The Art of Subconscious Illusion: Rewritten (Death NotexHouse, MD crossover)

Trashed and Scattered

Full Summary: The rewritten version of the original well-loved fic, this portrays the story of the fight between House the diagnostician and the mental patient who calls himself Kira. One week is all that is allotted for him and his team to save Kira from the world and himself…and House's neck is on the line.

A/N: Once again, another chapter for you to read. The only thing I want you to keep in mind with this one is that you can find the translation to the Japanese in this chapter at in the bold text at the end of this chapter. This won’t always be the case with Japanese in future chapters, but there will be perfectly good reasons for that when that time comes.

Once again, please enjoy it, and, if you're not too busy, make an effort to leave a review, because I love you guys and reviewing is just a small way of showing that you care too.

Chapter III

Trashed and Scattered

Once House had managed to make it up the few levels of stairs to the main check in, and limp in to the nurses' station as fast as his gammy leg could take him, he found himself surrounded by utter mayhem: Five people – not including Drs Foreman and Chase – were indeed injured, and the long flat note of a patient's inexistent heartbeat rang out from a lone gurney in a forgotten corner, where it had apparently had rolled on momentum alone – obviously, no one had been able to switch off the monitor, considering the chaos. All of the five injured, House remembered, were from the elevator he had taken with Cuddy that morning, blood seeping from new wounds in various places. Two nurses were attending to the five injured, while Dr Chase tried to calm down a man in his late forties, along with his wife, both standing beside an overturned wheelchair, arms around each other seeking comfort from their fear.

For the first few minutes, House did nothing, instead just standing at the at the door from which he'd entered, slowly putting potato chip after potato chip into his open mouth, chewing each one slowly, as though he was in a movie theatre, and actually interested enough in the film to not want to cause any noise. "Cool." He whispered, like the scene was The Matrix, Fast and Furious and a Bond film all rolled into one.

It was then, while watching the consequences of the mad fifteen-minutes-ago, that House pointed out the mental patient: He was a young East Asian man (probably Chinese or Japanese), with chestnut-brown hair that would've once had a deliberately tussled quality, but was now sticking out manically, the ends reaching his shoulders. His eyes, which may have once been brown like his hair, seemed to glow red with psychotic rage. What had also made him easy to spot, was the fact that, of all the people there, of all the lying, cheating people that passed through the Hospital doors, the mental patient had Dr Foreman of all people pinned against the pharmacy-side wall, a wound on the black man's temple glistening dark in the neon lighting of the main check-in. The young man was muttering fiercely at Foreman, his teeth bared in what could only be described as sadistic loathing. Filled with the commonly mild curiosity that infects all Big-Top-goers, House put the half-eaten packet of chips in his pocket, grabbed something from the Nurses' Station desk and hobbled silently towards them, eaves-dropping gleefully.

"…I know the way you act towards your patients…lying, cheating…treating innocents like dirt…" The young man spoke with a slight Japanese accent, and House smiled at his words playfully: If this guy really could pull out a person's wrongdoings from nowhere, then he must have the wrong guy! "Taking stupid, irresponsible risks, not even knowing the possible outcomes half the time…or probably just too stoned to tell…Thankfully, Dr Foreman is a better man than you, you drug-abusing hack…"

Wait, what?

Suddenly, the young man's left hand stretched out behind him, grabbing House by the throat, squeezing tightly. The young man turned his head to look into House's blue-green eyes, his mouth turned down into a cruel grimace, filled with the heartless hate of the Reaper himself. "That's right," he continued, his accent less pronounced now, "I've known everything you've done, ever since I first learned of your existence…you know, those poor people are waiting for their pain medication."