And I am an alcoholic.

No wait, I'm not. Oh well, it worked as a nice start.

My name is Jamo Jakatta. I am 23, round about. I am human, or so I have been told. I live on my ship, which I am not telling you about because I know a lot of people want to find it. Vjun used to be my planet, but it got boring there, so I left. Plus, all of the hired muscle that found it's way into my office with the aim of beating me up was not good.

My name is Jamo Jakatta. I have not been writing here for long. This diary crap really is not working for me. They say it's supposed to help relieve pent up stress, but I don't feel relieved. Maybe I need the bathroom? Frell, even if I did need the bathroom there's no way they'd let my get up. My leg, which some woman cut off then sewed back on because it was broken (apparently), is not working. I am meant to be resting, and 'healing'.

My name is Jamo Jakatta. As I sit here, the crime orginzations of the world are becoming alerted to my presence here. It's not long before someone arrives, gets past the fairly lapsed hospital security and pops a bolt into my head. If this does not happen, which I will be suprised if it doesn't, I will rot away here in this stink hole for the next 2 months, with my only company being the guy with the weak bladder just four foot away from me - who, just for reference, pees on the floor.

My name is Jamo Jakatta. You know what? I'm getting really sick of writing that down. It seemed atmospheric at the start but now it's just getting old, don't you agree? Getting old like staying in this hospital. Every frelling minute seems like an hour. If it's not whizzman urinating on my bed sheets then it's jitter girl screaming and whailing as she tries to escape her bed in the next room. This whole place is totally frelled up. If I was a paranoid man, I'd swear down that this is a mental asylum.

Actually, I am a paranoid man, therefore this is a mental asylum. On Coruscant, where they send criminals.

Whizz man was once a mafia crime lord running a drug racket on the downtown side of Corellia city. His syndicate was one of the largest in the 5 planet galaxy, and monopolized everything there. Jitter girl was, and still is, a mentally derranged psychopath with compulsive killing tendancies. She does <!--EZCODE BOLD START--> not<!--EZCODE BOLD END--> like people. They won't let her out, so everyday she gets more and more mentally unstable, and wants more and more to murder every single person she can see.

I'm lucky I'm behind a wall, or else I think I'd be dead now.

There is another guy here, who seems more friendly. More like a mixture of whizzo and psycho. People seem to have tagged him 'the good man'. I don't know why, maybe it's some nasty play on words to lead gullible people into believing he's a pretty light guy, when infact he's the most easily agitated sociopath you ever met.

You can't really tell from just looking at him though - he's a smiley guy. Always a grin on his face, makes me sick sometimes that he can be so damn happy in such a @#%$ hole. Not my problem really though, it's not like I'm being paid to care about smiler or any of the other freaks in this place - it just gives me something to do.

Caring, that is.

I don't think I'm going to go to sleep ever again. I think my mind will slip away like smilers and I'll become one of them. Maybe they'll call me Skippy, and I'll twitch and spend all day in bed crapping myself just to fulfil my sick fantasies of getting a sponge bath off of one of the busty young nurses.

Maybe.

Stepping out from the vehicle that had brought him to the front of his destination, Taylor looked around. His face showed no expression, as was normal for him. His destination this day was the White Glade Hospital. His mission, to rescuse his boss.

Slowly, methodically, he began walking toward the entry to the hospital. He entered a set of automatic door and was questioned by a security guard.

"Identification, sir."

Taylor reached inside of his coat and removed his silenced magnum. He pointed it at the security offical and then motioned for him to walk into the building.

As the guard began walking inward, Taylor squeezed the trigger and a round hit him in the back of the head. The guard's body fell lifelessly to the floor with a thump.

Placing his gun back in his coat, Taylor resumed walking into the building, intent on accomplishing his mission.

As he walked down the long corridor, the only decoration was the plain white walls. Looking around, Taylor took in everything. He knew it was only a matter of time before the other guards knew that he had entered the building and he had to resuce his boss.

The corridor widened into a reception area that had a small television on the wall. Two guards sat behind a large desk that faced the corridor and several chairs were littered about. One guard yelled at Taylor, inquiring as to why he was here.

Taylor reached in his coat again and slowly removed his gun. He pointed it at the desk and squeezed off two more silenced rounds. Both hit the guards in their chests, killing them instantly.

Taylor walked to the desk and slowly around behind it. He pushed one guard that had been slumped on the desk to the floor and looked at the computer sitting there.

Placing his gun on the desk, he sat down in the chair nearest the computer and inserted a small holodisk into the drive.

<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> Enter access code...

Running program...

Access granted. Welcome Mr. Taylor...

Menu

Patient Records [1]
Security Records [2]
Security Devices [3]
Return to Menu [4]
Exit [5]

Enter selection...3

Welcome to Security Devices...

Disable

You are about to disable security devices throughout the hospital, are you sure?...Yes

Enter next selection...4

Menu

Patient Records [1]
Security Records [2]
Security Devices [3]
Return to Menu [4]
Exit [5]

Enter selcection...1

Enter name of patient...Jamo Jakatta

Patient Output: Jamo Jakatta...

Room number: 432
Release Date: Stay Indefinite

Enter next selection...5

Thank you.<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->

Taylor stood and placed his gun back in his coat. He made his way to the elevator at the far side of the room. When he entered the elevator, he pushed the button for floor number 4.

The busty nurse had come, but all he had done was pushed a button. Oh the glories of hospital care. It was a shame that she didn't believe he was dying and needed one last fix before he dropped off. A real shame.

Jamo's face was plagued by yawns constantly. He was tired, but he couldn't sleep. Insomnia had infected his mind, just like the tapes had.

(The tapes? How are they supposed to know what they are?)

Oh, right, yes. They play tapes here at the White Glade Hospital. You have a headset right by your bed that is an optional source of entertainment during the day. At night though, it's not quite the same. They play mind numbing repetitive tunes with voices speaking over the top of them, telling the listener that they are nothing, they are worthless. Quite the motivational piece.

With insomnia, it doesn't take long for you to learn the tapes off by heart. Jamo knew them.

With mental derangement, it doesn't take long for you to start reciting the tapes a loud. Charley said them.

Charley that was his name. Charley Goodman; hence the tag 'the goodman'. During the night security became heightened, but only around the most dangerous of patients. So, other areas became lapsed, and this allowed for bored awake patients to sneak about reading up on their fellow inmates.

So I, Jamo for those who fell asleep earlier, had read the card on this 'smiler' - Charley. Apparently he's got a number of problems - insanity, dementia, insomnia, necrophilia, megalomania.

(Not all four. He's not that sick. He doesn't have megalomaniac tendencies.)

Charley Goodman has a unique insight into the world which no one else can have and voice. Thankfully, his derangements allow for him to speak his concern on various things. Of course, no one worries about the psycho. People will just assume the idiot drooling in the corner can’t hear what they are saying. People will be wrong. He hears everything, sometimes more clearly than we do. Everything includes a lot of crap, but everything also includes some damn useful snippets of info. Tips, plans, secret meetings. It’s amazing how many things people will entreat into Goodman’s mind.

(Something’s going down. The herd’s on the move.)

The nurses have been alerted to something, apparently so have the security guards.

(Nothing to bother you.)

Nothing to bother me, after all – I have tapes to listen to.