><br/>Scrounging through the rest of the desktop showed nothing of importance, though it did give more insight into the life of the recently deceased doctor. It seemed that everything was either carefully kept under lock and key on the desktop, or the doctor didn't have much of a life as even her emails seemed ordinary and her calendar was practically empty. Could it be that they were missing something and the answers to some unknown question were right in front of them? Or could it be that what they sought truly was hidden and they simply lacked proper access to it?