We're all a little crazy

by Draconaquis

Rating: teen
Tags: Discord, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Human, Original Character, Comedy, Princess Celestia
Length: 47065

Franky is insane. And dangerous. When a pony princess and a chaotic chimera start visiting his padded cell, he figures they are just hallucinations.

Celestia has been observing the human race, and wants to study the rejects of their society.

Discord is bored with Celestias' jobs for him, and finds a kindred spirit in the lunatic prisoner.

Franky is Crazy. Sick. Twisted. Mad. Insane. Psychopathic. Moonstruck. Fucking crazy. Take your pick.

Authors note: The prologue is not required to understand the story. It also has gore, so faint of heart, beware.

Published 2013-08-03 01:10:02 UTC
Last updated 2018-03-09 00:42:16 UTC

Restrained

There once was a tall man, with long, black hair. He was being escorted down a hallway in between two armed guards. Not really a good thing under any circumstances. People in the hallway quickly stepped aside to let the intimidating trio pass, but only after they had seen the man in the middle. Not because he was ugly, or menacing, but as anyone who saw him would agree, his appearance was ...Unsettling. His eyes were a little too bright, his smile a little too wide, and his teeth just a little bit too sharp. Also, he was wearing a straightjacket.

As they made their way to their destination, the prisoner tried (and failed) to make conversation.

“Hey, guard guys! What are your names?” He asked innocently. When neither answered, he continued.

“Well, I didn’t see you at the trial, so I guess we’ve never met. My name’s Franky!” The guards shared a glance. They had had both been at the trial, and they both knew his name wasn’t Franky.

“Anyways, you guys seem nice, so I’m going to tell you something.” The guards started picking up their pace, neither wanting to be part of this conversation.

“I know where we are. This is Aaci, right?” The guard to his left looked at him, eyes wide.

How had he known that? He was unconscious when they brought him in! “Franky” chuckled at the guards face.

“I thought so. Listen, I shouldn’t be here. This is all a big mistake.” AACI, pronounced Ay See, stood for Allwoods Asylum for the Criminally Insane.

“Guys, really. This is all a gross misunderstanding. I’m not insane.” At that, both guards looked at him, scoffing.

“Ok, maybe I am insane, but not that kind. I can’t be cured! I don't have a tumor, or some sort of mental illness. I was born crazy.” Here, Franky started skipping, causing his escorts to grab his shoulders and wrench him back.

He giggled. “You know, guys, the only way for me to ever be “cured” is to kill me. I told everyone at the trial, and I’ll tell you now, death sentence is the way to go. Anything else is a danger to society.”

A passing nurse had stopped to stare, and Franky winked, causing her to start and hurry back to whatever she was doing. He turned back to the guards.

“So whaddya say, huh?” This time, the guard on the right looked at him.

“What do you mean?” The prisoner giggled again.

”What do I mean? Guard guy, I thought you were smarter than that. I mean, you could be my death sentence. One shot from your little toy there and Voila! I’m cured. You don’t have to guard anybody. No one needs to worry about me escaping. You could tell them that I was trying to kill you! Everybody wins!” The guards, now extremely uncomfortable, were practically sprinting down the hallway, dragging their charge with them.

Much to their relief, their destination was just around the corner. Sensing his captors change in mood, he started babbling earnestly.

“Seriously guys, think about it. If I’m dead, no one else has to get hurt! Everyone could sleep safe and sound, not worrying about the Hollywood Horror, or the Manhattan Murderer, and the media could stop trying to pin stupid nicknames on me! No one else would end up like that stupid judge!” The guards, who were trying to force Franky through a doorway, paused. The one on the left turned to the other.

“I thought the judge was fine.” The other looked at Franky.

“Yeah, what happened to the judge?” A huge grin split accross the prisoners face.

“Nothing, yet.” With that, they sent him tumbling into the room, which turned out to be a cell. Still on the floor, he put on his best puppy dog face.

“What, you’re just gonna leave me here all alone?” Despite being padded on one side, the steel door made a terrific sound when slammed.

“You forgot to take off my jacket!” He shouted at the door. When it didn’t answer, he stood up (not an easy feat), and examined his new home.

The room was a square, about 20 feet in either direction. It was covered in soft, white pads. Before doing anything else, Franky amused himself by falling on his face, getting up, and repeating the process. After recovering from the giggling fit that this incurred, he stood once more. He tried to wipe his long, black hair from his face, but he failed due to the straightjacket. He settled for rubbing his face on the soft walls until satisfied. Vision restored, he resumed his examination. In the far right corner was a small cot. It would have been fine for most people, but Franky was a tall guy. He shrugged.

It’ll have to do. On the wall opposite the door there was a small, barred window, but it was too high for him to reach, especially without the use of his arms.

But the thing that interested Franky the most was the camera in the top right corner of the room, and a small speaker next to it.

“Oooh! Hello? Can you hear me?” Franky was jumping up and down and attempting to wave his arms around. After a moment, the speaker crackled to life.

“Yes, I can hear you.” Said a male voice.

“Amazing! What’s your name?”

“I’ve been instructed not to give you my name.” Franky beamed.

“Of course not. I don’t want your name. You just have to tell me what it is!” There was a silence from the speaker, and Franky liked to assume that the man on the other side was laughing at his joke.

I’ll call him Intercom guy.

“So, Intercom guy, do you suppose you could send somebody to remove this jacket?”

“No. Today you are to remain in your constraints. Tomorrow Dr. Phelps will visit your cell, and he may or may not remove them.” The prisoner stared intently into the camera.

“Oooh, a doctor you say. What kind of doctor? A tooth doctor? An eye doctor? A foot doctor, perhaps? I get these nasty hangnails.”

So, Franky thought, I have to convince this Phelps guy to take this damned thing off. Fun. Intercom guy took little time in responding.

“Dr. Phelps is a psychiatrist.”

“Aha, a brain doctor!” Oh yeah, this’ll definitely be fun. “You know Intercom guy, I killed a brain doctor once.” Frankys grin changed now, from the carefree smile of a child, to the predatory sneer of a killer.

“Yeah, I found him thanks to rumors, see, that he was abusing his patients. As it turned out, the rumors were true.” A scary coldness came into Franky’s eyes, and all pretenses of a smile dropped. But then it returned full force.

“You wanna know what I did to him? I strapped him down on his own big, red, leather couch. Then I took an old letter opener and carved out the full name of every patient that he...he...” Franky’s voice choked to a stop. The memories were painful even now. After taking a moment to recollect himself, he continued, chuckling softly.

“I've always been a sucker for chemistry. I like chemicals, you know? I like the way they react, with flames , with skin, with each other. So anyways, I got me some Listerine. The real kind, not that sissy cinnamon stuff. I’m talkin about the kind that burns if you leave it on your skin for too long. I soaked him in it. I heard later that a lady reported screaming three blocks away. Three blocks. That’s like... Well, how long is a block, anyway?” Franky shrugged,

“It’s pretty damn far, I’ll tell you that!” Franky was pacing furiously around the room. Even talking about one of his kills always got him excited, and without the use of his arms to gesture wildly about, he had to compensate by practically flying around his cell.

“He was begging me to kill, him then. But oh no, our night wasn’t even close to over. Sure, he lost a little blood from the name carving, his skin was all red, and I bet it hurt like a bitch, but nothing life threatening. That’s when I brought out the forceps. Let me tell you, nothing messes with your mind like having pieces of your-”

“Please stop.”

Franky did, and looked up at the camera. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Huh.

“Of course. Sorry. I got a little carried away there.” He walked over to his cot and sat down, honestly confused. Of all the things he was expecting, Intercom guy asking nicely for him to stop was not one of them. Then he thought some more. What had he been expecting?

Nothing, I guess. I wasn’t really thinking about it.

Well of course not. You never really do.

Franky shrugged. I don’t have to. Things have always worked out. Not thinking has gotten me this far.

Another Franky spoke up.

Oh yeah, things have worked out just great. Where are you again? Look around asshole. You’re in a straightjacket, in a padded cell, in a fucking maximum security asylum!

Franky nodded. Fair enough. But I’ve made this far, and I’m still alive. Also, we’re getting off topic.

Yeah. Also on the list of dumb shit you’ve done today, why'd you stop?!

What?

Indeed. Why did you respond as you did to the man's request?

Huh. You know, I don’t know. I was..confused. Everything got all muddled. In fact, why would I even come over here? It felt like... Frankys face changed in an instant. It felt like it wasn’t me! He snarled. One more voice spoke up, this one smaller than the rest.

I’m sorry.

The already crowded mindspace exploded in a flurry of angry comments at the small voice.

Fuck off, you little shit. Nobody likes you.

You really shouldn’t be here.

Get. Out. Of. My. Head.

The angry tirade was interrupted then by a crackle from the intercom.

“Mr. Cordova, are you alright?”

Franky snapped out of his reverie with a small shake of his head. This isn’t over.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Intercom guy. Also, my name is Franky.” There was a pause from the speaker.

“No, it isn-”

“I’d really prefer if you called me Franky.”

“...Ok. Well, Franky, do you need anything? You were shaking, and you looked like you were in pain.”

“I’m fine. Just remembering.” Well, I might as well try to be friendly, since that little punk started it for me.

“So listen, Intercom guy. Sorry about earlier. I know things like that are disturbing to some people. No hard feelings?” After a moment,

“No, it’s fine.” Franky grinned. Score one for friendship.

The two sat in silence, on on an uncomfortable cot, the other probably in front of a desk in the upper levels of the asylum. The former, however, didn’t really like inaction (or restraints, for that matter), so he glanced up at his window. Judging by the light, the day was hardly over.

“Intercom guy, you still there?”

“Yes.”

“What time is it?”

“2:30.” Damn. Boredom was something he was not suited for. Especially not without his hands.

“So, can I get something to eat?” Through the intercom was the sound of shuffling papers. He’s probably trying to find a menu.

“No. No one is supposed to enter your cell today.” Nevermind.

“Wait, can I even use the restroom?” Intercom guy sounded stumped.

“Huh. I guess not. Sorry.” Franky waved a hand (mentally).

“I’m a big boy. I can hold it. Things wouldn't have been pretty in this stupid jacket anyway.” Intercom guy snickered, before catching himself and switching off the mic.

And so, several hours passed, probably the most boring of Frankys generally thrilling life. Finally, as six o'clock rolled in, Franky had tired himself out by somersaulting around his cell (and getting sick in the process). He inch-wormed his way over to the cot, and jumped on it with a loud, theatrical yawn.

“Well, time for me to turn in. Good night, Intercom guy.”

“Umm, goodnight. Franky.” Hmmm, maybe since he’s opened up a little...

“What’s your name? I mean, if you get to watch me sleep...”

“I’ve been instructed not to give you my name.” Nope. The lanky prisoner chuckled, and after squinting at the light still pouring from his window, he drifted off to sleep.

Author's Note

Chapter two is underway! I hope you enjoyed, if you did drop a like. If not, please let me know why in the comments. Have a nice day!

The Wrong Kind of Freedom

Falling asleep, as it turned out, was not the best of ideas. Franky was a very deep sleeper. He had once been captured by a drug cartel in Mexico, and they were having a shootout with the local authorities. This was quite normal, except that they were aboard a moving train. And yet, there he lay, tied up, leaning against a wall, snoring peacefully, as the train thumped over the body of a less than fortunate druggie.

But deep sleep alone was not the problem. No, being asleep and not being able to wake up meant that he was alone with his own brain. This alone wasn’t the whole problem either. He knew his mind. He could handle anything his twisted imagination could throw at him. But what about the things that his mind didn’t invent? What about the things that actually happened? Memories. Memories were the wolves that hunted Franky down in the night. One thing most people didn't know about him was that his sleep was just as busy as the rest of his day. Sleep was really a relative term.

And so he fell. He fell, and fell, and fell. Through the claws of giant flaming beasts, through the wisps of black clouds that flailed about like tentacles. He fell for eternity, and no time at all, laughing the whole way. And when he finally landed, it was on a soft pile of pads, ripped straight from his cell. The pads were not happy about this, and pushed Franky off, grumbling in their own plushy language. Franky, still laughing, cascaded down a waterslide. Well, not necessarily down. He went up, sideways, frontways, inside out, and also left.

He smacked his lips. That wasn’t water, was it? No, that was something else. Something godly and blasphemous, beautiful and ugly, awe inspiring and horrifying all at once. Something thats taste couldn’t be rivaled by any other. Ahh, that wonderful, salty, metallic taste. Franky looked to his sides. He was riding in a massive, lain open vein. It was blue, but a vein nonetheless. He waved to the ghostly children who watched him, and they nodded in respect for the man who dared traverse the river of blood.

After a particularly sharp turn, Franky found himself sprawled on the stone floor of a small, dimly lit room. In front of him were two pedestals, with beams of light illuminating them. In between the two was a gigantic eye, which Franky knew was judging his every move.

“Choose.” It said, though it had no mouth. Upon the first pedestal was a knife. A rather average, fixed blade combat knife, with black cord wrapped around the grip. On the other, there was a fist sized diamond, carved into the shape of a heart.

“Choose.” The judge spoke again. Franky noted that the knife suspiciously resembled the one he used to make his first kill.

“Ah, gotta love symbolism. Fuck expectations, eh?” He smiled, reaching for the heart. “I do what I want.” The second it was in his grasp, the diamond began to glow, and with a flash of life, the convicted killer was in Heaven.

Literally, Heaven, standing on white fluffy clouds, golden structures gleaming, surrounded by winged angels. Franky took a moment to enjoy the sights. The sparkling blue rivers, the strange swaying plants that grew straight out of the clouds, and the chubby cherub children that ran and played.

“Finally, Franky.” Said a soft voice next to him. ”You’ve made the right choice.” He turned to examine a female angel, with great white wings spread out behind her.

“Have I? Well, I’m really glad you think so.” With that, he gripped the diamond firmly, and smashed it into her temple, where it stuck with a wet crunch. As her eyes slowly shut, Franky looked down at her.

“Sweetheart, for me, there is no right choice.” He grabbed the golden dagger that was at her side, and turned to go. He got a few steps away, before turning back and examining her one last time. Huh. As it turned out, angel blood was golden. A lot of gold coated the clouds that night.

He was stepping over the bodies of the Guards of the Gates of Eden, when he felt something in the dream shift. It wasn’t something subtle, either. But what was it? Franky scratched his head, thinking. Thinking! That was it! The dream had become lucid. He was thinking!

Lucid dreaming was a much more common occurrence for Franky than for most people, which was why he took advantage of it immediately. Towering above him was a Seraph guardian, one of the last protectors of the angelic realm.

“You will face the power of the almighty, and fall before the wrath of God!” When the creature spoke, the very air seemed to quake. It’s wingspan was over twenty feet, and it’s sword was twice as long as Franky. The magnificent blade seemed to ripple, like a pond disturbed with a rock.

“The wrath of God?” Franky twisted his hand, and the giant fell to it’s knees. The seraph roared, and tried to stand, but it could not move. With another twist, it shrunk, until it was his size. The human placed his hand on the seraphs cheek.

“Your god,” He said quietly.”is but a figment of my imagination.” The angel began to tremble, tears on its cheeks, and rage in its eyes.

“Your creator, your father, your king...” Frankys voice became softer still.”The one you have dedicated your very existence to serving, is only a spectre in my dreams.” He drew his hand away, and with it a stream of color came with it. A golden, shimmering, sparkling stream, that seemed to be alive in its own right. The angels soul.

As its essence left its body, the seraph seemed to fade. All the color drained into its soul, clenched in Frankys hand. The angel now resembled someone out of a black and white photo. The once mighty creature collapsed and cried into the clouds. Its destroyer knelt down, and took its face in his hands once again. His voice, soft as ever, seemed to echo in the angels head.

“What do you want?”

“My brothers.” The creature sobbed.”My brothers left, in the...the Fall.”

Franky stood. “So join them!” He declared. With a wave of his hand, the clouds were swept away, revealing a blazing inferno beneath. Black smoke and sharp pointed spires rose from the flames. The cries of the damned could be heard, calling for their loved ones. A pair of massive demons looked up at the human and the defeated angel, beckoning with their claws.

The angel gasped. “Eresthor...Malachi...” He whispered.

As he gazed into the depths, his color seemed to return. But not the bright radiance he once had. Spiraling black tattoos traced their way across his body, and his eyes became dark pits, with fierce yellow centers. The feathered wings on his back snapped and crunched as they morphed into the spiked wings of a bat. The new demon stood, and roared.

“I’m coming, brothers!” He launched off the small cloud, and dove into the fires of Hell. But, more importantly, into the waiting arms of his long lost family.

Franky smiled as he watched the joyous reunion. Corruption, He thought to himself, is a beautiful thing. He shook his head.

“Right then. I've got work to do.” With a snap of his fingers, he vanished.

He materialized on an infinite plane of white. Nothing, for as far as the eye could see. That is, until he turned around. The building he faced was rather bland, a simple brown house, or maybe a small shop. The door seemed to yawn, as if its job was exhausting. On any other setting, the house would have appeared sad, and fading, but in the blank nothingness of the dreamscape it was the most vibrant thing visible. A cold, otherworldly wind snaked its way across the barren white, and would have carried tumbleweed, had there been any. Franky, however, took none of this in and stormed into the house.

The inside was much more lively than the outside. It seemed to consist of a single room, albeit a large one. In one corner crackled a fire, and on the right wall sat a series of bookcases. Against the wall opposite the door were several exercise machines, including a bench press and a treadmill. A muscular, red haired man lay on the bench press, lifting at least 300 pounds. To his right, in front of the fire, was an old recliner, occupied by a smart looking man with a book. Franky nodded to them each in turn.

“Crash, Reggie.” Crash racked his weights, and Reggie removed his glasses, looking up from his novel.

“Sup, Franks.”

“Hello, brother.”

If one looked closely, they would notice that the two roommates closely resembled Franky, with some minor differences. Reggie, or Reginald, as he liked to be called, had the same tall, slender, but kept his black hair trimmed neatly, and he wore a bluish-grey three piece suit. Crash, on the other hand, was extremely ripped, and kept his red hair spiked into a mohawk. He was sweaty, covered in tattoos, and he wore... Well sweatpants.

Franky spoke. “Well, I would love to stay and chat, but I’ve got a little something to take care of. So where is he?” Crash tilted his head towards the couch that adorned the left wall of the room.

“Motherfucker hid back there as soon as you became lucid.” Franky marched over to the couch and reached behind it. He pulled out a teenage version of himself, with nerdy glasses and long blonde hair. He pinned the kid up against the wall, holding him by the throat. He smiled sweetly, and said in the most charming of voices,

“Hi there, Empathy.” The kid chuckled nervously.

“Umm, hello.” If he hadn’t been in a dream, Franky would have broken every knuckle in his hand by how hard he punched his captive. But since it was his dream, he made sure that Empathy was the only one who felt it.

“Hey, c’mon now- Ah! What the fu-OW! Listen, I- Oof!” A hard jab to the gut knocked his wind out, and Franky dropped him on the floor. He looked up, and shrank away from the menacing killer looking down at him.

“You have exactly ten seconds,” Franky said, ”to convince me not to beat your ass until it looks like roadkill.” Empathy glared, and spat some blood onto Frankys pants. The sweet grin turned feral.

“Have it your way.” He hoisted the boy up by the front of his shirt and turned around.

“Hey Crash, batter up!” Crash cackled, and picked up the bar from the bench press (which still had weights on it). He swung it around with inhuman strength, courtesy of the dream. He took a stance, pretended to spit, and grinned at Franky.

“Ready when you are, dickless!”

Empathy was suddenly hurtling through the air at Crash, who proceeded to swat him away with a powerful swing. He smashed into a wall and crumpled on the floor, groaning. He turned over, and then frantically tried to stand as the pair converged on him.

“Whoa whoa whoa, hey guys. Listen, I can explain everything, just-” He was interrupted by a vicious kick to the teeth, delivered by Franky. The black haired dreamer turned to his partner.

“Do you want to hear this, Crash?” The man in question shook his head.

“Not really, Franks.” Frankys grin stretched even farther.

“Good. Neither do I.”

Reginald adjusted his tie, and thought as he watched the violent spectacle unfold before him. He wouldn’t do much good there, if he decided to get up. Fights, and things of the sort, required instinct, and gut reactions. Reggie was good at thinking, planning, analyzing things. He had gotten Franky and everyone in his head out of many a hairy situation, and he was respected by even Crash. He thought back to when he first entered the chaotic realm that was Frankys mind. He had merely been a collection of pieces, not even connected. Wisdom, logic, common sense, self preservation, and many others. Then, a young Franky slammed them all together, and Reginald was born. Crash had already been around for a couple of years, and he and Franky took the arrival of a new personality rather well.

As time went on, several more personalities came and went, none being able to hold themselves together for long. Except Empathy. Reginald pitied the boy. He had barely had time to realize he was alive before Franky banished him. Called him a danger, unnecessary baggage. He didn’t even give the boy a proper name. Reggie sighed. Back then, the decision had been the right one, and he had supported it. But now?

Franky and Crash paused their brutal assault, allowing Empathy to choke out a few words.

“Why are you doing this?” He gasped. Crash moved to begin pummeling him again, but Franky held out an arm.

“Why am I doing this? Are you really that stupid? Allow me to enlighten you. Imagine this,” He waved his arm in a wide gesture, indicating the whole dreamscape. “Is an apartment.” He poked a finger at the boy. “You were evicted. You came back. Now, I’m entitled to beat the shit out of you until you leave.” Empathy groaned.

“That’s not how it works.” Franky shrugged.

“My head, my rules.” The kid shook his head.

“I mean I’m stuck here. I can’t leave at will. You beating me up won’t change that.” A black handled switchblade materialized in Frankys hand.

“Maybe I should just kill you, then.” The boy on the floor laughed, and then started coughing. After a moment he spat out glob of blood, and looked at Franky.

“Ha! Look around. We’re in your head. You can’t kill me unless you kill yourself, and we all know how your last attempt at that turned out.” This earned him three glares and a few grumbles.

“Yes, that was unfortunate.”

“I was so close, too.”

“Fucking judge.”

Crash spoke up, swinging the table-leg he had been using.

“I think we should kill the little fucker anyway, just to be sure.” Franky seemed to like this idea, but Reggie intervened.

“That would be unwise. Killing a part of your own brain might have unwanted consequences.” Three people sighed, two in disappointment, one in relief. Empathy took this moment to plead his case.

“Think about it. Was what I did really such a bad thing? I helped you! Thanks to me, one of the few people you get to interact with for the foreseeable future is actually on your side. I gained you a potential ally!” Franky glared.

“I don’t care if you told him you would come up there and suck his dick! The point is, you took control of my body. In my eyes, any good thing you might have had going for you(which you didn't) is now down the drain.” Reggie, sensing that things might turn ugly again, spoke up once more.

“What’s done is done is done. You can’t get rid of him now, and the only thing to do is make sure he doesn't do it again.” Reggie eyed the boy, noting the blood and bruises. “And I think he’s learned his lesson.”

Franky stared intently at the boy, and Crash snorted, tossing his table-leg back at the table, where it reattached itself. Everyone waited while Franky evaluated the boy. They could all see the ideas, arguments and thoughts swirling above his head, engaged in a fierce battle. The silence continued, and Crash considered waving his hand in between the two just to see what would happen. Suddenly, Franky spoke.

“He can stay.” Crash exploded.

“What?! That’s a terrible idea! Fuck, I can see the reasons why right there!” He pointed at Franky, who nodded.

“Yes, I’ve got plenty of reasons why he shouldn’t stay. But, we can’t just get rid of him, and I don’t want screaming in my head all the time.” He turned to the boy. “But if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I won’t hesitate to kick your ass out.”

Empathy nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, no more stunts. Lesson learned guy, that’s me.” Franky headed towards the door, but the kid called out.

“Hey, um. Just wondering, but what did you mean, screaming all the time? And how would you have kicked me out?”

Franky didn’t answer, but instead turned around and said, ”Hey, Reggie, Crash. Why don’t you guys show him around?” His evil grin had returned, and for some reason Crash burst into a fit of scary laughter.

The door slammed, and Empathy turned to see the two staring at him. Crash started towards him, but Reggie grabbed his friends shoulder.

“Maybe it would be best if I do this.” Crash sighed, but relented. Reggie led the boy towards the door through which Franky had just left. He opened it, and the trio exited their small house.

Empathy stood, gaping. Crash and Reggie both chuckled, both remembering their first time seeing the empty whiteness. Reginald placed his hand under the boy's jaw, closing it.

“If Franky had decided to banish you, this is where you would have been sent.” He explained.”That is also why you would have been screaming.”

Empathy scoffed. “Why? It doesn’t look so bad out there.” Reginalds eyes got a faraway look, and his voice grew quiet.

“Trust me.” He said, “You would have gone mad within a day.” Empathy noticed that both of his elders seemed lost in thought.

Sensing the boys next question, Reginald answered the boys next question before he could ask.

“Out there, that is where the subconsciousness resides. Every part of this mind that we don’t control, lives in the white.” He shivered. “It takes your worst fears, hates , and weaknesses and pits them against you. It tortures you, again and again, brutally, in a fresh new way every time.” Empathy was slack jawed once more.

“How do you know so much about it?” The still shirtless redhead decided to take this one.

“A while back, Franks had an...err, mishap, with an IED. It went off a little before schedule, and he was in a coma for a few weeks.” He shrugged. ”We were all bored out of our skulls, stuck in here, so we decided to explore. Good thing we all went in together, or I don’t think we would have come back out.”

The boy noticed that Crash was installing several chains and padlocks over the door.

“Um, what are you doing?” Crash presented a grin that almost rivaled Frankys.

“The boss said to show you around.” A heavy coat appeared in one of his hands, and a machete in the other.

“We’re going exploring.”

Franky opened his eyes, expecting to be in the apocalyptic Realm of Angels. To his surprise, he was greeted not by fluffy clouds and drawn swords, but a moonless starry night. The sky was a deep, purple black, but was almost covered by a blanket of stars. All colors of stars, white, blue, yellow, red, and every other hue of the rainbow. One could see solar systems, whole galaxies even. Planets, moons, asteroids, all flying majestically for just Franky to see. The surface he walked on was perfectly smooth, like a mirror. In fact, it was reflective, also like a mirror. Every shining star met its equal in the floor.

Franky, recovering from his initial shock of not being where he wanted to be, took his transportation in stride. Sometimes, his subconscious took control of the dreamscape, and be found that things went best when he simply played along. Trying to change things in this custom dream would only make his mind angry at him, so why try? And besides, it really was a beautiful night.

He walked for a while, simply enjoying the quiet. He wasn’t sure what his subconscious wanted from him, so he kept his eyes peeled. As it turned out, that wasn’t really necessary. He was approached from behind by a click-clacking noise. He spun around, and saw a white horse, with wings and a horn. She had a flowing, rainbow colored mane, that glittered and glowed like the sun itself. She had a tail to match, and both seemed to move in a nonexistent wind. For a moment, she(Franky assumed it was a she) stared at him, and he at her.

Finally, Franky said, “It’s a beautiful night.” Her stare broke, and she looked up at the stars.

“Thank you. “ She said. ”My sister taught me how to make it.” Franky struggled to narrow his widened eyes. So she can talk. He took her momentary distraction as a chance to reexamine her. She had a golden clasp around her neck, with a large purple jewel in the center. There was a strange mark on her haunch. It was a yellow-orange sun. Franky rationalized that her sister probably sported a moon.

“If I might ask, what are you doing here, your majesty?” She jerked her head back towards him.

“How did you know I was royalty?!” Franky raised a hand to his head, and tapped it with a finger. She looked up at her own and noticed the crown that sat there. She regained her composure and fixed a stern gaze on him.

“My name is Princess Celestia, and I am here to warn you.” Franky stuck his hands in his pockets, seeming mildly interested.

“Oh? Warn me of what?”

“I will visit you. Soon.”

“Okay.”

Celestia blinked. She had been expecting more of an answer.

“Is that all you needed to tell me?” Franky asked.

“Well, yes.”

“Good. Then I have some questions for you, if that’s all right.”

Celestia was at a loss. She had been expecting this human, this monster,. to be strange, and frightening. He was just standing there. He wasn’t even trying to take advantage of the dreamscape.

“So princess,” He began, “What exactly are you?”

“Well, a pony, of course.” She answered quickly. Franky raised an eyebrow.

“Not like any pony I’ve ever seen. You have wings and a horn.” He didn’t mention the fact that she could speak.

”In my land, I am called an Alicorn. A mix between a pegasus and a unicorn.” She had forgotten that she was essentially a myth in this world.

“Oh. And what is your land called? Where do you rule from?”

“The nation I rule over is called Equestria. The capital city is Canterlot.”

Franky chuckled at all the horsey puns, then asked, ”I see. Where is this Equestria?”

He was trying to trick his brain into slipping up. If he caught his subconscious with a lack of information, it would probably let him go. Or it might get mad and give him some nightmares. The problem was, his brain was on a roll. Equestria. That’s a good one. Meanwhile, Celestia continued to talk.

“Well, the thing is, Equestria isn’t exactly on Earth. I would tell you where it is, but the only creatures that have a name for our planet are the dragons, and I cannot speak dragon tongue.”

Franky gaped. His head had an amazing imagination. There was no way he could have come up with that on his own. The princess was looking at him suspiciously. Where was the unnerving smile, the scary calm, and the dark jokes? Where were the piercing eyes that seemed to stab you in the heart? This man seemed so normal, taking everything in stride, not a care in the world. He did not act like someone who had killed over a hundred people. Where was the monster she had been following all these months? Well, whatever he was playing at, it would have to wait.

“I must go. I cannot maintain this much longer.” Franky nodded to her, and she vanished, bringing the breathtaking stars with her.

Franky stood over the pits of Hell, on the edge of a small cloud. He watched the demons milling below, doing their satanic duties. Normally, he would walk among them, causing mayhem and chaos. He would normally make Hell freeze over. But now, a single, haunting thought echoed throughout his mind. Some part of his brain thought it was a pony princess.

The Hallucination

If Intercom Guy had decided, at that moment, to return to the monitor, he would have seen Franky, standing on his cot, apparently trying to climb his wall backwards. Also, he appeared to be talking to himself. “You’re not real! Not real! You’re a hallucination!’

Celestia shook her head. “What are you talking about? I told you last night-”

“In a dream! In my head! You’re a manifestation of my subconscious!” Franky was now circling around her, edging towards the door. He knew they wouldn’t let him out, but he might be able to get someones attention. If someone saw that Franky was alone in his cell, then his subconscious would have to give up on playing real. Celestia shook her head again. So this is why he had let his guard down around her last night. But how to convince him she was real? She was only visible to those she selected, and she wanted to make as little an impact on this world as possible. She watched the human pound on the door, but then realize it made no sound and turn back to her. Suddenly, she had an epiphany. He would probably trust her more if he thought she was his subconscious. This was a rather large misunderstanding on her part.

“You’re right.” She said. Franky stopped waving frantically at the camera, and turned to stare at the princess.

“You’re right.” She repeated. “I wasn’t going to tell you, and it would have been easier if I hadn’t, but you would have figured it out anyway.”

The prisoners eyes narrowed. “What do you want?” He growled. On the inside however, he wasn’t angry. He was frantic. Why isn’t she gone? He thought. How can she tell me this? If she… They… It can manipulate my sight, can it control my other senses? Will it take over my body? Franky reasoned that if Empathy could, his subconscious probably could as well.

Celestia smiled what she thought was a calming smile. “I just want to talk. To find some answers.”

His head was buzzing. How had the whiteness created a thinking being? His subconscious had always been wild, more animal than human. All those personalities. He thought. The ones that couldn’t hold themselves together. Is this where they went? “Answers about what?” He replied. Also, why the fuck is she a pony? And a girl!

Celestia’s smile faded into a cold face of mildly concealed disgust. Finally, She thought, To business. “Answers about why.” She took a step towards him. “Answers about why you did what you did, and how it could have been prevented.”

Franky glared suspiciously. “You live in my head. You have all of these answers. Why do you need me?” Are they trying to force me into some kind of self reflection? Trying to make me feel guilty?
The princess cursed internally. Her facade was slipping, and she hadn’t learned anything yet. But she would maintain the mask of being a hallucination for as long as she could, because once it fell, the human would have no choice but to believe she was real. “Subconscious,” She said , “means that there is little or no communication between you and us when you think or act.” She thought the ‘Us’ was a nice touch. “We,” She continued, “receive memories of events as you perceived them. Of course they’re justified in your eyes.” Celestia hoped she wasn’t coming across too strong. If she made too good a case for being his subconscious, he would never believe her when she said she actually was a princess from a far off magical land.

“Is that so?” Franky advanced towards her now. “Justified is an interesting choice of wording. What about every time you seized me in a dream?. Held me down and tortured me with a memory. So that was justified?”

It occurred to Celestia now that she had misjudged the relationship between the killer and his mind. To her credit, however, she did not back down. She had faced a few intimidating creatures in her day, and this two legged weaponless monster had nothing on, say, an enraged dragon. But still, she was terrified, and for good reason. When she had arrived on this world, she was seeking the most horrible, mindlessly evil human in existence. She searched for months, and saw many horrifying acts committed by horrible people. But there was nothing that didn’t have it’s parallel in her world. Until one day, she found Franky.

…

Celestia sighed wearily. Her search had taken her all over this dreadful world. Back in Equestria, ponies were beginning to wonder where she went at night, and why she seemed more and more exhausted. That’s what this is. She thought. Exhausting, depressing… And endless. So far, her conclusion was that humans were evil by nature, and only civilized by accident. Give a human any amount of power or freedom, and they will abuse it for their own benefit. Of course, she remembered when her own world had been the same. Fearful. Wild. Corrupted. Only through millennia of hard work had she been able to create the perfect kingdom of Equestria. Her ponies, her children, hardly knew the meaning of words like spite, hate or greed. And yet, she knew that even one evil influence, one corrupted leader, could destroy everything she had worked for. And that was what she was here to prevent.

The princess ruffled her wings and looked around. She remembered from a world map that she was on the outskirts of a city called Shaoyang, in a country called China. But, it wasn’t what one would expect from a densely populated city in a world superpower. Only a few miles from the last skyscraper, here she was, in a small, rural wetland, where farmers tended their rice paddies to provide for their families. The fields were a vibrant green that stretched all the way to the sky, and while the sky was overcast, it was a soothing grey, one that promised alight shower, not a storm. There were few buildings, and of the few, none were larger than a shack. The people made due with what they had, so the houses were made of sheet metal, fishing net and bamboo. Even so, poverty did not dampen the spirits of the poor. Instead, it freed them, allowing them to live simpler, happier lives. It surprised Celestia to find such peaceful communities, ones that reminded her of her homeland, amidst such a violent species.

She followed a small creek into the center of the town. There, patched together and put on stilts to keep it out of the water, was a tavern, that served as the local bar. If there was to be any gossip in this area, it would be here. She climbed up the three boards that were steps, and entered the tavern. For being so small, it was bustling with activity. It consisted of one room, that was about twenty five feet long, and with a roof barely seven feet high. While most humans would have found this uncomfortable, it didn’t bother Celestia at all, and the Chinese were almost as short as her. Workers and farmers milled around her, oblivious to her presence. Some even walked directly through her. She selected one unoccupied corner of the room, slowly trotted over to it, and lay down. Against the back wall, the one that faced the door, there was a counter, from behind which a little old man served two drinks; water and rice wine. He looked like a harsh word would knock him over, but his eyes were kindly and strong. On his counter sat an old, grimy version of the device called a television, playing the local news from Shaoyang. Celestia nestled closer to the bar, yawned, and waited.

She heard every word that passed between the old bartender and each customer that came in for a drink. Fortunately, the dialect of the area was close enough to Mandarin(which she had taught herself) that she could understand it. Unfortunately, not a single word was said about an evil human. The princess had lain there for almost two hours, and all that had been talked about was how well the paddies were coming along, or whose son was moving to the city, or whose daughter had run away with who. Celestia yawned again. If she wanted to get any sleep at all, she would need to depart for Equestria soon. The sun was almost setting in China, which meant in her world, it would almost be rising. Sluggishly, she stood, and was about to leave when something caught her eye. On the small television screen, there stood a tall man. He was on a stage, in the center of a large crowd of people, shouting gleefully in a language she did not know. He had wild, shoulder length black hair, and fiery eyes that seemed to… awaken, like a particularly strong alcohol. In front of the man, another human in a suit was on the stage, tied to a chair with a sack over his head. The black haired man raised a fist into the air, and let loose a roar. The crowd joined in, but instead of overlapping his voice, they only made it louder. Celestia knew that feeling, to an extent, thanks to subjects that revered her as a god. But this was something different. The crowd had a fire in it, but not one that was cozy or warm. They had a fire like his eyes.

He tore the sack off the captives head, revealing a man with brown hair. He looked terrified, but had a gag in his mouth. That black haired man said something else in a low, menacing voice, then threw his head back and laughed, and the crowd with him. Now, Celestia didn’t notice, but almost all of the patrons of the bar were watching the broadcast. But when a Chinese news anchor interrupted to say in Mandarin, “Sensitive viewers are warned to turn away”, every single person in the tavern turned to stare at the small T.V. With a flourish, the black haired man produced a knife from behind his back, and gently traced the other man’s cheek with it. Then, he bent down, and whispered something into the prisoners ear that the camera didn’t pick up. And he plunged the knife into his neck. The tall one began to saw, and the crowd erupted into a frenzy of elated screams and laughter.

They’re monsters. The princess thought. Still she watched. But she did not watch what the killers hands did, as he worked to sever the neck. No, she was watching his face. His blood splattered face, excitedly grinning as he cut through skin, muscle and bone. Finally, he raised his hand, bearing a gruesome trophy. With another laugh, he made an “X” over his chest, and the screen cut to a somber looking Chinese women, who identified the man as the leader of The Children of Chaos. The name struck a chord in Celestia’s heart, one that made her shiver. She knew that if a colossal evil were ever to manifest itself in her world, this would be it. Now fully awake, she strode out of the tavern. Glancing around to make sure there were no wandering farmers, she stopped next to the creek. Closing her eyes, the princess cast a spell. Her horn began to glow, and a warmth enveloped her body. It soon turned into an uncomfortable heat, and with a flash of light, it was over.

The bartender took a cloth from a barrel of water from behind the counter. After ringing it out, he began to wash the bar, pushing aside drinks and moving customers elbows. He did not glance at the television. News of the Dark One had ceased to shock him at all. Why should it concern him? A great evil had risen, yes, but not in Shaoyang. Not even in China. He tossed the cloth back into the bucket, and went about collecting empty glasses. Soon, he would close the bar, shoo everyone out, and return home, where his wife would have dinner prepared. And his mind would have been untroubled by anything, completely at peace, had not a flash of white caught his eye. The bartender watched as a figure in a flowing dress clumsily made it’s way up the steps of his tavern. A hush fell over the bar as a beautiful woman with a regal presence entered. She stood out in bright contrast to the dirty workers; white clothing to brown and black, pale skin to tan and yellow. Her hair flowed well past her shoulders, and river of deep, deep black. She almost stumbled, and the bartender saw that she was completely barefoot. Once she regained her posture, she made her way to the bar with a childish gracefulness, almost as if she was unsure how to use her legs.

The white lady sat at a stool, and smiled at the old man. He bowed, then smiled back.

“Can you help me?” She asked in Mandarin, her voice dripping with a hypnotic charm that made the bartender feel… safe.

“Of course.” he said, bowing again. “I will do anything in my power to aid you.” Anyone close enough to hear her voice was enchanted by it, and due to the size of the tavern, that meant everyone. If anyone hadn’t been under her spell (for that is what it was), they might have noticed the golden clasp around her neck, or the small circlet, also gold, that sat upon her head. As it was, only one patron of the bar was even able to speak, and he was the bartender.

The white lady gestured towards the T.V., where the news report was still playing. “That man.” She said. “Who is he?”

The old chinese workers eyes widened a little. “He is the Dark One.” He said, not fearfully, but respectfully.

The longhaired newcomer chuckled. “The Dark One. Why is he called that?”

The bartender responded slowly. “His name is from the-” He struggled for the correct word in Mandarin. “The growing.” He pointed at his stomach, then spread his hands outward, to show that whatever was in his gut was spreading. “The dark growing.” He said. “From his eyes.”

The white lady nodded. She understood. “I have one more question,” She said, leaning in close, “and this one is very important.” The bartender nodded frantically, and also leaned in to hear her words. “Where can I find him?”

The old man blinked. “In America.” He said immediately.

She raised her eyebrows. “America. I’ve heard of it.” She stood, and bowed to the bartender. “Thank you.” She said, and clumsily turned around. And although she nearly stumbled several times on her way out, everyone in the bar would later agree that she was the most graceful creature they had ever seen. Unbeknownst to her, she had already become something of a legend. Many provincial towns in the poorest parts of China had already been visited by the White Lady, who simply appeared, then disappeared. So of course, this would be monumental news. The White Lady, traveling to America to defeat the Dark one.

“Would she kill him?” Some speculated.

“No.” Said the bartender, who had gazed into her eyes, and believed he saw kindness there. “She will change him. Suddenly, he will stop leading his Children, and he will be reformed.”

While talk like this was ensuing, a small boy, named Mingao, snuck out of the bar. He had decided to follow the White Lady, to see where she went next. Honestly, this was nothing more than a childish curiosity on his part, with no more thought given to it than if he was chasing a cat. Silently. In the middle of the night. At first, it seemed as if she was walking towards the city, as she followed the creek out of the small town. But suddenly, the White Lady and her young shadow turned away from the stream, and into a field. Mingao was confused. Where was she going? This led nowhere. The lady looked around, and the boy flattened his body to the ground. She seemed satisfied that there was no one around and… vanished. Mingao blinked his eyes. He scrambled to the spot where she had been standing seconds before. Other than a faint scent of smoke, there was no sign that the lady had ever existed in the first place. The boy stood, and turned slowly in a circle. As the moon shone down on him in the middle of a rice paddy field, he realized; nobody would ever believe him.

Celestia appeared in an elegantly furnished room, and collapsed onto the massive bed in it’s center. Her human guise melted away, leaving a regal white pony. Exhausted to the point of passing out, she held onto consciousness long enough to see shadows moving under her door. She almost sobbed. In an hour or so, she would be required to perform the sun raising ceremony, and that would give way to a long day of local politics. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but it was accompanied by a grimly satisfied smile. As Celestia drifted into a grateful sleep, her last thought was, Finally. I’ve found him.

…

Franky glared at the horse in front of him. She seemed to have shut down, and her eyes gazed, unfocused, at a corner of his cell. Suddenly, he rushed forward, and seized her by the throat. “Well?” He hissed into her ear. She gasped, and kicked Franky with a front hoof. He hopped back, rubbing his knee. “Welcome back, princess.” He muttered.

Celestia seemed to be in shock. I must need sleep worse than I thought! I let my guard down around a murderer! And a human, no less! She shook herself from her thoughts. “I need to leave.” She splurted, the iron in her voice not quite as commanding as she had meant it to be. Franky, taking her sudden departure as a victory on his part, replied mockingly.

“Why’s that darling? Life outside my head a little too real for you?” Not his best material, but he normally had Crash to help with such things, and at the moment, the red head wasn’t taking any calls.

Celestia scowled. “This isn’t over. I will be back.”

The killer winked. “I’m not going anywhere.” He said jauntily. Her scowl deepened, but instead of responding, she vanished.

The prisoner stood still for a moment, thinking vulgar messages at his subconscious, hoping they reached the annoying white horse. Then, he slumped onto the cot, his back against the padded wall.

“Intercom Guy?” He asked.

“Yes Franky?”

The man in the cell sighed. Now he shows up. “You been on break?”

“Yes. Do you need anything?

Franky thought for a moment. “Two things. Firstly, what time is it?”

“Ten o’clock. Or, 10:02.”

Franky nodded. So his break ends at ten. Good to know.

“And the other thing?”

“Yeah, that.” The prisoner said. “Does this camera record what it monitors? Can you watch it over again?”

Intercom Guy sounded suspicious. “I don’t know if I can give you that information.” He said slowly.

Franky held up a hand. “Look, you don’t have to tell me. I just want you to rewind about… three minutes ago, and tell me if you see anything… weird.”

There was a long silence, during which Intercom Guy apparently decided the prisoners motives were innocent, becauses eventually he spoke. “Ok.” He said. “There is something weird.”

Franky, who had been looking rather downcast, perked up instantly. “Really? What is it?”

“At about 9:50, you started yelling at yourself.”

Franky’s face went blank. “Ok. Thanks.” He leaned against the wall again, and sighed dejectedly. So it was a hallucination. Which meant she was from his subconscious. What scared him the most about that was that she was able to appear at all. Franky knew from his adventures in the white that his subconscious was a malicious, clever, and decidedly hostile creature. If it was able to manipulate his sight, it was probably able to control his other senses as well, and that could be… disastrous, to say the least. He called in his thoughts for Reginald, who was definitely the superior intellect. Reggie? I’m at a loss here buddy. Honestly, the prisoner was floundering to keep his sanity. Between the horse-bitch, his possibly newfound ally in the hospital guard, and fact that he was trapped in a padded cell for the rest of his foreseeable life, Franky was considerably stressed. So, when his friend and advisor did not answer, he slipped into a momentary lapse of control.

Later, the prisoner would say that he was releasing pent up frustration, one hundred percent voluntarily. What actually was happening was Franky screaming at the top of his lungs in a long, continuous howl. Speaking in front of crowds had given him amazing volume, and a stint as a soul singer meant that he could maintain a note for a long, long time. Finally, his breath ran out, and Intercom Guy could be heard over the speaker.

“-having a stroke? I’m sending in medical orderlies!”

Franky blinked a few times and gasped. When he got his breath, he said, “No! No. That won’t be necessary.”

There was a pause, and Intercom Guy was reminded that his charge was clinically insane. “Are you alright?” He asked cautiously.

“I’m fine. Just… venting.” And technically, that was true. Thanks to his outburst, Franky was able to approach his thoughts rationally, one at time.

Alright. He stood, and began to pace his cell. Let’s start with the easy one. The prisoner arrived at a wall and turned around. The question, really, is simple. Whether or not to trust him. “Well,” He thought, “If he is a Child of Chaos, then I can contact him and make a plan.” A plan for what? He interjected. Escape? “Yes, to escape. I’m only here because my suicide attempt… failed. Badly.” Franky spun on his heel, and began another trip across the cell. “And besides,” He continued. “The urge to die via death sentence has passed. I Kind of want to live now.” He waved a hand. “And I can’t do that in here.” The tall man stopped in the middle of his cell, got on his stomach, and started doing pushups. So, He thought, I’ll maintain contact with the guard. If he is trustworthy, I’ll make a plan. If he’s not… Well, I’ll probably make a plan anyway, to throw him off. Franky rolled onto his back and pumped a fist into the air. Ha! I can figure things out on my own! Score one for thinking for myself! He realized that he was probably going to run the plan by Reginald later on, but he didn’t let that thought rain on his parade. He pushed himself onto his feet.

“Intercom Guy?”

“Yes Franky?”

“Can I get some food?”

The intercom crackled, and let out a garbled noise like someone speaking underwater.

The prisoner blinked. “I missed that, could you say it again?”

The intercom responded normally. “Yeah, I said that you will have food delivered to your cell at three different intervals.”

Franky thought for a moment. “This morning you just ordered food for me.”

Presumably, Intercom Guy nodded. “Yes, but that was before your schedule had been finalized. While you were meeting with Dr. Phelps it was delivered to my office.”

The prisoner looked up. “You have an office? That’s cool, describe it to me!”

The other man sounded uncomfortable. “I cannot divulge any information about the structure of this building.”

A black head of hair nodded. “Nothing on names or buildings. Got it. Can you tell me anything about my schedule?”

“Actually, I can”

“Awesome. What do I have planned for today?”

“Well, nothing really. At 12:00 you will receive a lunch, and at 7:00 a dinner. That’s about it.”

Franky was skeptical. “As fit as I am, sitting in a cell doing nothing but eating doesn’t sound healthy. Especially not for the rest of my life.”

“Well, that’s just until you’ve undergone psychoanalysis. Once it’s determined that you are in a nonthreatening mental state, you will have access to things like the cafeteria and the gym.”

The cells denizen seemed considerably more interested. “What, do you mean with other inmates?”

“The preferred term is ‘patients’.” Said Intercom Guy.

The prisoner rolled his eyes. “This is a place criminals go to be punished or rehabilitated, right?”

“Some of them, yes.” The other man replied cautiously.

“It’s a prison. They’re inmates. The only difference between you and a this place is that you have more funding.” Franky flopped onto his cot, intending for the conversation to be over, but Intercom Guy was having none of that.

“It’s an asylum! It’s specifically for criminals who are too mentally unstable to rejoin society. AACI rehabilitates them, and then they can serve their prison sentence, or go home.”

“Really?” The prisoner rolled over to face the camera. “Then why, pray tell me, am I not being rehabilitated? As a matter of fact, why am I here at all?”

“First of all,” Said the(Franky assumed) younger man, “You are either imprisoned or incarcerated for life. Why would resources be wasted on you if no one had any intentions of letting you go?” The man in the cot nodded to this, as it was a good point. “Second of all,” Said the asylum employee, “you are obviously insane, and the Judge presiding over your case declared that you were to be held in a private, non-state owned institution, be it a prison or whatever else.”

Franky was puzzled. “So?”

“So, no privately owned prisons take legally insane inmates. Therefore you were sent to an asylum. Why this particular asylum, I have no idea.”

So, the prisoner thought. The judge really did ruin everything. “Wait a minute!” He said. “I was never legally declared insane. How can that be acted on and applied if it was never official?”

Intercom Guy paused. “Hmm. You have a point there. Any good lawyer should have been on that in seconds.” For a moment, he was stumped.

Honestly, neither of them had ever studied law, and they had a very minimal understanding of what they were talking about, but it was fun to sound educated every once in a while.

“Wait!” The younger man exclaimed. “You represented yourself in court, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s why a lawyer didn’t catch it. You were the lawyer.”

Franky groaned. He hated when blame was correctly traced back to his own mistakes. “But,” He said, rolling over, “I pleaded guilty to all charges, and explicitly said I was sane the whole time.”

“Well, I don’t think you can just claim to be sane. I’m pretty sure it requires proof.”

“In that case, shouldn’t the same rule apply to insanity?” Both were silent now. They were done talking, but not in a frustrated way. They had finished a discussion, not an argument, and there was nothing left to say.

The prisoner lay, contemplating one thing or another, most likely food, when a scream echoed through his mind.

Author's Note

I don't really understand law, please don't pick holes in my plot. Also, fuck Google docs. If you see a mistake, please let me know.
Have a nice day!

Far Left Side of the Brain

Crash marched purposefully ahead, whistling a tune, and swinging a machete by his side. Nervously following behind him was Empathy, and Reginald brought up the rear. The teenager noted that the house was now out of sight, although they didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.

He mentioned this, to which Reggie responded, “We stopped moving the moment our house was out of sight. That house is the only part of this,” He waved a hand around, “That Franky controls. Once we leave the area we are completely at the mercy of the subconscious.”

Empathy shivered. “So why is nothing happening?”

Crash answered that one. “It probably hasn’t decided what to do with us.” He said. “It seems more… Empty than usual. Like it’s waiting for something.”

Reginald nodded. “We should be near the cliffs, if they’re still here.” He noted.

The teenager looked up. “Cliffs? What cli- Oh.” As he spoke, they approached a massive wall of white. Empathy craned his neck, trying to see the top of the mountain. There were cracks and valleys and crevices just like an earthly formation, except for the fact that it was the same blank white as everything else. “What?” He said confusedly. “Why couldn’t see these before? They’re huge!

Crash pulled a sawed off shotgun from somewhere in his coat, and tossed it to Reggie. “Nothing makes sense here, kid. Catch.”

The blonde personality fumbled with the small hunting knife Crash flipped at him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Defend yourself. See that canyon?” The red headed man pointed with his machete towards a crack in the cliffs, leading deep inside the white giants.

Empathy nodded suspiciously. “Yeah.”

“You’re going first. Move.”

“What?! Why do I have to go first?”

Crash glared. “Because I want somebody expendable up front if there’s an ambush. Now move, you little shit, before I start cutting off fingers.”

So, with Empathy in the lead, Reginald in the middle, and Crash in the back, the trio entered the cliffs of the subconscious. Unbeknownst to the teenager, the order made tactical sense. The canyon was only wide enough for one single file, so if the situation arose that they had to retreat, Crash would lead it. This way, he didn’t have to elbow past anybody. Also, even though he would never say it outloud, he believed that Reginald was the most important of the personalities. By placing him in the middle, the well dressed man was two times less vulnerable.

After a while trudging over featureless, colorless rocks, and maneuvering through tight spaces, Empathy spoke up. “What are we looking for?”

Reggie, who had been mostly silent, responded, “The subconscious.”

“Oh.”

After a moment, Crash spoke. “Why are you stoppin’, buddy?” Empathy turned around to see Reginald stopped in the center.

“Why are we here?’ The intellectual asked with a terrified look in his eyes.

The boy was confused. “You just said, to find the-”

“No,” Reginald turned to Crash. “Think about it. Why would we search for the subconscious at all?”

Crash looked confused. “Franky said… To show the kid around.”

“How does that mean venture into the white?” Reginald sounded frantic.

The muscled man shook his head. “I don’t… I don’t know.” He looked up. ‘Why are we here?” Suddenly Empathy released a piercing scream as the cliff walls around them seemed to erupt.”

…

“Franky, are you alright?” Intercom guy watched as the tall man seemed to spasm in pain.

The prisoners eyes burst bust open. He stood rapidly from his cot, and dashed to the door. “I!... Ah… Oh shit, what do I do?”

The asylum employee was at a loss. “Do about what?”

“How am I supposed to fall asleep now?” He exclaimed. “It's Ten o’clock!

Today, Intercom guy was really having his patients insanity driven home. “Why do you need to fall asleep?”

Franky was looking wildly around his cell. “I… Uh…. I just do, ok?” I’m wide awake, and they’re being killed! “Intercom guy?” He said. “Will I be sedated if I say I’m in intense pain?”

“Uh… Are you in pain?” The younger man couldn't tell if the prisoner wanted to be sedated or not.

“Will they sedate me?”

“No. No medication can be ministered until psychoanalysis has been completed.”

Shit! Franky looked around his cell.

“Are you in pain? I could send some orderlies-”

“What if I started causing trouble?”

“What?”

“If I started breaking things, would they come down and sedate me?”

Intercom guy was becoming increasingly confused. “What would you break?”

The prisoner reexamined his cell. “Good point.” He said. “How about if I started hurting myself, like biting and scratching my skin off?”

“You’d probably just be put back in your strait jacket. Why do you need to fall asleep so badly?”

“Nothing. It’s just… Family matters.” The tall man eyed his sheets. If I strangle myself into unconsciousness, I’ll probably die. “Is there anything you can do to knock me out?” He said, facing the camera.

Somewhere in his office, Intercom guy baffled-ly shook his head. “Sorry man. Can’t help you.”

Franky sat frustratedly on his cot. There was no way he could just force himself to fall asleep. It was 10 A.M., and he was adrenalized with worry for his mental companions. He sat for a moment, knowing that every second passed meant less of a chance for Crash and Reggie. An idea came unbidden to the prisoners mind. Something she had taught him, long ago. She had always been about chakras and chi and crap like that. Meditation had always been particularly difficult for Franky, because he had to convince his personalities to cooperate. It’s hard to clear one's mind with a red headed fitness buff constantly muttering, “This is fucking retarded.” But, when meditation did work, Franky fell straight asleep.

“Intercom guy?”

“Yes?”

“Could you play some relaxing nature noises over the speaker?”

The younger man was suspicious. “Umm…”

“Look, I know you’ve got a computer up there. I would bet money that there is no protocol against this. I just need to fall asleep.” When Intercom guy hesitated, franky continued. “It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do today.”

The man on the monitor consented, and after a moment , calming sounds of a river and chirping birds washed over the prisoner. He positioned himself in the center of the cell, facing the window, through which warm sunlight bathed his face. He sat cross legged and placed his hands on his knees. With a deep breath, he thought, Let’s do this.

…

Crash laughed as hundreds of disembodied hands crawled towards him. When they swarmed onto his pants, he swept his machete, sending fingers flying. After a moment, when a maimed pile of hands lay before him, the survivors started to retreat a few yards back. “Fucking pussys!” He shouted. “Get back over here!” They climbed over each other, forming a larger and larger pile, until one gigantic hand faced the red head. He laughed again. “Really? Come on. That’s so cliche.” In response, the hands began to melt off, revealing a pale yellow slime beneath. With a violent explosion, the hand residue flew off, leaving behind a massive slug creature with spider legs. Crash whooped and charged forward. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

Reggie watched the spectacle warily. The initial ambush had consisted of small dog like creatures, tunneling out of the side of the cliff. Reggie had easily fended them off with his shotgun, and hadn’t been attacked since. He considered helping Crash, but the tattooed man seemed to be handling himself. The suited personality spun around searching for Empathy. The boy was nowhere to be found. Reginald turned to notify Crash, when suddenly he was somewhere else. He blinked. “What?” He attempted to say, when he realized his voice made no sound. It was significantly darker than before, as if he was in a massive room. He could only see about twenty feet in any direction before it faded to darkness. This obviously is a trap. He thought, But, if I stay in one place, I will be an easier target. So, he he trudged off, awkwardly toting the shotgun.

Presently, Reginald spotted a light, off into the apparently infinite darkness. As the well dressed man approached it, he noticed two figures in the light. As he got closer, he recognized them as Crash and Empathy. They were tied together, back to back, and had something like a spotlight shining on them. Reggie attempted to get their attention, but he remembered that he could not speak. He strode to the edge of the light, cautiously, and waved his hand at them. Empathy had his head down, and Crash was staring off into the darkness, neither noticed their brother. He circled the edge, positioning himself directly in front of the older captive. He waved frantically, and although it seemed the redhead was staring straight through him, he gave no notice that he saw. Startling Reggie, Crash spoke.

“Alright kid.” He said. Empathy looked up. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. My ropes are pretty loose, and I’ve almost got em off. I’ll take yours off, and, when they come back, I’ll take the one with the spear lookin fuckmadoodle. Got it?”

Empathy nodded shakily. “Then what?”

“Then we run.”

Reginald cautiously peered around for whoever ‘they’ were, and immediately flattened to the ground when he saw two figures approaching.

“Crash!” Empathy whispered. “Here they come!

“Ok, stick to the plan.”

“But my ropes are still on!”

There was a pause. “...Alright. Just hold on.”

As they got closer, Reggie noticed some disturbing details about his friends captors. They were extremely tall, each about nine feet. This was paired with an inhuman slenderness, as if they were made purely of bones. He couldn’t tell, however, because they were covered entirely by a rough khaki cloth, including a hood. Their face were obscured by bandannas and red lensed reflective goggles. Indeed, one also carried a long spear-like weapon, it’s head artistically flared and barbed. Reginald was flooded with fear for his friends, but he didn’t know what he could do. The tall creatures stepped into the light, and both of the captives stiffened. The one without a spear circled around in front of Crash, and knelt down close to his face.

“Don't trust the horse.” It said, in a voice that sounded like it was choking on blood.

Crash, who had been glaring defiantly, blinked. “What?” With startling swiftness, the tall creature punched the redhead in the jaw. “Son of a bitch!” The captive was stunned for a moment, then angry. He spit out a generous amount of blood, a few teeth, then muttered, “Ok, kid. Now!”

“Wait, no no! I don’t have my ropes off yet!” But it was too late. Crash was up and attempting to get his rope around the neck of his abuser. The creature also stood, and swung a fist into the tattooed mans stomach. Crash doubled over, but straightened up in time to catch another fist to the face. This one knocked him to the ground. The creature with the spear hadn’t moved at all, and simply stared at Empathy, who was still struggling with his ropes.

Reggie watched all of this, stunned, from the shadows. It had all happened so fast! He was still lying on the ground, paralyzed with worry, and Crash was being beaten to death. He was a planner, not a fighter! How could he help? A clear, calm voice pierced through his panicked mind. Save them. Before he had time to think, “How?” he was on his feet, and he rushed into the light. Crash’s assaulter paused to look at the newcomer, a distraction that the red head used to kick it in the crotch. The only effect this had was to shift its attention back to him. It grabbed him by his shoulders, and pulled him to his knees. Reggie charged the creature, wailing on it with his fists like he had seen Crash do with the punching bag. It was like punching a brick wall. Knuckles shattered, Reggie staggered back, and could only gasp in pain, for his voice was still gone.

While the unarmed assailant restrained him, the creature with the spear approached Crash from the front. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Reggie charged the creatures again. Crash’s eyes met his brothers, and the redhead smiled. Then, the hooded monster plunged it’s spear into his throat. Reginald found that his voice had returned.

…

Franky winced. He had not tried meditation in a long time, and it was made particularly difficult by the tormented cries in his head. They sounded like Reggie’s. Focus on something else. The nature sounds from the intercom were still playing. Alright, He thought. I’m in the middle of the river. There are trees lining the banks. The image manifested itself in his mind. It’s dawn. There’s the sun, rising over that waterfall. He rested on top of the water, like Jesus in repose. The birds that chirped and flapped around him were bright reds, yellows and blues. Some of them had four wings, and others had tail feathers that seemed to sparkle. Although the serial killer may have had many issues, a lacking imagination was not one of them. Large, transparent fish swirled in the water, occasionally stopping to nip a bit of algae off the surface. Stop. Franky told himself. You’re rabbit trailing. He took a deep breath, and attempted to clear his mind. The river and it’s denizens vanished, and the prisoner was sitting on what felt like sinking cotton. He was alone, on a peaceful, tranquil white plane of rolling clouds. He felt himself slipping into a slow slumber, when his minds eye burst wide open.

Amid the endless sea of clouds, there seemed to be a fire. No, not a fire. A curly mass of orange hair. And that hair was accompanied by a body. A body Franky knew very well. She strode towards his spot in the fluffy cotton balls. Franky’s breath caught on his chest, and he felt his grasp on sleep fade away. Then, she laughed. That simple, beautiful sound shook him to his core, and his physical eyes jerked open. He was back in his cell, and the screaming was still there. He couldn’t tell who it was now. The black haired man put his head in his hands. That certainly had been an unexpected surprise. Although he supposed it shouldn’t have been. Repressed memories tend to return through meditation. He looked up, shook his head, and placed his hands back on his knees. Now there was a steely determined look in his eyes. I don’t have time for this. He thought. My friends are in danger. His eyes closed, and he brought himself back to the clouds.

…

A hand reached for the machete that had embedded itself in the brain of a massive slug creature. Despite the monster consisting mostly of slime, the machete was deceptively hard to pull out. Once it was free, Crash shook the knife trying to to rid it of the mucus. “Fuckin gross.” He said. He spun on a heel, ready to face whatever new monster had risen to face him. But there was nothing. The canyon was empty. “Reggie?” He shouted. “Kid?” There was only his echoing voice. “Huh.” The redhead reviewed his options. He could backtrack through the canyon, and end up back in the white, where Reggie would have gone if he had escaped. Or, he could go deeper into the canyon, where they would have been taken if captured. Which, He rationalized, is probably more likely. So, he started off again, into the belly of the beast.

After a few minutes, he began to feel extremely uncomfortable. It was the silence. Oppressive. Omnipotent. It was soaking into his pores. He reached once more into his coat, and produced a small speaker, about the size of a cellphone. He pressed a button on the side, and suddenly the silence was broken by a thumping beat, and a fast, timbre voice. Crash nodded along. Fuck yeah, Tupac. He had already weighed the consequences of his enemies knowing he was coming against walking in that accursed silence. Honestly, if they were in the canyon, they knew he was coming anyway. The redhead walked for a few minutes, and aside from the occasional glance around, he let his guard down. He trusted his reflexes enough to save him from an ambush, and the stress of constant wariness was something he didn’t need. Truthfully, the walk was peaceful, an adjective not normally applied to any part of Crash’s life. He could have been worrying about his friends, but what would the point have been? He had no idea where they were, or whats head he would have to lop off to get to them. So, if he kept his mind clear, open and ready, nothing would come as a surprise. And also, he really enjoyed the peace.

Crash knew he was real, but he also knew he wasn’t fully his own person. All the frustration, rage and anger came from Franky, and there were no hard feelings between them. But out here, in the place where Franky had no influence, he could be calm.

He approached a sight that shook him out of his reverie. He paused his music, and stared at the scene before him. The canyon abruptly opened up, spreading about one hundred feet in either direction. That, however, was not what made the coated mans jaw drop. A crowd of people, thousands strong, had gathered in the opening. Well, people was a loose term,as only a few were human. Some were ten feet tall, and looked as if they were made of huge lego blocks. And others hovered on clear dragonfly wings, shouting in clicks and clacks. As a matter of fact, they were all shouting, creating such a roar that Crash was amazed he hadn’t heard them before. Also, everyone of them had their backs turned to him.

Before he could be noticed, he took up one of the chants that he could understand.

“Kill them all! Kill them all! Kill them all!” Nice, He thought. He would have put his machete away, but plenty of the others had weapons as well, so he fit in. Crash could not, however, see who or what they were chanting at, so he started elbowing his way through. Some did not like that, and started elbowing back, not necessarily at Crash. Soon, something akin to a mosh pit had broken out, alien limbs bashing against each other, angry chants changing to war cries. Although Crash would have loved to stay and rumble, he still pushed his way through the crowd. His friends were up there, somewhere. The mob was calmer up front, but not quieter. Here, the chanting blotted out all other sounds. Whoever they want to kill is fucked. The redhead winced at that thought, because he knew who it probably was.

After politely stepping between a massive blue rhino and a man who had his eyes sewn shut, Crash’s fears were confirmed. About twenty yards in front of him, Reggie and Empathy were being held on a wooden structure the coated man recognized immediately. A gallows. They were being guarded by about seven really tall guards, that were covered from head to toe in a weird cloth. Also, they were extremely skinny. Crash paid less attention to their appearance, and more to the large sticks they all carried. The chanting was growing louder now, and more frenzied. The tall creatures were preparing Reggie and Empathy for death, tying ropes into knots that only had one purpose. Crash made the decision that planning took too much time, and that only action was an option now. He sprinted away from the crowd, towards the gallows. Adrenaline had begun it’s work now, and to Crash, time slowed. He had time to gulp as he approached the first guard, thinking, That’s a really big stick. For this one, at least, he had the element of surprise. Crash used his momentum to drive the machete through the creatures narrow chest. It was like stabbing a tree, but the blade still came through the other side. The creature fell without a sound, but nine feet collapsing still alerted the others. Which posed a problem to the red headed rescuer. The guards were converging on his position, and his machete was stuck in the creatures rock-like chest. He placed his foot on its torso, and yanked with all his might. It loosened, but did not come free. He glanced behind him, and thankfully, the crowd seemed to be focused on the prisoners, and not him. He placed a strong kick on the handle, and it flew free. Just in time, too, for the rest of the creatures had arrived.

Crash scrambled for the machete, unknowingly ducking a swing from one of the guards sticks. He spun around, and deflected another swing with his blade. Fortunately, it seemed only three had come to confront him. Unfortunately, the rest had gathered around Reggie and Empathy. Two of the guards charged him head on, and the other circled off to his right. Crash sidestepped a downward blow, but took a stick to the shoulder that almost knocked him over. That might have been the end, had not one creature tripped over its fallen comrade. The redhead took this opportunity to sever its head with a hard swing, and this time he held onto his blade. The head rolled, and black, clumpy liquid began to pool on the ground. Now, the one on the right swung its stick, which Crash barely dodged. He jabbed the machete into its stomach, but this only slowed it for a moment. It kicked him in the jaw, its long legs showing an unnatural agility. The redhead stumbled backwards, seeing stars. His vision was swimming, and suddenly another blow to his back brought him to his hands and knees. He gasped for breath, and rolled to his left, narrowly avoiding a blow that would have crushed his skull. He saw a pair of legs, and hacked at them, bringing one monster down to his level. Before it had time to react, he scrambled to it’s head and slit its throat.

He managed to push himself to his feet, and he studied the remaining enemy. It held its stomach, bleeding black, in one hand, and a stick in the other. The two fighters charged at each other, weapons raised. Crash ducked and rolled, bringing himself behind his adversary. He stabbed the back of one leg, bringing the creature to it’s knees. He plunged his machete into it’s back, and it sprouted from the monsters chest with a satisfying crunch. He withdrew the knife with difficulty, and circled around to face the creature, feeling it was time for a one liner. “Eat a fucking sandwich.” He said. The dying creature eyed him with red goggles, as black leaked from its wound. With a deep gravelly voice, it said, “Don’t trust the horse. She is not one of us.” And then it collapsed onto its face.

Crash didn’t really register that these words didn’t make sense, because he was already sprinting towards the remaining guards. Also, the gallows. And, even more importantly, his friends. The fight had taken a few minutes, maybe only two, but even that had been too long. The ropes were already around the captives necks. The redhead pushed one guard aside, dodged another, and even made it onto the stairs of the wooden structure. But, suddenly, he stopped. His insides were… White. Burning. Burning white hot. He looked down to see a golden, flared and twisted blade protruding from his side. He followed the spear to its owner, another guard. This one was different. Scarier, Darker. And he had a spear. Crash fell to his knees, and looked up at his friends. They were bound and gagged, but he could see their eyes. Reggie looked at his tattooed friend, and smiled, with his eyes. Then, a lever was pulled, and Crash’s brother fell. And Empathy fell. And the crowd roared.

…

Franky watched as the hole he had fallen in got smaller and smaller, feeling very much like Alice, descending into Wonderland. A part of his mind realized that ‘falling asleep’ was often a literal term for him. He landed with a ‘bloop’ into a sea of jello-like water. He took a tentative breath, and not surprisingly, he could breathe. He rolled over to face the surface, and blew bubble rings, watching as they ricocheted around the ceiling of what was now a huge victorian church. He got to his feet, and studied his surroundings. On either side of the church were massive stained glass murals depicting saints and various biblical scenes. In the front, about five steps led up to an altar, which sported a crucifix. And the crucifix sported a life-sized, statuesque Jesus. But what interested Franky more was the pews. They weren’t full, by any means, but worshippers dotted them like people waiting for a plane at an airport.

Franky walked up and down they rows, smiling as the devotees avoided looking at him. He crouched in front of a child, who was sitting in between his parents. The boy clenched his hands together, and bowed his head, not meeting the killers gaze. But Franky remained, and eventually, shakily, the boy looked up. The black haired man grinned.

“You’re going to hell.” The boy whispered.

Franky’s grin widened. “What makes you say that?” The boy put both of his fists on top of his head, then lifted his index fingers. The black haired man reached to his own head, and sure enough, two small horns protruded from his forehead. The boy put his head back down, and began praying fearfully. Franky laughed, and stood. He glanced behind him. Aw, no tail. He walked the pews some more, stopping behind a woman with short blonde hair. Her eyes were closed, and she was praying fervently. He bent close to her ear and whispered, “Hi.” She flinched, but her eyes did not open, and the praying did not stop. “I’m sure you know who I am.” He continued, tracing her cheek with a surprisingly sharp fingernail. Her voice cracked, and she shivered, but she did not cease her prayers. “Well, anyway, I know who you are.” Franky chuckled. “And guess what? So do they. They all know what you’ve done.” She shook her head, tears dripping down her face. “Oh yes.” He said. “And there’s no forgiveness for you. No redemption. When it’s all over, you’re coming with me.” He wound his tongue, which seemed to be several feet long, around her throat, and somehow kept talking. “I could strangle you right now, and they would do nothing. Their God would do nothing. You have been abandoned.”

She whimpered, still shaking her head, trying to deny the whispers in her ear, but her prayers stopped. “No, no, no.” She said, but the damage had been done. When Franky drew his tongue away, a golden, sparkling essence came with it, and there she sat. Colorless. Soulless. Her deceiver stood, dusted off his hands, and began to walk away. And then, he stopped. Well, He thought, It’d be cruel just to leave her like that. He turned back, and now she sat alone, on a bench in a park. Except for her grey, vacant eyes, it was sunny, green, and altogether cheerful. He took her face in his hands, and blew softly into it. She seemed to awake, her eyes at least. And then, he was gone, and she sat, contentedly stroking the kitten in her lap as her color slowly returned.

Franky marched down a busy road in a large metropolis, overturning cars, sinking people into the sidewalk, and uprooting skyscrapers, causing them to float away. But his mind wasn’t really in it. He approached a tall building that was probably a bank, but as soon as he touched the door handle, the whole thing melted. He allowed himself to be washed away, carried by the gushing current of building. He laid on his back, lazily floating as people screamed and tried to escape the oncoming flood. Normally, he would have been laughing hysterically, causing chaos as the opportunity presented itself. But now, his mind was… preoccupied. Why? He thought. Why didn’t I just leave her, sobbing, in a church for a god she thought had forsaken her?

Because that’s cruel. He thought.

So? I do cruel shit all the time. I’m a serial killer for christ sakes! Cruel is my- He stopped, physically and mentally. Wait! He thought. I’m thinking! I’m lucid! Franky immediately snapped his fingers, the chaotic city giving way to an endless white. So much time wasted! They could be dead! He blinked, shaking his head, and ran to the door of the cabin Crash and Reggie shared. He grasped the handle, but drew away when he saw the chains and locks barring it. He knew what they meant, and he slowly turned to face the white. A shiver ran the course of his spine, having less to do with the chilling wind, and more to do with the ominous sense that his friends were not going to make it. Franky snapped his fingers, and what resembled a jet ski appeared next to him. He mounted the vehicle, and just in time, to, because the white was now a sloshing milky liquid. He gunned the motor and raced forward, leaving the homely cabin in his wake.

He knew that once the house was out of his sight, the dream would no longer be under his control. So, as he rode towards the white horizon, he outfitted himself with some things he was likely to need. This included an eight inch hunting knife in his belt, and a Ruger P89 strapped to his thigh. He also summoned a small backpack, and filled it with odds and ends that might come in handy. A glance behind him confirmed that he was now in the subconscious. A hard jolt confirmed it again, as the ground suddenly became solid. The jet ski began to spin wildly on the glassy white surface, and Franky jumped (or was thrown), off the vehicle and tumbled for a few meters before rising to his feet. The ski slid for a moment, before dramatically exploding. If he had had time, Franky would have smiled, appreciating his minds flare for action. But, at the moment, his mind was trying to kill his friends, so the black haired man started sprinting in the direction he hoped the cliffs were in.

His hopes were soon verified, as the looming mountains rose up in front of him. Franky spotted the canyon that led into the cliffs, and drew the Ruger from his side. He never made it, however, for an invisible force manifested itself as a wall in front of him, which he slammed into at full sprint. Franky lay on his back, blinking at the silver stars that swarmed his vision. His nose was warm, and when he raised a hand to it, he realized it was broken and bleeding. It wasn’t until his vision started to fade did he realize that it was a much harder collision than he had thought. “No.” He said weakly. “No, I don’t have time for this.” As his eyes closed, he thought he saw a tall figure with red eyes standing over him.

…

Franky peered over the edge of a tremendous cliff. More off the edge of a mountain, really. He could see the ground, but it was miles away. A chill ran down his spine, despite the Australian sun beating down on him.
“Nope, nope nope. Fuck that.” Crash said. ‘Not happening.”
Oh come on. It’s not- Franky gulped. It’s not that bad.
Statistically speaking - Reggie started.
“Uh-uh! Don’t even talk to me about statistics! That shit is like three miles!”
-We would survive. Reggie finished.
A hand touched Franky’s shoulder , and he spun around.
“You ok, hon?” The woman before him was a goddess, her hair like a wild fire, her
eyes like emeralds, and her pale skin dotted with freckles. Franky experienced something akin to butterflies in his stomach.
“Yeah.” He said. “I’m good.”

She nodded. “Sweet. Check my straps, would ya’?” She presented her parachute, and Franky gave them a once, then twice over.

“You’re good.”

“Cool. Spin around.” He did, and once she confirmed his straps were secure, she shoved him towards the edge. Crash and Franky simultaneously shouted, “Mother Fucker!”, but before he tumbled off, she pulled him back. He collapsed on his back, heart pounding like a bass drum at a rock concert.

“Des.” He gasped.

Deseret, who was laughing so hard she could hardly breathe, managed to answer, “Yeah?”

“That was not funny.”

This sent her into another fit of laughter. “It was pretty goddamn funny!”

He got on his hands and feet, growling from under his hair. “Oh really?” He sprang at her, and she was caught off guard. With an ‘Oof!’ they rolled, a cluster of red, black and white. They landed with Deseret on top, pinning Franky’s arms down.

“Ha! Beat ya’ again.” He grinned, and leaned up for a kiss. When she closed her eyes to receive it, he pushed her upwards over his head. She landed on her back with a ‘thump’, and her partner pinned her arms down. Crash cackled.

The pair wrestled for a while, before stopping, gasping, before the edge of the cliff. They sat together, feet dangling over a ten thousand foot drop, watching the sun set over the Australian outback. The reds and pinks of the horizon melted with the yellow of the desert, blending into a masterpiece that reminded Franky of Sherbet.

If you weren’t with her, it would have reminded you of blood. Said Reggie. The black haired man reflected on this. It was true, Deseret had a taming effect on him, even though she was an adrenaline junkie. When they had run from the bulls in Pamplona, or through molotov cocktails at the police in the riots at Egypt, he hadn’t been thinking about killing, or even surviving. He had been having fun, and more importantly, fun with her.

By now, the sun was gone, but the light wasn’t. A joint force between the moon and the bright Australian stars kept everything bathed in a brilliant dark blue. It was, in a word, beautiful. A voice next to him broke Franky out of his reverie.

“I think it’s about time.” Deseret handed him one of two pairs of rather expensive looking goggles. The both strapped them on, then stood. Des chuckled, and wiped some straggly hair out of his face. “You ready for this, dickhead?”

Franky smiled. “You bet, asshole.”

She grinned, and pecked him quickly on the lips. “Let’s do this.” With that, and with Crash quietly muttering, “Oh no, oh no, oh no.” the whole time, they dove off the cliff.

…

Franky awoke with a gasp. He sat up, and for a moment thought he was blind, before he remembered where he was. He saw his Ruger lying a few feet away, and scrambled for it. In a second he was and scanning for any signs of immediate danger. And then, he remembered where he had just been. Deseret. He thought, choking. She-

No! I don’t have time for this! He pushed himself up. Crash. Reggie. Empathy if I can find him. Franky started off in a run towards the cliffs, carefully this time, in case of any more invisible walls. As he was running, several things occurred to him at once. First of all, it was extremely strange that his friends would come into the white at all. They knew the dangers, and they didn’t like it there any more than he did. So why lead an expedition into the depths of the enemy? And without him? Another thing that occurred to him was something Celestia had said earlier. The subconscious did not receive his thoughts as he had them. “Little or no communication”, she had said. So, supposedly the subconscious had sent her to figure out what he was thinking. But maybe she wasn’t the only thing it had sent.

Empathy. Frankys eyes narrowed. and he growled as he ran. Empathy. It all made sense. When personalities couldn’t hold themselves together, they were reabsorbed into the subconscious. But Empathy had been able to hold himself together. He had been banished,, and apparently the white had recognized him as a useful tool, sending him back to spy. And somehow, he had convinced Crash and Reggie to come with him. When I find him, Franky thought, I’m going to chop him up into little pieces and feed him to every monster we come across.

It was now that he encountered a strange sight. At the entrance of the colorless canyon, facing him, there stood a small girl. She wore a black cloak like garment, and had short blonde hair. Somehow, Franky hadn’t seen her before he was close, even though she stood out from the white like a bloodstain on the snow. He leveled his gun at her, tentatively, unsure of whether or not she posed a threat. Slowly, she raised her head, green eyes meeting his. For a moment, it looked as if she didn’t have eyes, just black holes that seemed to tear the breath from his lungs. But then he blinked, and they were green again.

“Hello, Franky.” She said, in a voice that carried more than just a little girl. Several voices backed hers, like a choir. That’s creepy.

“Hello.” He said. “I don’t think I know your name.”

Her head seemed to twitch as she smiled. “You never gave me a name.” With that, she turned around, and began walking into the canyon. When Franky hesitated, her head snapped around. “Follow me.” She said innocently. Franky glanced behind him, and then followed, realizing that it would be best to play along, at least until he found his friends.

She walked slowly, running her hand along the left side of the canyon. After a moment, she stopped, put both hands on the left wall, and shoved inward. A portion of the canyon crumbled, revealing a door of sorts. A tunnel would be a more accurate description.

“Come on.” She said, and disappeared into the hole. Franky peered in after her. He could see nothing except for an inky blackness. With a final glance around him, the tall man ducked, and stepped into the darkness.

…

Deep within the white, the subconscious, stood a building. A plain building, to be sure, but it was not white, like the endless expanse around it. If it had been in a suburban neighborhood, it would have blended right in. But in the sea of nothing, it very literally stood out. Only a few stories tall, and a drab adobe pink, it resembled an apartment. From inside, a gunshot rang out. And following that came a tortured sob.

As plain as the outside may have been, the inside mirrored the aftermath of a horror movie. Blood splashed the white walls in abstract tributes to death, and mangled bodies littered the floor, sprawled in unnatural positions. And cowering in one corner, crying hysterically, was a boy. He had bright blonde hair, and he seemed to be about fourteen years old. His white polo was splattered red. At one point he would have worn glasses, but they had fallen off. Tightly gripped in one hand was a pistol.

“Please.” Empathy whispered. “No more.” He rocked back and forth, clutching his knees to his chest.

There was a gasp, and the boy raised his head. In the doorway to the room stood a woman, about thirty, shocked into a momentary silence. Then she screamed. She ran to a small body, dropping the groceries she had been carrying. She wailed, clutching and cradling a young boy whose head had been blown off.

“Don’t make me do this, please!” Empathy struggled with his own hand, but it rose fluidly, gun unwavering. The woman glanced up sharply, to see a barrel leveled at her. “I am so, so sorry.” Empathy said, meeting her tear filled eyes with his own. Another shot rang through the building.

Author's Note

Well, that took for fucking ever. Apparently writing is hard. Anyway, hoped you liked it. I ain't goin nowhere.

Answers Bring Questions

Franky blinked repeatedly, trying to focus his eyes in the darkness. He could faintly see the girl in front of him, heading deeper into the tunnel. He realized that at such close quarters, his gun wouldn’t do much good, so he drew his hunting knife.

“So hey,” He said to the girl, “where are we going?”

She chuckled darkly, not turning around. “You’ll see, darling, you’ll see.”

That does not sound good. Also, she called me darling. There was a scrabbling sound, as if a huge rat was in the tunnel with them.

“What was that?”

The girl turned around slowly, her green eyes flashing in the dark. “It seems as if you’ve got some company.” She smiled.

Suddenly, something knocked Franky to the ground from behind. He landed hard, dazed for a moment. Whatever it was snarled and clawed at him, but failed to do any harm thanks to his backpack. He rolled over, pinning his attacker down, and used his elbow to ram it in the sides. It yelped, and tried to push him off, but he held firm. He swung the knife behind him into what he hoped was a throat. Based on the spray of blood that coated him, he was correct. He rolled to his feet, and kicked the creature away. He saw now that it was vaguely dog-shaped, except for the legs, which were much too long. It had a long, worm like tail that thrashed around as the creature gurgled on its own blood. It hopped to its feet, however, and advanced clumsily at the tall man, growling. Franky drew the Ruger, and shot it in the head.

The tunnel amplified the sound into a tremendous explosion that made his ears ring, and the shot echoed for a long time. When it finished, a disoriented Franky turned turned to the girl.

“Thanks for the help.” He scowled.

She grinned innocently. “What could I have done? I’m just a little girl.” She turned around, and continued into the darkness. Franky, muttering darkly, took off his backpack, located a flashlight, and followed after her.

Several more times they heard the scrabbling, and several more times he was attacked. But, thanks to the flashlight and the forewarning of the sound, he was able to dispatch them easily. Or, relatively easily. After a pair of dog-creatures had managed to land a rather nasty bite on his arm, Franky exploded.

“Why do they hate me?!” He shouted. “What did I do? And why aren’t they attacking you?” He kicked a rock in the direction of the black haired girl.

She laughed. “They don’t hate you. You’re all they think about!” She turned to walk away again. “They love you.”

Franky stood for a moment, before stomping after her. “What?”

“You are their god, their father. When you are here, you’re the only thing that matters.” She chuckled again. “Unfortunately for you, all that they know is violence. So, when you occupy their mind, the violence is directed at you.”

He was stunned. “What - What are they?”

“They’re thoughts. Random, violent little thoughts that you’ve had over your life. They happened, so their in your mind, but you don’t remember having them consciously, so,” She waved a hand around, “they come here.”

Franky broke into a jog, trying to catch up with her. “What about all of the nonviolent thoughts I’ve had? Where are they?”

She shook her head. “That would take a long time to explain.”

“Simplify it.”

The girl spun around, and her eyes were gone again, replaced by gaping black holes. “Fine.” She said.

“This is not your subconscious.” She gestured around the tunnel. “Neither is the white.” Franky was confused, but remained silent. “This is a creation, a collaboration between all the thoughts that want to interact with you.” He was even more confused now, and his face showed it. She sighed frustratedly. “Look. All the thoughts that aren't violent, don’t really care about you. They don’t want to interact. So, they stay in the real subconscious, which is beyond anything you could understand. But the ones that do want to interact, they created a place for you, where things were physical, and where they could play with you. A place you could understand.” She stomped the floor of the tunnel. “That’s this place.”

Franky thought he grasped what she meant, and nodded, but she was already moving on. “Hey.” He said after her. “Does that mean you want to hurt me?”

She stopped, and very slowly turned around. “ I really, really do.” She said, her eyes green and hard as diamonds. But then, she was moving again. “Unfortunately, I can’t. At least not until I bring you to a friend of mine. He want’s to talk to you.”

The black haired man watched her back as she walked on, before slowly starting to join her. “Well that’s reassuring.” He said. “Sort of.”

There was little conversation between the two, and there were no more attacks either. There was just the sound of boots on gravel as the pair walked further and further into the seemingly endless tunnel.

“Alright look.” The girl kept walking, but nodded her head to show that she was listening. “I don’t mean to be rude, but can we hurry the fuck up? I need to find Crash and Reggie.”

She nodded again. “Don’t worry. Your friends are safe.”

Franky glared. “Why should I believe you?” But he did believe her, for whatever reason, and he was relieved a little.

Suddenly she stopped. The tall man reached for his knife, and crouched, ready for whatever came next.

“We’re here. Finally.”

He looked around. “Uh. What do you mean we’re here? This is the same as-”. And then he saw the doors. They were a brilliant, creamy, ivory white, inlaid with gold, and massive didn’t even begin to describe them. They stretched to the top of the huge funnel that the tunnel had somehow become. He almost asked how he hadn’t seen them, but chalked it off to dream physics. Instead he asked, “How do you plan on opening those?” The girl scoffed, tossed her hair, and planted a soft kick on the doors. There was a pause, and Franky almost started laughing, when a rumbling practically knocked him over. The monstrous gates growled as they slowly swung open. He shaded his eyes as a bright light shone on him, as if he hadn’t been outside in a long time, and was just now seeing the sun. And then he heard the screams.

Well, not screams, exactly. Some were growls, screeches, roars. Somewhere a lady was singing. But all of these together created a chaotic scream, as beautiful as it was terrifying. The tall man was still partially blinded, but he could see the silhouette of the girl as she strode through the doors. He stayed close behind her, and good thing too, for the doors swung shut soon after. He rubbed his fists on his eyes, and found that his vision had mostly returned. He also found that he was extremely glad it did.

“Whoa. That’s freaking awesome.” As it turned out, the brightness wasn't sunlight at all. In the center of the massive cavern the pair had entered sat a fire. It resembled a campfire, almost, or a burn pile. But it surpassed both of those things, because this fire was the size of a city. It may have been a city at one point, judging by the buildings Franky saw at it’s base. It swept all the way up to the ceiling of the cave, and Franky suspected that was miles away. It crackled with a huge ferocity that made the black haired mans jaw drop. All about the fire, and even it it, things fluttered and soared, crawled and slithered, gyrating around the raging flames. Some stopped to look at the newcomers, but most simply went about their business. In fact, strange creatures were everywhere, turning the huge cavern into a bustling metropolis.Strange buildings littered the floor, walls and ceiling, and their residents were all busy doing… things.

A sharp blow to the ribs broke Franky out of his reverie, and he turned to face his assailant. She crossed her arms.

“Come on. He want’s to talk to you.” She said gruffly, and began marching towards the city of fire. He rubbed his ribs, and wondered if it was illegal to spartan-kick little girls in the subconscious.

When he caught up, he asked, “So, who is ‘he’ anyway? What does he want with me?” Instead of answering, or even looking up, she just pointed a finger at the fire.” At any other time, he would have had no chance of spotting what she was pointing at in the massive cyclone. Right then, however, something was happening. Near the top of the flaming spire, a dark hole seemed to be growing. It was a spinning vortex, opening up the flames. Somehow, Franky knew it was a portal. From the center of the dark pit there burned an ember, a light, one that seemed to be getting closer. It grew larger and larger, until out of the pit shot a ball of flames, roaring like a meteor. It raced into the cavern, looking like it would smash into a wall, before halting abruptly in the air. There was an explosion, and the fireball dissipated, revealing a figure in the center, who began to descend. Now that, thought Franky, is an entrance.

He could see that he was a ways off from where the figure was going to land, and he looked at the girl on his side. She wasn’t smiling, by any means, but her scowl seemed to have lightened, at least a little. As they approached, Franky saw that his host was indeed a man. A big man, about six feet tall and broad shouldered. He wore black pants. and a red leather vest. Over that was a dark cape that almost scraped the floor. He had black, neatly cropped hair and a short, well kept beard. Kind of how I would picture Satan, The killer thought. Before they were close enough to speak, however, Franky noticed something. “How come,” He addressed the girl, “everything is white out there, but it’s red in here.” Indeed it was, and unlike the white outside, the ground was made of natural rocks and dirt, accentuated with a red tint. Like Mars. It didn’t seem as if she was going to answer, but fortunately, the man in red had heard the question.

“No one really cares what goes on out there.” He said. “Why make it pretty for nothing?” Franky couldn’t argue with that, so he just nodded. The man turned to the girl. “Thank you for doing this for me, Claire.”

She nodded. “Whatever. Just call me when I can break his skull.”

Franky watched her walk a few meters away and sit on a small rock. “Charming kid you got there.”

The cloaked man smiled, and offered a hand. “My name is Gabriel.”

Fitting. The killer took the hand. “Pleasure. I’m Franky. First order of business, where are my friends?”

Gabriel smiled. “They are safe.”

“That’s what I hear. I’m here for them , and I’m not leaving without them.”

The bearded man nodded. “I can take you to your friends. But meanwhile, you and I need to speak.”

Franky brushed some hair out of his face. “So I gathered, from Happy the Dwarf over there.” He ducked a hurled rock from Claires direction. Gabriel chuckled, and beckoned for Franky to follow him. They started off towards a far wall of the cavern, away from the burning city.

Gabriel brushed a glowing ember off of his shoulder, and opened his mouth, then closed it.

“First of all,” He began, “I would like to dispel any notions that I am evil.” Franky glanced at him, but didn’t say anything. The cloaked man continued. “The subconscious is not one unit, as it is in your area.” Now Frankys glance was more confused than skeptical, which seemed to him to be a popular theme lately. The other man sighed. “Every time you’ve been attacked, or captured, that wasn’t an expression of the subconscious as a whole. That was just individual… thoughts, acting out their aggression.”

“The killer frowned. “Wait, so they aren’t united or anything? They don’t have some evil leader that hates my guts?”

Gabriel shook his head. “They are about as far from united as one could get. Sometimes they band together, but not for long. Most lack the…” He struggled for the right word, “brain power to work together strategically.” The pair skirted around what appeared to be a massive fuzzy caterpillar, which was slowly encircling a stone building.

“Huh. Ok.” Franky said. “What about you?”

Now the cloaked man was confused. “What do you mean?”

“Well, aren’t you the leader of theses guys?” He gestured around him. “They all seem to respect you.” As he spoke, a group of ghostly white women in flowing dresses nodded at the cloaked man, who nodded back. “Plus,” Franky added, “you’ve got the whole Lord and Sovereign Satan outfit going on.”

Gabriel nodded to this. “If there ever was a representative of the subconscious, it would be me.” He said. “But a leader? Heavens no. Everything and everyone acts independently here. When our goals happen to coincide, we may work together, but otherwise, anarchy would be the best way to describe it.”

They walked in silence for a moment. All around them, the red land bustled with activity, random creatures and beings doing things that didn’t make any sense. Sidestepping a metal pole that had suddenly shot out of the ground, Franky spoke again. “Alright then. So not everyone down here wants me dead. Was that all you wanted to talk to me about?”

The cloaked man hesitated for a moment. “You need to understand, that even as you and I walk side by side, we are the same being.”

The killer nodded. “Uh huh.” He had come to terms with this long ago, accepting long ago that his personalities were just different parts of him. “What about it?”

“Well,” Gabriel said, “that means your mental stress affects our processes. When you exert yourself or worry to much, the subconscious is in turmoil. Or, more than normal.”

Franky frowned. “Why are you coming to me with this now? I’ve been in plenty of stressful situations before!”

“Yes, but normally you have ways to alleviate that stress. When you are just sitting around in a cell with nothing to do but think…” The killer nodded. That made sense. “So,” The cloaked man continued, “in interest of your general mental health, I have come to eliminate as much as much stress as possible.”

Franky barked a laugh. “Well, hell of a way to do that, kidnapping my friends.”

Gabriel scowled. “When it was agreed that you should be summoned to the subconscious, I did not have a say in how it was to be accomplished.”

Franky shook his head. “Whatever man.” He stopped walking, turned to his companion, and held out his arms. “Alright.” He said. “Do you your thing. unstressify me.”

Gabriel chuckled. “That’s not exactly how it works. It’s not a ray gun.” The black haired man hung his head, disappointed.

They resumed walking, and the cloaked man kept talking. “We can,” He said, “start with the easiest thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“The guard from the hallway. The one that crossed his chest.”

“What about him?”

“You can stop worrying about whether or not to trust him. He is a true Child of Chaos.”

Franky cocked his head. “And how do you figure that?”

“The… people that take care of that sort of thing recognized him from a rally. Several rallies, in fact.”

“Then why didn’t I recognize him?” The pair slowed, allowing a gaggle of children to pass.

One of them, a red eyed boy with sharp teeth and several extra arms, saw the cloaked man and laughed. “Hello, Prince Gabriel!”

When they had passed, Franky raised an eyebrow. “Prince?”

Gabriel shrugged. “It’s more of a title than a role. Anyway.” He said. “You didn’t recognize him because you only glimpsed his face in the crowd. He was also one of your helpers during the ‘Hollywood Horror’, but you barely spoke with him.”

The black haired man was still skeptical. “Wait. If you’re me, and I didn’t notice him, then how did you notice him?”

There was a sigh. “Look Franky, it’s hard to comprehend, but there isn’t anything that you’ve ever done, seen, felt or thought that isn’t in your mind somewhere.” The prince ran a hand over his head. “Every thought you've ever had, every minuscule thing even within your peripheral vision, every smell. It’s all there. It’s just not always easy to access.”

Franky gaped. “But- but why can’t I remember everything?”

Gabriel shrugged again. “No idea. That’s not my department. But it’s all in the subconscious. Or, more accurately, it is the subconscious. And Franky?”The two faced each other.

“It is so small. Your entire life, all of your experiences, only take up a little space. Have you ever heard that people only use ten percent of their brains?” The killer nodded. “Well, that’s pretty accurate as well. There is so much, and we,” He gestured a hand around, “have no idea what it does.”

They walked in silence for a while, each pondering the conversation.

“That’s not exactly relaxing thought-fuel.” Franky said.

“I know. But at least it’s not stressful.”

“... Alright. What else you got to ‘Ease my mind’ ?”

“Well, there is the matter of Empathy.”

The black haired man growled. “What about him?”

“He is not what you think.”

“Goddamn right he’s not! He’s a spy!”

Gabriel shook his head. “No. When you banished him here, he was simply dormant. None of us interacted with him, and no one recruited him as a spy.”

Franky couldn’t place it, but something struck him as false about the prince’s words. He glared. “Whatever. I hope you know I’m leaving his ass with you.” Gabriel just sighed, so Franky continued. “Which brings us to the next issue, that’s causing quite me a bit of stress. Celestia.”

The prince whirled to face Franky, his eyes wide. “Whatever you take from this meeting, brother, know this. I have nothing to do with her, and neither does the subconscious.” The killer sneered, but Gabriel kept talking. “I don’t know what she is, but she is no kin of mine, and she is not a product of your brain.”

Something about the mans ferocity made Franky trust him now, at least partly. “Alright, so what? Is she a hallucination?”

“No. If she was, I would know about it. She appeared in the Dreamscape, which is partly under your control, and partly under ours, but you were in something she created. She made a dream to contact you.”

Franky frowned, something he seemed to be doing a lot of in a conversation that was supposed to relieve him of stress. “Are you telling me there’s a real magical unicorn that appears in my cell? And in my head?”

Gabriel was only able to shrug. “I’m as baffled as you are. She shouldn’t be able to exist, and yet she does. Whatever you do, don’t trust anything she says.”

The killers hands knotted into fists, and he spoke through clenched teeth. “I don’t plan to.” Franky didn’t like being lied to, especially by snotty, entitled little horse princesses. I wonder if she has to breathe like a normal creature? I guess I’ll find out. The prince just watched Franky take slow, deep breaths, reasoning that it would be smart to give him a moment. The killer was trying to figure out how he would get his hands around her throat, without her pulling that little teleportation trick. I would have to knock her out first. I might be able to-

Nope. He thought.

“I’m not going to worry about that now.” He said out loud, and stomped off in the same direction that they had been going before, and Gabriel followed. When the prince said nothing, Franky spoke. “She said that you didn’t receive any thoughts from me.”

The other man waited. “...And?”

“You knew that I was angry with Empathy, so clearly you get some thoughts. What I want to know is, how many?”

Gabriel stopped him, and turned a corner into a small alley between two buildings. They kept walking and he spoke. “Do you know how sometimes a random thought will occur to you, completely irrelevant to anything you were doing?” Franky nodded. “Well, normally it’s from the subconscious, and that’s about how often we get thoughts from you. But,” He said, “When you are here, somebody receives almost everything you think. I don’t, but some of the people who do report to me.”

The pair were now in the center of a clearing, surrounded on all sides by huge red spires. Creatures milled around, but they seemed different from the other inhabitants that Franky had seen. They were tall, and extremely skinny, and they had hoods hiding their faces. Some carried large sticks, others had large knives. They all silently watched the two men through red lensed goggles. The black haired man jumped back, drawing his gun and selecting a target.

Gabriel held a hand up. “It’s ok! They're not hostile!”

“Bullshit they’re not!” Franky glared. “They attacked me in the white!”

“No, they’re-” The prince sighed. “It’s hard to explain. They did you no harm! They just-”

“- broke my nose. Knocked me out. Tortured me with a memory I’d rather forget.”

“They did their job. And besides, here, they won’t even bother you.”

Franky slowly lowered the gun. “Alright. I’m trusting you here.” He was silent for a moment, and then his eyes widened. He spun towards Gabriel with an expression close to panic. “Why did you bring me here?!”

“To get your friends.” The prince responded confusedly

“Do they have them?!”

“What?”

Franky grabbed the other man by his collar. “Do they have,” He hissed, pointing at the red eyed creatures, “my motherfucking friends?”

The prince swallowed. “Look, they aren’t in any danger!” But the killer had already dropped him, and was frantically looking around. And, to his distress, he found what he was looking for.

A group of the tall creatures had congregated to the mans right, and they were circled around something. Someone, to be more precise, and three someones, to be even more.Crash, Reggie, and Empathy were all sitting on the floor, bound back to back. They seemed to be unconscious, but every once in a while one would twitch, and moan as if in pain. The tall man stared for a split second, then sprinted as hard as he could towards the captives. He leveled his gun at the creatures, but did not fire, for fear of hitting his friends. His charge was interrupted, however, as he was seized from behind, and held in a sort of bear hug. Gabriel, although inexperienced with combat situations, outweighed Franky by at least a hundred pounds. That is not to say it wasn’t a struggle, though, as Franky squirmed, and pummeled the big man with his fists.

“Wait!” Gabriel shouted, as the killer broke free of his grasp. The tall man didn’t pause as he continued towards the creatures. He had drawn the Ruger and his hunting knife, and when he was close enough, swiped at the first hooded being. The creature nimbly sidestepped the attack, and brought a stick down on his shoulder. The blow hurt immensely, and nearly stunned him, but he kept attacking, firing the gun point blank into the creature's stomach. It doubled over, but didn’t fall, so Franky swung his knee up, into it’s face. There was a sharp crack, and the killer gasped, stumbling back. It had been like kneeing a steel basketball. Suddenly, another blow connected with his chest, and he flew back, landing hard. He coughed, and tried to sit u, but a sharp golden blade stopped him. Over him stood one of the tall creatures, but this one carried a long spear, which was currently pointed at his throat. The creature drew back, and prepared to impale the black haired man, but someone shouted, “Wait!”

Gabriel frantically ran up, and held his hands out to stop the creature. It slowly uprighted the spear, and nodded to the prince, who said, gasping, “Thank you, Brother Sorrow. Your mission here has been completed. No more is necessary.” The tall being eyed Franky on the ground, then nodded again It spun around, and made a hand motion to it’s comrades, who followed it as it stalked away. Silently, they disappeared into the red spires.

Gabriel tried to help the killer off the ground, but Franky ignored him, and scrambled to the bound prisoners. In the absence of the creatures they gasped awake, shuddering. Soon, Franky had their ropes off. Crash and Reggie lay on the ground, panting, holding themselves tight in fetal positions. Crash’s eyes were wide open, and they flicked around in terrified spasms. Eventually they settled on his black haired savior.

“F-franks?”

“Yeah, man. It’s me. You’re all right.”

Crash got to his hands and knees, still shaking. He spotted Reggie next to him, and crawled to his side.

“Regg? Reggie! Dude, it’s all right. This one’s real, I’m pretty sure. I think we’re fine.” Reggies eyes slowly opened, and when he saw the red head, his face broke into a grin.

“It’s amazing to see you.” He said, and they embraced. They didn’t speak for a while, each simply relieved to see their brothers alive and well.

Eventually, Crash turned to the killer. “Franky! How did you find us? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. It’s a long story, but I’m getting you guys out of here.” He knelt next to Empathy, who hadn’t said anything. “Hey kid. Can you walk?” There was no answer, as Empathy hugged his knees to his chest, wide eyes staring straight ahead.

“No more.” He whispered. “No more.”

Franky stood, and walked towards Gabriel, who started to back away. “You said they were safe.” He growled in a low voice.

“Yes, and-”

“You said they weren't in any danger!” Franky’s voice was rising now.

“They weren’t!”

“They were being tortured! Look at him!” He roughly seized Gabriel, and pointed him in Empathy’s direction. He threw the prince to the ground and pointed the Ruger at his head. “No one hurts my friends.”

Gabriel held his hands up, as if to stop the bullet he knew was coming. “There was nothing I could have done!” He said. “I have no control over the Sorrows!”

Franky’s finger twitched on the trigger, but he didn’t shoot. “Oh yeah? They sure did seem to obey when you told them to leave.”

The prince nodded fearfully. “Yes, but that was because they had already done what they had come to do. If I had ordered them away any sooner, they would have refused.”

The killers scowl darkened. “You tricked me. You lured my friends in here to torture them. You made sure I took my goddamn time in reaching them, too.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened in panic. “It wasn’t my decision! I couldn’t-”

“Fuck you.” A shot echoed between the spires, and the prince’s head thumped into the floor, a bleeding hole in his forehead. Franky marched back to the other personalities. He handed Crash the Ruger and his knife, and he and Reggie grasped Empathy under each arm. “Come on.” He said. “Let’s get out of here.”

The departure from the subconscious was not swift, due to Empathy being dead weight, but any curious creatures were warded off by Crash and his weapons. Eventually, the group was back in the massive cavern, with the city flaming behind them.

“There!’ Franky said, indicating the huge doors he had entered through. They were still a ways off, but the sight of a goal renewed the brothers energy. He shifted the teenagers weight on his shoulder, and began to pick up his pace, when something rammed him in the stomach, knocking him down. He gasped for breath, and rolled to face his attacker.

“You hurt him! I’m going to kill you!” Claire stood over him, eyes replaced by gaping black holes. Crash tried to level the gun at her, but writhing black tentacles exploded from her back, knocking it out of his hands and winding around his throat. Reggie, who was left alone with the unconscious boys weight, was struck in the chest by a tentacle and knocked over. Claire lifted Franky in front of her, black appendages constricting his breath. “He has never been anything but wonderful to you.” She hissed. “All he has ever tried to do was make you a better person.” She brought the killer close to her face. “And you torture him like this?” Suddenly the hunting knife was in her hand, and she smiled. “I’m going to carve your heart out.”

Franky gasped, struggling to speak despite the tentacle crushing his throat. “He lied to me, told me they were safe.” He gasped again. “Let them be tortured.”

The girl’s eyes flashed green for a moment, and her head tilted in confusion. “What are you talking about?” But then, the eyes were gone, and the tentacle tightened. “I don’t really care how you justify it. I’m going to kill you.” And she would have, had not Reggie spoken up.

“Empathy!” He said. “She’s talking about Empathy!”

She turned to the suited man, and dragged him to her. “What?”

“Franky didn’t touch the boy.” He said. “The tall creatures tortured him in his mind, and he hasn’t spoken since they stopped.”

Claire dropped her captives, and the tentacles retracted into her back. Franky landed on his hands and knees, and Crash dropped to the ground as well. The red head staggered to his feet, gasping, then drew the hunting knife from his belt. He almost charged at Claire, but Franky held him back. The girl rushed to Empathy, who was seemingly unconscious on the ground. She lifted his head, brushing the blonde hair out of his face. She gazed fondly at him, but her face soon contorted with fury, and she stood.

“Where are they?! I’ll rip their fucking heads off!”

Franky and Reggie lifted their limp brother. “Have fun with that.” The black haired man said. “We’re leaving.” They hobbled a few steps, but were soon halted by Claire, who materialized in front of them

“I’m coming with you.”

“Like hell you are.” Crash growled. He pointed the gun at her head, but she vanished before he fired.

“Come on.” Franky said. “Let’s keep moving.”

Finally, the trio stood before the ivory doors.

Crash looked up at them, perplexed. “How are we supposed to…?” He turned to the others. Reggie simply shrugged, but Franky motioned for the redhead to come take Empathy’s shoulder.

“I’ve got an idea.” He said. He approached the massive obstacle, looked back at his companions, then lightly kicked at the gigantic doors. Crash scoffed, then gaped as the doors rumbled open, and gaped some more when he saw the tiny tunnel the doors led to.

“Whatever.” He said. “Let’s move.”

Upon entering the tunnel, Franky warned the others. “Careful guys. There are these weird dog-rat things in here. Apparently, they love me, but want to kill me.” Before anyone could comment on that statement, a female voice spoke from behind them.

“If you take me with you, you won’t have to deal with those. I can teleport you straight through the tunnel, into the white.” Claire leaned casually on the wall of the passage, and her voice was calm and steady. Her face, however, betrayed her distress. For whatever reason, she desperately wanted to accompany them. Franky weighed the annoyance of her presence against traversing the tunnel without her. If it had just been Crash, Reggie, and himself, there would have been no problem fighting off the dogs. But with Empathy’s dead weight, which also dragged down two of the others, the choice was obvious.

“Alright.” He growled. “But hurry it up.” Triumph flashed green in Claire’s eyes, and Crash opened his mouth to object, but he was interrupted by another flash.

This one was white, as in white hot, and enveloped everything with a painful ‘Pop!’. The redhead lay on his back, mouth still open, and coughed, releasing a comical puff of smoke. He groaned, and rolled onto his side, where he saw Reggie in a similar state. Franky twitched his fingers and toes, just checking to see if they were functional. “When his senses told him that they were, he opened his eyes. Obviously, he was in the white, but beyond that, he couldn’t even tell what direction he was facing, up, down, or if he was standing, or not. An annoying black haired head staring down at him answered that.

“Get up, you pussies. Weren’t you in a hurry?”

Reggie sat up first. “That,” He said, “was not pleasant.” Eventually, all of the brothers were back on their feet, collectively glaring at a small girl. She was holding Empathy in what looked like a piggy-back ride, but looked more like he was a backpack.

“Well?” She smiled. “Let’s go!”

“Wait a second!” Franky exclaimed. “Why didn’t you just pop us through on the way in?”

Claire smiled wider. “I was hoping one of the dogs would get you.”

The trek through the white was relatively short, and greatly sped up by Claires insistence that she carry the blonde boy. The group was completely uninterrupted, which struck Reggie as suspicious, and he voiced his concerns.

“Shouldn’t they be pursuing us?” Franky thought that was a valid point, and looked to Claire for an answer.

She was confused. “Why would they chase you?”

Before Franky could stop him, Crash responded. “Well, Franks here shot their boss man in the head. What was his name, bro?”

The black haired man winced, avoiding Claire’s gaze. “Gabriel.” He said. He kept walking, but he felt the piercing green eyes burn into his back.

Unexpectedly, a laugh burst out from behind him, and she shook her head. “And you thought you killed him?” She laughed again. “It ain’t that easy, dipshit.” Crash snickered, and Franky shot him a glare. Claire continued. “Anyway, even if you somehow had managed to hurt Gabriel, not many would have cared. The subconscious isn’t the friendliest of places.

The tattooed redhead rubbed his throat. “Yeah we noticed. Fuck those tall guys right in the booty.” Crash took the girl’s growling noises to mean that she agreed. He turned to his brothers, swirling a finger by his head and mouthing, ‘Bipolar’.

“While we’re on the subject,” Franky said, “who are they?” Reggie nodded to this. He had been wondering as well. “Gabriel called them Sorrows.”

Claire’s eyes were gone, and her voice took on the chilling effect that made it sound as if more than one person was talking. “That’s exactly what they are.” She said quietly. “Sorrows” she paused for a long moment, but just before they asked her to continue, she did. “Not all of them are actually Sorrow. Only the one with the spear.” She quickened her pace, and even with Empathy on her back, she passed the others. “Some of them are Guilt.” She said. “Others Mourning, Regret, Self-Hatred.” She chuckled darkly. “The oldest calls himself ‘Condemnation’.

Crash clapped his hands together. “Well, they sound like fun at parties.” Franky almost asked a question, but didn’t. It wasn’t hard to figure out why they would want him to suffer. Guilt? Regret? Definitely not feelings that were nourished in his… line of work.

Instead, he asked, “What do they have against Empathy? I mean, they tortured him pretty severely compared to them.” He gestured to Crash and Reggie. Claire resumed making a growling noise in her throat, and he almost threw his hands up before she answered.

“They want him to be one of them.” She didn’t acknowledge the confused looks the earned her. “Think about it. Empathy? He would be just the type for them.”

Reggie nodded. “Guilt, Regret, Sorrow. They all feel remorse for Franky’s actions. Empathy probably feels the same.” They walked in silence for a while, contemplating.

“Why now?” The black haired man asked.

“Why now what?” A cranky little girl responded.

“Why would they attack him now? Why not when he was banished into the subconscious?”

She mixed a chuckle with her signature growl. “Oh, believe me. They tried.”

When she didn’t continue, Crash waved a hand impatiently. “And?”

She looked at him, smiling. “And I didn’t let them.” Crash slowed, letting the girl pass him, and shared a concerned look with Franky. Maybe they had bitten off more than they could chew. Franky realized something else, right then. That was the thing (Well, one of the things) that Gabriel had lied to him about. The prince had told him that no one had interacted with Empathy when he was in the subconscious. His fists clenched a little. If Gabriel was still alive, then he and Franky were going to have quite the reunion.

Eventually, the familiar brick building came into view. The unlikely comrades paused, unwilling to address the elephant in the room.

That is, until Claire said, “I’m staying,” and marched inside, still carrying Empathy on her back. And since no one wanted to argue, that was that. Reggie nodded to his brothers, and followed her in, intent on making a place for Empathy to rest and recover. That left Crash and Franky, looking unassuredly at the door.

“I don’t know about this, man.” The redhead admitted.

Franky shoved his shoulder. “What? Don’t you like girls?”

Crash laughed. “Not before puberty I don’t.” They both chuckled at that. “Anyway, tentacles aren’t my thing.” With that, the muscled man approached the door, hesitated, then entered.

Franky sighed. Joke as he might, he wasn’t sure about the girl either. Not only had she fended off an enemy like the Sorrows, she had defeated each and everyone of the brothers. At the same time. But, as volatile as she was, Franky couldn’t help but trust her raw emotion, as long as it wasn’t directed at him. Plus, she would kick ass in a fight. He walked the few steps between him and the door, and placed a hand on the knob. That’s my problem. He thought. I’m too trusting. Then he, too, entered the home shared by the oddest collection of thoughts in existence.

Author's Note

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Really nigga? Four months? Four months and all you got is one chapter?" Come yell at me about it here. If you see a typo, point it out, I'll fix it I swear!

Confrontation

“That’s mine, that’s mine, and that’s mine. You touch any of this and I throw you through a window.”

“...You don't have any windows.”

“Exactly.”

“The fuck makes you think I would wanna touch any of your sweaty shit anyway?”

Franky and Reggie stood, arms crossed, against a wall, watching Crash show Claire around her new abode.

The killer leaned to his brother. “They deserve each other.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“-And that’s your corner. Make yourself at home, kid.” Crash turned, and almost walked away before turning back. “Almost forgot.” He flourished a hand, and in it appeared a roll of newspaper, which he laid down in her designated corner. “There you go.” He said, chuckling smugly to himself. Claire said nothing, but she was clearly working out the logistics of papercutting someone to death.

Franky turned away from the amusing antics, and instead focused on the unconscious figure on the couch. Empathy hadn’t awoken, and aside from moaning and incoherent rambling, hadn’t said anything. The killer wouldn’t say that he felt sorry for the boy (He was still an annoying little shit), but he felt his situation. He, too, had been tortured by the subconscious, and apparently Empathy had gotten an extra dose.

“So.” He said to the room in general. “Any theories on why he hasn’t woken up yet?” All eyes turned to the angry little girl in the corner, who haughtily crossed her arms.

“If it wasn’t for me, you guys would be fucked.” All this earned her was glares, so she sighed. “Alright.” She walked over to the couch, and sat by Empathy’s head. “Yeah. I know why he isn’t waking up.”

She paused for an oddly long time, simply staring into space, and eventually Crash interjected. “Girl, if you don’t-”

“So the first time he was in the subconscious, when you guys banished him, I was the first one he ran into, yeah?” The brothers looked at one another, unsure whether that was a question or a statement. Fortunately, she continued. “So, we hit it off pretty well, hanging out, just doing stuff, when one day I took him into the city. That’s when they saw him.” The rooms other inhabitants had taken various seats, and were staring intently at the storyteller. Not that they particularly cared about Empathy or his predicament, but entertainment was a rare thing in the household.

Claire snapped her fingers. “It happened just like that.” She said. “One minute, Empathy and I are just chillin, hanging out like I said, and I turn around for one second.” She snapped again. “Gone.” Her eyes flickered back and forth between green stars and frightening black holes. “I searched for a long time.” She said. “A long time. The motherfuckers hid him in some cave on the ceiling of the cavern.” There was no green now, and her voice changed from a little girl’s to a haunting choir of dead voices. “Finally, I found them. I wrecked some shit, killed quite a few, and dropped the rest out of that hole.” She tilted her head towards Empathy. “And then I found him. He was… Bad. Way worse than he is now. They had been doing their thing for…” She sighed. “Well, quite a while.”

“He was delirious. He wouldn’t believe anything was real, and every once in a while he would just start screaming. Just, tear-your-ears-out, break-your-vocal-cords, terrified screaming, and he just wouldn’t stop. I had to knock him out just to get him out of that hole.” Crash, Franky, and Reggie all stared, finding themselves with a newfound respect for the limp figure on the couch. He had suffered beyond anything they had imagined, not that any of them would admit it out loud. “When I got him out, I brought him to Gabriel. I said… No, I demanded that the sorrows were punished.” She sighed, shaking her head, for the moment just a sad, young girl. “He couldn’t do anything. The sorrows were too important, too vital to the subconscious’s functionality.”

Reggie was confused. “I thought you said that you killed the sorrows?”

She smiled briefly. Apparently the memory was a sweet one. “Well yeah. I mean, sort of. It’s hard to kill anyone in the subconscious. Or anywhere in the mind, for that matter. It’s painful, but it ain't permanent.”

Reggie nodded, turning to Franky. “Which is why you didn’t kill Gabriel.”

“Anyway,” The girl said, “Empathy wasn’t going to recover, not after what they did to him. So, I talked to the guys in charge of the whole ‘Sensory Input Recollection’ thing.” This earned her three blank stares. “It’s like memory, sort of, but it includes your whole existence.” She waved a hand, trying to find a clearer way to state it. “Basically, I wiped his memory, but instead of him not remembering it, it’s like it never happened to him. Like a reset button.”

Understanding dawned on the brothers. along with a sense of foreboding. “You can do that?” Franky asked warily.

Claire shook her head. “Not to you, don’t worry. Empathy is only a minor personality, and even getting them to do that took… some convincing.”

The killer was somewhat relieved, but he was beginning to understand how much power the subconscious actually held. “So then what happened?”

“Then he was dormant. He just turned off, and we hid him where the sorrows wouldn’t find him and start over.”

Franky nodded. “That’s what Gabriel told me, that he was dormant. It makes sense that he wouldn’t want to give away the torture thing.”

Claire tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

The tall man stood, and began absently fiddling with a knife that materialized in his palm. “Well, think about. If he had told me about the sorrows, I could have put two and two together figuring that they would probably still want Empathy once he was up and about.”

Claire's scowl grew deeper and deeper. “Are you saying Gabriel knew the sorrows would take him?”

Franky didn’t answer, twirling the knife in his fingers, deep in thought, so Crash spoke up. “Well, yeah, he’d have had to. The fucker probably traded Empathy to the sorrows for their help in getting us out there, and then Franks.” The girl looked like she didn’t want to believe it, but couldn’t argue with the evidence. “What I can’t figure out,” Crash continued, “ is why those twats wanted us out there in the first place. I mean, stress? C’mon. Seems like a whole lot of trouble to go through just to tell Franks to do some yoga.”

“Unless,” Reggie said, “the whole thing was orchestrated by the sorrows. We know they have the ability to manipulate thoughts, because that is how we were led out there in the first place. It could have all been a ploy to capture Empathy.”

They were all quiet, pondering the predicament, when Franky exploded.

“This is such bullshit!” He hurled the knife at the wall, where it stuck, quivering. “I’m in a goddamn padded room, in a secure building! You’d think,” He shouted, kicking a chair across the room, “I’d be able to get some peace and fucking quiet!”

Crash stood, a confused smile on his face. “Peace and quiet? Since when is that- ? You’re the chaos dude, remember?”

Reggie stood as well, trying to calm the agitated killer. “Peace comes with stability, brother. The very thing you have struggled against for… Well, years.”

“I know!” Franky roared. “I know. It’s just...” He sighed, and slumped against a wall. “It’s been nonstop.” He said. “One thing after another, for literally years.” He began holding up fingers. “The judge didn’t pass the sentence, I get put in a straightjacket, I’m in an asylum, my doctor is a fucking…” He clenched his fists. “You guys get kidnapped, a guard might help me escape, that goddamn horse!” He threw up his hands. “Not to mention, apparently there is a culty group of assholes that live in my head who want to kill me!” He looked to his roommates, who wisely decided not to interrupt. “And it’s only been three days!” He lowered his head. “I’m just tired, guys.” He sagged to the ground, and when he looked up, the others were shocked to see the beginnings of tears in his eyes. “I have never slept.” He said. “Not once in my whole life, have I ever gone to sleep, and rested. It’s just on to the next crisis.”

Crash and Reggie looked at one another helplessly. It wasn’t that they were surprised by this outburst. They had all broken down at one point or another, but never with this much… emotion. They were both roughly shoved aside by a short, black haired little girl, who knelt in front of the killer.

“Hey dude. Look at me.” He did, and she seized his head between her hands. “I don’t like you.” She said. “I don’t like you, and I don’t agree with your life’s choices. But everyone here depends on your well being.” She yanked him to his feet, and looked up at him. “Yeah, so your life sucks. What are you going to do about it?” She held his gaze steadily, fiery green eyes challenging the morose grey ones.

Finally, Franky looked up. “Right.” He said. He walked past Claire, to the couch where Empathy lay. He stared at the boy for a moment, then turned back to Claire. “You told us that whole story, but it doesn’t explain why he isn’t waking up.”

Reggie glanced at Crash, as if to say, “Are we going to pretend that didn’t happen?” And Crash shrugged, as if to say, “I guess.”

Franky didn’t make eye contact with his brothers, instead staring at Empathy, pretending to be deep in thought. He wasn’t embarrassed, necessarily, by his outburst. He could be honest with his brothers, and he knew they wouldn’t judge him. What he was embarrassed about was that he had needed Claire’s brusque encouragement to pull himself together. Because the simple truth was, he had needed it.

Finally Claire answered. “He isn’t waking up because of the memory wipe. The torture reminded him of the torture that happened before.” She shrugged. “It’s filling a blank space in his mind. At least that’s my guess.”

Crash and Reggie rejoined the pair at the couch. “So how do we bring him back to consciousness?” The suited man asked.

Claire shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Reggie rubbed his chin. “How did he emerge from dormancy last time?”

“No clue. He just got up and walked away. He didn’t recognize me, or where he was, and somehow he ended up here.”

Franky looked at Crash. “How did he get in here, then?”

“Just opened the door. He came in, said hi, then started watching you.”

“Huh.” Again, silence came over the house, as yet another mystery eluded answer.

“Oh yeah.” Crash turned to Franky, a skeptical look on his face. “Earlier you said something about ‘That goddamned horse.’”

Franky nodded.

“When we were being tortured,” The redhead continued, “those fucking skinnies told me not to trust the horse. The hell does that mean?”

“They told me much the same.” Reggie joined in. “Don’t trust the horse, she is not one of us.”

Franky laughed, and shook his head ruefully. “Oh, you guys are gonna love this.” So, he explained to them his first meetings with Celestia, how she claimed to be part of the subconscious. And then he told them of his conversation with Gabriel, and how he said she was no part of Franky’s brain at all.

Crash blinked. “Wait, so…” He stopped, and a giggle escaped him. “Wait-” He tried again, but failed still to complete his sentence, laughing. After a moment, he wiped his eyes dramatically, and spoke again. “So you’re telling me,” He said, struggling to compose himself, “that there is a real pony princess that visits you at night?” Franky just glared at him, and the redhead lost it, doubling over in a fit of violent laughter.

“Gabriel could have been lying.” Reggie speculated.

“He could have been, but I don’t think he was.” The killer said. “He seemed genuinely afraid.”

Crash scoffed. “Afraid? The guy’s a pussy for someone who looks like a linebacker.”

“Well, not really.”

The trio turned to Claire, who was perched atop Crash’s pullup bar. “I mean, she claimed earlier to come from a completely different planet, where talking horses and dragons can do magic. That doesn’t disturb you a little?”

Crash pointed to the door. “We were just captured and tortured by a group of skeletons in a magical burning world that only exists in his head.” He said, now pointing at Franky. “I think pony princesses are a little low on our list of things to worry about.”

Claire shrugged. “Whatever.” She swung from her perch, landing on her feet. “So,” She said to Franky, “Why don’t you use some of your dream magic and make me a room so I don’t have to stare at this dumbass all the time.” Crash, the dumbass in question, smiled sweetly, and swung viciously at her head with a bat that had appeared in his hand. She nimbly dodged it, and the bat sped towards the next person in its path, who happened to be Franky.

He had time to say, “Hey, watch-” and then he was gone. The bat clanged loudly on a random exercise machine, and Claire stood, blinking, at the spot previously occupied by the black haired man.

She spun around, confused. “Where’d he go?”

Crash chuckled, and tossed his weapon into a wall, where it shattered and disappeared. “That means he woke up.” The redhead's smile faltered. “That, or the subconscious captured him. The muscled man slumped suddenly, as if the energy had gone out of him. His half-lidded eyes glowed a dull white.

“Umm…” Claire approached the apparently powered-off personality, finger outstretched as if to poke him.

Then, he straightened up, eyes regaining focus. “Nope, we’re good.” He said, wiping a bit of drool from his face. “He’s awake.”

The girl stared suspiciously at Crash. “What… did you just do?”

“I peeked in on our boy to see if he was alright. He’s fine. Awake.” Crash began loading weights onto a bar, which was racked at a bench press. “Now it’s time for me,” He said, laying down, “to get some R&R.” The girl stared at him for a bit, then turned to Reggie, who had retired to his chair by the fire. He had a book in his lap, but it was not open. For a tense moment, the only sounds were Crash’s breathing, workout equipment clanking, and the crackling of the fire as the two locked eyes.

Claire's ego demanded that she challenge this man with a smartass statement, to make herself above him, and prove that she didn’t take him seriously. But even she could feel that this quiet man in a suit deserved her respect.

“So…” She said, swinging her arms awkwardly. “I would sit, but…” She gestured around the barren side of the room. Reggie pointed a finger, and a small wooden chair appeared behind her. She nodded in thanks, and spun it around so that her legs straddled the seat, and her chin sat on the head rest.

“What do you need, child?”

She almost told him not to call her child, but refrained. “What did the monkey just do? With the eye glowing and the batteries-low face”

Reggie nodded, as if he had been expecting this question. “He peered through Frankys eyes, to see where he was and what he was doing.” The suited man stopped, and tilted his head. “No, that’s not right. He didn’t just look through his eyes. for a moment, Crash was Franky, feeling, thinking, and experiencing everything he was.”

The girl nodded, blowing black hair out of her face. “Alright. How can I do that?”

Reggie raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Why would you want to?”

Again she gestured around her. “Well, you guys ain’t exactly got an entertainment system, unless I want to watch Fat Bastard here jiggle his rolls.”

Crash scowled as he finished yet another set of presses. “Fuck off kid. I’m gorgeous.”

Claire sneered, and turned back to Reggie, who was staring at her intently. “Pardon me,” He said, “If I question your motives.”

The girl looked innocently at her nails. “Why would you do that?”

The man leaned back in his chair, and reached for a bottle of wine on the small table to his side. “Well,” He said, pouring himself a glass, “the first time we met involved you trying to strangle me.” Claire winced. She had forgotten about that. “Also, you originate from the subconscious, a place my feelings towards are less than trusting. Finally,” He said, “you have very vocally expressed your intentions for Franky’s well being, and I think his thoughts and experiences could effectively be used against him.” He didn’t mention the ability that Empathy had so recently tested, of controlling Franky’s body. No reason to put ideas in her head.

The girl examined her hands, avoiding his gaze. Crash had switched machines behind her, now pedaling furiously on a weighted bicycle.

At last, she looked up. “Alright.” She said. “About the strangling thing, I am sorry. I mean, I wasn’t thinking straight. I thought that you guys had tortured him.” She tilted her head towards the couch where Empathy lay. Reggie nodded, but said nothing. “And yeah, I’m from the subconscious, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

The suited man crossed his arms. “How so?”

“Picture us,” She said, “as different citizens of a city. No, better than that, people from different countries. The things we do are so varied, our responsibilities and… mindsets are so far removed from each other that you couldn’t expect to make the same decisions about anything.” Reggie sipped his wine. “So, that I’m from the subconscious doesn’t mean anything. I’m me, and I’m biased in my direction.”

The suited man slowly took a deep breath, let it out and said, “Alright then. That makes sense. Continue.

Claire growled. “As for Franky… Well, it’s true, I don’t like him. Actually, I hate him.” She raised her head to meet his gaze. “But I won’t make any moves against him. At least not mentally.”

Reggie made a skeptical face. “And why not?”

“Because if he dies, I die. I’m not stupid. In the subconscious, the things I did could be painful, but not fatal. If I fuck around here…” She shrugged. “Who knows what could happen.” She was silent now, and looked at Reggie as he considered her words.

He downed the rest of his glass, and set it aside. “These are good points.” He said. “And for the most part, I believe you. But…” Claire glanced down, unsure what would come next. “The final decision rests with Franky.” He grabbed an iron poker, and shifted a log in the fire. “I will speak with him, and if he agrees, then yes, I will teach you to peer into the physical world.” Noticing her downcast face, he winked. “Don’t worry. He usually listens to me.”

…

Franky gasped awake, clutching at his throat. His stomach clenched and seized as he violently coughed into the cells empty quietness. This continued for a moment, then he sat up, panting. He noticed that he was still in the center of the room, where he had sat down to meditate.

“That how you always wake up?” A voice said through the intercom.

“He nodded. “Pretty much. How’s it goin, Rose?”

The sound of a slurp. “Not bad. And yourself?”

Franky rubbed his eyes. “Better now. What time is it?”

“12:0...6. Wait, now 7.”

The tall man groaned. “Damn, I’ve been asleep a long time.”

“Twelve hours, dawg. What the hell was that about?”

“It’s… Hard to explain.” Sometimes Franky forgot how insane his double life made him seem.

“You wanna try me?”

The black haired man stood, feeling his sore legs pop after being crossed for so long. He started swinging his arms, and pacing around the cell. “Not tonight.” he said. “But I am awake now, and I think I will be for a while.” His stomach grumbled loudly. “I assume I missed dinner?”

Rose laughed. “Well, they delivered it, but that was at seven. Can’t promise it’s any good now.

He scanned the dark room until he saw a small tray near the door. On approaching it, he discovered a slice of (now stale) bread, a glass of water, a bowl of cold stew, and a couple of carrot sticks. “Fuck it.” He said, and sat down to devour his meal.

“Did I miss anything?” He asked around a mouthful of stew.

“Not much, really. You freaked… Intercom Guy way the hell out.”

Franky chuckled. “Did I? What’d he say?”

“Well, he said you started yelling at yourself, then just did one really loud scream. He thought you were having a stroke or something.” The black haired man laughed, almost choking on his food. “Then, he said you asked for some nature sounds, started meditating, and fell asleep.” Franky was cackling now, and had to give up on eating for the moment. Rose joined in, unsure exactly why she was laughing, but the sound was… contagious.

“What if i told you,” The prisoner said, “that I was just messing with him?”

There was a pause. “Were you?”

“No, but it would have been hilarious.”

Rose laughed.

For a moment they were silent, Franky eating his cold meal, Rose slurping her energy drink. Then she spoke.

“So level with me, dude.”

The killer looked up. “Sup?”

“Are you crazy? Like, mentally ill crazy, not serial killer crazy.”

Now Franky laughed. “You know, if I was someone else, that might’ve hurt my feelings.” He got up from the empty tray, and leaned against a padded wall. “Well,” He said pensively, “There are a few things wrong with that question.”

Another slurp. “Oh? Like what?”

“Firstly, isn’t it kind of a rule that crazy people don’t know that they’re crazy? I mean, ask a schizophrenic to diagnose himself, and he’ll tell you he’s perfectly sane.” Rose didn’t say anything, but he got the impression that she was nodding, so he continued. “Also, if a perfectly normal person sees thing, he’s hallucinating. But if he decides to interact with these hallucinations, despite knowing that the rest of the world can’t see them, then he’s psychotic.”

“I don’t see your point.” She said after a pause.

“What I’m getting at,” He said, “is that I see things in my head that not you, or me, or anyone else can prove are real. But you also can’t disprove them, since they only interact with me, inside my head. So, if I talk to them, and they talk to me, then that is as real as you and I.”

“Basically, it doesn’t matter if the things I see are real or not, because in the end it only affects me.” He pushed himself off the wall, walking to his cot. “So, take that however, because I might be crazy, and I might not be. It doesn’t change anything.” he climbed onto his cot, and stood on it for a moment, bouncing slightly to test its strength. Then, he climbed down and looked at the camera.

“I think I followed that.” Rose said. “And whether or not I agree, it doesn’t really matter, because like you said, no one can prove anything.” Franky nodded, glad she agreed. It was satisfying to successfully explain something to someone, and have them concur with his results. Especially when they weren’t tied to a chair. He put his hands in front of him, and started doing squats. Something he learned from Crash: If you have spare time, exercise.

“So,” The prisoner said, wiping back hair from his face. “We’ve talked a whole lot about me. What about you?”

“What about me?” She said, presumably with a smirk.

He kept squatting for a moment, then, “Where’d you grow up?”

There was a small pause. “Where was I born, or where was I raised?”

“Raised.”

“5-3-Oh, baby. Redding, California.”

He smiled. “NorCal, huh? What’s it like there?”

The sound of a crushing can. “It’s nice, in some ways.”

He stopped squatting, hands on his knees to catch his breath. “...Like how?”

“Well, I was going to give you some examples, but I can’t think of any.” She laughed. “The community’s shit, a bunch of tweakers and crazy cultish Christians. The weather’s bipolar, winter in the 20’s and 30’s, summer like the goddamn sun.” She paused now, and said in a conspiratorial tone of voice, “Tell you one thing though. NorCal has the best weed in the United States.” They both laughed, and Rose popped open another energy drink. “I love it though.” She said. “Couldn’t tell you why, but I do.”

The killer transitioned into lunging about the cell. “So how’d you end up here?”

“AACI, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, psychology has always kind of been my thing.” A slurp. “Majored in UCLA, actually.”

“Majored?” Franky looked up at the camera. “How old are you?”

She responded with what sounded like a wink. “Well, I’m afraid I’ve been instructed not to give you that information.”

“Whatever.” Franky scoffed playfully, then continued lunging. “Ok, so major in psychology, then what?”

“I was a criminal profiler, and a counselor for the police for a few years.”

“Really? What was that like?”

“It wasn’t bad. I met a lot of people, crooks and otherwise. I traveled a lot. And, back then, I was allowed to work with the prisoners face to face. Other than that,” She said, “It was a low budget version of this place.”

“So what changed?”

“AACI sent out the call. The “Great Father of Chaos” had finally been captured, and was to be held in a mental facility. All the best psyche people were sent an offer, and apparently, I was one of them.”

Father of Chaos. I’ve always liked that name. “So, you were all brought here because of me? Well, don’t I feel special.”

Rose gulped down the rest of her energy drink. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, pat yourself on the back, dickwad.” He chuckled, then came to a rest on the floor of the cell.

Wait a minute.

A criminal profiler. He thought. That’s her job. That’s why she’s here.

That means she’s been analyzing everything I say. She’s studying me. It hit him like a slug to the chest. How much of what she’s said is real? Was any of it real? Was she just trying to get information? He rolled over onto his side, almost shocked breathless by the realization. And Intercom Guy, too. He sat up stiffly, and with a growling voice said, “Hey, Rose-”

He would’ve continued, had not a pair of violet eyes caught his attention from a dark corner of the room.

“Sup dude?” Rose answered, unsuspecting.

Franky’s eyes narrowed. He would confront her later. Right now, he had some royalty to deal with. “Rose, would you mind if I talked with myself for a bit?”

“Uh… Sure. Yeah, no, that’s cool.”

“Thanks. Do you think you could turn off the camera and microphone? It might get a bit personal.”

“Sorry, can’t do that. But I can turn off my end of the mic so I don’t interupt.”

“...That’s fine.”

With a ‘click’, the intercom was off. Franky stood, stretched, and casually addressed the figure in the corner. “Howdy, Princess.”

“Franky.” The horse stepped out of the shadows, tilting her head suspiciously at the prisoner.

She looks tired. He thought. Good. “How goes things in the subconscious, your majesty?” He sneered, slowly walking closer.

Unconsciously, she took half a step back, before remembering her pride and sneering right back at him. “As well as it can, when you live in a garbage pit.”

Ignoring the jab, Franky tilted his head. “Really? No problems at all?”

She slowly shook her head, not realizing the trap that was being set. “What do you-”

“You must not have talked to Gabriel.” He cut her off. “Prince Gabriel?”

“I don’t-”

“You see, he said the subconscious is in quite the uproar right now. In fact, when I asked around, no one seemed to know where you were. Or who you were.”

Celestia’s mind was racing now. What does this mean? She thought. He thinks he can actually communicate with his subconscious? He crazier than I thought! “Well, we probably don’t live in the same area.” She said, smiling what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

The killer nodded patronizingly. “You’re right. Good point.” He turned away, facing his window. “So, Princess. What brings you here this fine night?”

Behind him, the pony let out a silent sigh of relief. She knew his suspicion wasn’t abated, but at least he wasn’t asking questions anymore. At least, not questions she couldn’t answer.

“I was hoping you could answer some questions, actually.” She watched back tense up, and his fists clench.

“Questions? Like what?”

She paused. Finally, her mission was proceeding. After so many months of watching, waiting, following, she was finally doing. “Like…” She said. “How did it all begin?” She was surprised by her own lack of subtlety, but continued. “How did you become ‘The Dark One’, ‘The Father of Chaos’?”

an answer lept into Franky’s mind, and he almost said it aloud, but instead he laughed. “Why would I tell you anything?” He said, spinning to face her. “I’m gonna be honest. I know you’re lying. I don’t know what you are, but you sure as hell aren’t a part of my brain, and I’m going to find a way to kill you when you least expect it.” That last part wasn’t supposed to have been outloud, but Franky stood firm, letting Celestia feel the rage in his eyes. It was a skill he’d always had, being able to be completely calm and relaxed except for his eyes. It scared the hell out of people.

The princess’s shock at her facade being broken quickly faded. She had been expecting it sooner or later. Posing as a figment of his imagination had only been a way to contact him initially. He stood calmly in front of her, and though he hadn’t raised his voice, she felt his psychotic rage knotting in her gut. She quenched that immediately, not letting it turn into fear. She steeled herself, glaring at the human, but with a hard smile. This, she knew how to handle. Hostility is what she had first expected from him, and when he had been complacent, she was unsure how to proceed. But now, with raw, honest anger, she was in her element.

“You go ahead and try to kill me, ape.” She said. “I’ve taken dragons, griffons, minotaurs and hydras all to the grave. I’ve lifted nations up, and I’ve brought them down. I’ve lived longer than your species has been banging rocks together to make fire.” She stepped forward, her face almost touching his. “No human is going to get the best of me.”

If one of her subjects from Equestria had seen this display, they would have been awed. And then they probably would have fainted. Her ponies were a peaceful, gentle species, and she was they’re loving and generous ruler. But they had no idea the things she had to endure, the things she had to do to give them this peace. the ponies knew nothing of the carnage of war, the screams and screeches of the dying. The utter chaos was unimaginable to them. And that was how it was going to stay. Whatever the cost, She thought.

“You will tell me anything I ask.” She said, lacing her words with a forceful magic. “If I ask you a question, you will answer it, honestly, and in detail.” She knew the spell would drain her, and she was already tired, but cast it anyway. Franky’s laughter shocked her to the bone.

“Why the fuck would I do that?” He chuckled. “You think you scare me, miss I’ve-been-alive-since-the-stone-ages?” He stuck out his index finger and put it on his forehead, mimicking a horn. “I’ve killed more mythical creatures than you!” He said in a falsetto voice. “Bow down, hairless monkey!” He doubled over in laughter

Celestia stared at him wide eyed, backing away now. Why hadn’t her spell worked? What was going on?! “Y-you will obey me!” She tried again, but the steel in her voice was gone. Suddenly, the killer straightened up, and seized her by the throat. She was still a horse, so his hand didn’t wrap all the way around, but he dug his fingers in to get at her esophagus. Weakly, she thrashed and tried to escape, but she was drained and exhausted, and Franky was riding an adrenaline high.

“I guess this is going to be my first time killing royalty.” He hissed, dancing about as she tried to kick at his legs. celestia gagged, and the prisoner laughed as he saw the first pangs of fear enter her eyes. Then, with a loud ‘Pop!’ and a flash of light, she was gone.

“Shit!” Franky shouted, jumping back.His hands had been burnt by the explosion, and he blew frantically on them.

“Hey!” The intercom clicked on. “What was that?”

The prisoner quickly hid his hands behind his back, and turned to where he thought the camera was. The flash had left him blind, and he was blinking in earnest. “What was what?”

Franky could tell she was scowling suspiciously. “What do you mean what was what? That loud pop! What’d you do?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t hear anything. Must’ve been feedback from the mic.”

Rose wasn’t convinced. “MmHm. Then why’d you say shit?”

“Um. I tripped. And I think I hurt my hands.” Franky wasn’t sure why he was covering for himself. For some reason, he didn’t want Rose to think he was crazy, even though he had just gotten into a fight with a magical horse princess.

She MmHm-ed again, but didn’t pursue the subject. “Well, she sounded like a bitch.”

The killer chuckled involuntarily. “You don’t even know.” He leaned against one of the walls, clapping his hands in front of him, then wincing as he remembered they were burnt.

Rose waited awkwardly for a response, then, “So, what’d she want?”

“What do you mean?” Franky avoided looking at the camera, and he sounded… defensive.

“Well, she had some questions for you. What were they?”

He wanted to snap back, to snarl at her that she could go fuck herself, but something held him in check. He knew that she was the only one he got to talk to, all night, every night. Also, he kind of liked her, at least as someone that got his sense of humor. I guess having Empathy in my head, unconscious or not, is having an affect.

“Yo! Earth to Schizo!”

Franky looked up at the camera, bearing a faint smile at the nickname. But then it was gone. “Why,” He said, “should I answer any of your questions?” The ice in his voice surprised Rose.

“What do you mean, why should you…?” Her tone suggested that she was squinting skeptically at him. “Talking to you is a fucking roller coaster ride.”

The prisoner glared back at the camera. “You’re right. What could I possibly be referring to? It’s not like anyone just revealed any particularly disturbing info, is it?”

“Hey, tone down the sass, boy, or I’ll tell them you’re allergic to everything but refried beans and pepto bismol.” A long slurp of some energy drink. “Are you talking about the part where I listened in on your conversation with the princess chick?”

“No!” He pushed off the wall, pacing frustratedly. “I’m talking about the part where you’re a shrink!” He stopped, and turned towards the camera, even though he wouldn’t be able to see her reaction.

“I prefer the term ‘Criminal Profiler’.” She said, somewhat jokingly.

“Whatever.” Franky waved a hand. “You’re analyzing everything I say! You probably haven’t said a real thing to me! It was all a trick to…” He struggled for the right term. “Get information.” God, I sound like a whiny teenage girl. But, truthfully, the betrayal hurt. He had known this girl for less than a week, had never even seen her, and yet… Somehow he had trusted her. Shows where listening to Empathy gets me.

There was a creaking through the intercom as Rose spun in what must have been an office chair. “Ok, first of all,” She said. “I have never once told you a lie.” Before he could interject, she finished. “I may have withheld a little bit, but no lies.” He grudgingly accepted this, gritting his teeth but saying nothing. “Second of all, there is no faking either. If I said you were a cool guy, I meant you were a cool guy, and if I asked when you became a killer, it was because I was genuinely interested.”

Now he started to protest, but she cut him off. “And while I may be writing some of our talks down, or trying to figure you out, you’ve killed more than 400 people, and are in a padded cell. Any normal conversations between you and I are impossible, and that’s your fault.”

Franky closed his mouth as the truth of that hit him. He had burnt a lot of bridges over the years, and having regular social interactions was probably one of them. he was quiet, pondering for a small while. Eventually, “Do you remember how you said you left the mic on so you could interupt me?”

“...Yeah.”

“You weren’t fucking kidding.”

They both laughed, lightly, tentatively, but the tension was broken, and the following silence was comfortable.

“So.” The black haired man plunked onto his cot. “Intercom Guy too?”

“You mean is he a shrink? Yeah, sorta. I mean, he’s mostly here to observe.” She slurped noisily, and let loose a loud belch. “Technically, so am I. It took both of us a whole ton of fighting to get these positions, and even now we aren’t allowed to talk to you in person.”

Franky looked up, puzzled. “Phelps talks to me in person.” Unfortunately.

“Yeah, well, he’s who we were fighting against. If he had it his way, it would just be you and him, all day, everyday.”

The prisoners gut actually heaved at the thought. “Well, thank god for you two, then.”

Rose chuckled. “Exactly.”

“So what’s the big deal about Phelps, then?”

“He’s the asylums senior psychiatrist, so what he says pretty much goes. He’s also pretty influential in the psychology world, with some famous essays and stuff.”

“...He reminds me of a Nazi.”

She snorted. “Yeah. A little Nazi doctor. I can see that.” They laughed together, and for the moment, Franky was enjoying himself. There was no impending disaster, all of his friends were safe, and nobody was trying to kill him. It felt, he supposed, what living in a padded cell in a fortified building was supposed to feel like. Untroubled. Finally.

…

A world away, in a dark bedroom, a loud ‘Pop!’ interrupted the night. Celestia flashed into existence, and stumbled to lean against a wall. She was gasping, and her throat aching and throbbing. What happened? She thought, eyes wide. She had tried to nudge his emotions in her favor, but… It didn’t work. Why not? She replayed the scene over in her mind, trying to ascertain what went wrong. Why did I lose my temper like that? He should not have been able to provoke me so much. Her thoughts were interrupted and she froze as the doors to her bedroom chamber burst open.

“Your Highness, are you alright?!” Two members of her royal guard stood in the doorway, looking ready to charge at any threat.

Too shocked and too tired to remember their names, she simply smiled. “Yes, of course, soldier. I’m fine.”

“We heard a bang.”

Her mind raced. “I apologize for the alarm. I tripped over my dresser.

The guards didn’t look convinced, and they noticed the bags underneath her eyes. But, she was their princess, and they could tell when they weren’t needed. “No need to apologize, your majesty. Sleep well.” They walked out cautiously, returning to their posts outside the door.

As it closed behind them, Celestia let the smile fall. She was beyond exhausted, but her heart was pounding, and she had many questions that needed answering. A sigh floated through the quiet chamber. Tonight, sleep would not be an option. She considered a revitalizing spell, but decided the corresponding crash would not be worth it. Instead, she would walk through the gardens. The crisp autumn air would wake her, and the walk would allow some meditative thought.

While world-to-world teleportation was a loud event, short range spells wielded only a flash of light. With that, she was outside, and the night washed over her. The palace gardens were a thing of wonder. Flora and Fauna from all over the world, masterfully blended together in a colorful paradise, one that attracted ponies from every corner of Equestria. She trotted down a small paved path, lit on either side by small luminescent flowers. The nocturnal creatures chittered and rustled around her, only revealing themselves as small pairs of eyes. The princess breathed in deeply, trying to steady her heart rate. She turned around, and beheld the palace itself. Also a thing of wonder, if she did say so herself. Resting on the edge of a huge cliff, it truly befit an eternal princess of the world. Massive towers and turreted walls scraped the starry sky, and beautifully wrought portcullises and palisades bordered the great white walls.

She turned her eyes to a particular tower in the west wing. Atop that tower, she knew, her sister stood, watching over the citizens of their domain, guarding their sleep and dreams. Another sigh, this one brought by remembrance of other times. To guard dreams. She thought. Thank the sun that is a freedom we have. Before, in the dark times, Luna would patrol the streets at night, with squadrons of Lunar Guards. Guards that wouldn’t always return to their families the next day. They would defend the civilians against monsters, or apprehend criminals. Ponies locked their doors at night, for fear of what lurked beyond. Guarding dreams symbolized a hard one peace. A peace that would be maintained, Celestia told herself. No matter the cost.

She kept walking, brushing aside the leaves of a reaching branch. The farther she continued down the path, the less organized the garden seemed to become. Trees grew in strange, bent directions, and flowers were loud, unmatching colors. It began to look less like a garden and more like a forest. Finally, she entered a clearing. In its center lay a simple, unassuming stone pedestal. She stood before it, quiet, unmoving. She only stared. If there had been anyone present, they would have been awed by the image. A lone princess, mane flowing on an invisible wind, wings tucked to her back, in a trance like memory. But, had they seen her eyes, they would have seen the profound sadness there.

A soft voice interrupted the scene. “A strange hour for a walk, I would think.”

Celestia smiled without looking up. “On a night too beautiful to be missed.”

There was a clopping of hooves. “With a mare to preoccupied to enjoy it.”

Celestia turned to face the speaker, still smiling. “Hello, sister.” The pony before her was a stunning sight. She was a dark, midnight blue, and she held herself with the grace of an Amazon Warrior. Or a princess. Her mane flowed with a wind as well, but instead of the bright colors her sister had, it shimmered darkly, as if a patch of the night sky followed her about. And it was fitting, for this was Luna, Eternal Princess of the Night.

The pair performed the alicorn version of a hug, crossing their horns, and wrapping their wings around one another.

“Should thou not be sleeping?” Luna asked when the parted.

Celestia sighed. “I wish. I’m just…” She stopped, and looked solemnly into the distance.

Luna had a concerned look on her face, and used a hoof to bring Celestias gaze back. “What troubles thee, sister of mine?”

The other princess smiled sadly. “I’m worried.” She said. “I’m worried for everything we’ve built.

“Ah.” Luna nodded slowly, understandingly. “I was wondering why thou would come...here.”

Together they looked at the pedestal, remembering what it stood for, why it came to be… What once stood atop it. Celestia closed her eyes. She knew what she had to do. She had known ever since she had learned what Frank’s title was. Father of Chaos. She shuddered, and her horn began to glow. If she was ever to understand chaos, to prevent it...She would have to look it in the face.

Author's Note

Hey yall. If you see typo's point that shit out. G-docs is dyslexic.

Choices

A few hours passed, Franky and Rose simply talking. Neither one of them could sleep anyway. The moon slowly rose out of the prisoners line of sight, his small window not providing much of a view. She chuckled slightly at something he had said. The pairs casual conversation was, however, brought to a rather sudden halt.

“I haven’t taken a shit in three days.”

“...What.”

Rose watched in concern as Franky, clutching his stomach, stumbled to the floor. “Ohoho.” He said, half laughing, half groaning. “That doesn’t feel good.”

“What- Why are you just mentioning this now?!”

The black haired man sat, moaning, head between his legs. “I don’t know. I said something to Intercom Guy the first day, but then I sorta… forgot.”

“You forgot.” Rose’s tone implied she was massaging her temples.

“It also didn’t start hurting until just now.”

There was the sound of keys clacking on a keyboard. “Alright dude, I’mma see if there’s someone who can take you to the bathroom.”

“In the middle of the night? Are you allowed to do that?

“I don’t know. But I do know that I’m not allowed to let you rupture something.”

“...That works for me.”

There was silence for a moment, punctured occasionally by rapid typing. “I have to turn off the mic so I can radio someone else.”

“Cool. I’m not going anywhere.”

The intercom clicked off, and Franky was alone in the dark of his cell. Well, relatively alone.

Wouldn’t it be funny if this was how you died? Crash laughed. ‘The Great Father of Chaos, Killed By Constipation!’

Then, Franky’s stomach gave a particularly painful cramp, and he stopped laughing.

Reggie spoke up. “You need to be more careful with your body, brother. It is our only way out of this prison.”

The killer clenched his teeth as he was racked by another spasm of pain. A little reminder would have been nice.

Oh, yeah, sorry about that.The redhead responded. Just been a little busy being tortured.

Are you gonna keep whining about that? Franky’s eyes widened. Oh my god, you guys totally missed it.

Missed what?

He relayed to them the memories of a few hours ago, when Celestia had appeared in his cell, demanding that he answer her questions, and how he had refused and attempted to strangle her. Crash laughed at the killers response to her outrage, and Reggie was silent.

When he showed them how she had teleported away, the redhead asked, How are your hands?

Better, but they still fucking hurt. Franky held them up. They were red, shiny, and raw, but he would be fine.

“I wonder what she was trying to do to you?” Reggie pondered.

What do you mean?

“Watch when she gets angry.” The suited man answered. They all re-watched the memory. “When she says ‘You will tell me anything I ask’, her horn lights up. And then, when you refuse, she is clearly shocked. She was fully expecting you to do exactly as she said.”

Maybe that’s because she’s an entitled little twat who’s used to getting her way. Crash added helpfully.

Franky nodded slowly. Yeah, maybe. But look at right before she teleports away. Her horn lights up then too.

“I believe that is how she performs her spells. Which means,” Reggie said, “that you are immune to at least some of her magic.”

I wonder what would happen if I broke it off? The killer thought, meaning her horn.

With a click, the intercom came back on, and Rose spoke. For some reason, however, it was distorted and garbled, and completely unintelligible.

“I couldn’t understand any of that, Rose.”

She spoke again, but it still sounded like she was underwater.

“Turn the mic off and on again.

She did. “How about now?”

“Yep. Loud and clear.”

“Huh. Weird. Has that happened before?”

“One time, with Intercom Guy. What’s up?”

“I found some guys to escort you. They want you to stand against the back wall.”

Franky stood, wincing as his stomach clenched again. He walked across the room, and leaned against the wall directly underneath his window. Light flooded the room as the door slowly opened, and two asylum guards walked in, both armed.

The prisoners eyebrows raised as they approached. “Guard Guys? What are you two doing here?”

“Turn around.” One said by way of answer, holding up a pair of handcuffs.

He did, and grimaced slightly as the cuffs pinched his wrists. “Seriously though.” He said. “Why are you guys here? It’s like two-o’clock in the morning.”

One guard, the one who had confronted Franky in the hallway before, muttered, “Shut up. Let’s move.” The other guard, who seemed slightly agitated, nodded, and began to leave the room. Franky followed, the gruff guard behind him with a hand on his shoulder.

They entered the hallway, and the prisoner noted the lack of employees. Or anyone at all. So why were his guards here?

“You guys don’t sleep here, do you?”

“Not normally, we don’t.” The guard in front said under his breath. Realizing he had spoken out loud, the man shook his head, and sped up slightly. The killer noticed other doors in the hallway, ones that probably led to cells exactly like his own. He wondered what those inmates had done, what deeds had they committed to get themselves labeled as dangerously insane. He couldn’t wait to find out, and for some reason, he was sure he would.

The trio passed the room where Franky had met Phelps, and kept walking. Eventually, they stopped before an elevator. One guard pressed a button, and the door slid open. As they walked in, Franky racked his brain for something fun or unsettling to say. But, something was off. As the nervous guard pressed the ‘1’ button, the prisoner felt the mood in the elevator shift. There was a palpable tension, a growing, building anxiety. Whatever was on the ground floor, the guard guys did not want to be near it. With a small jerk, Franky felt himself moving upwards. So I’m in the basement. He thought. Good to know.

The elevator door opened again, and the first thing the prisoner noticed was all the black. All he had seen so far of the asylum was white. Pristine. Boring. But this room spotted with black. The second thing he noticed was that the black was the asylum guards uniform color, and and that guards were everywhere. The trio stepped into the lobby, and just in there the killer saw a dozen men. In some of the hallways and rooms adjacent to the lobby he saw even more. Most of them weren't armed, but even so it was an impressive security force.

“Jesus guys.” The killer said. “You know I’m cuffed, right?” At that, many guards turned to look at Franky and his escorts. But, much to his surprise, they looked away just as quickly. Whatever they were here for, it wasn’t him.

The nervous guard led them across the room, through a door, and to the prisoners relief, a bathroom.

Once inside, the prisoner paused. “Isn’t there a bathroom on my floor? Why’d we have to come all the way up here?”

“None of us had the key.” The gruff guard said, holding open a stall door. “You have five minutes.”

The killer scoffed. “You’re gonna have to make it longer than that. I’ve been holding this one for three days.”

The guard chewed his cheek. “Five minutes. Then we check on you. Then you keep going.”

“Alright.” The black haired man said. “Uncuff me.” The guard gave him a look, which he matched with his own. “How am I supposed to get my pants down without any hands?” They held each other's gaze, until the guard caved.

“Fine.” He growled, motioning for his partner to remove the cuffs.

Franky rubbed his wrists, smiling, and stepped into the stall. The ordeal took less time than he had anticipated, and suffice to say it provided much needed relief. When he emerged, his smile was even wider, and the guards faces reflected their musings that they had not signed up for this. One moved to put the handcuffs back on, but the killer stepped back.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Aren’t you gonna let me wash my hands first?” Both guards rolled their eyes, but let him go to the sink. He winced again as the cold water ran over his burnt hands, but left them there. Hopefully, this would help them heal faster. He squeezed a dollop of soap out of the dispenser, working it over his hands, and lathering slightly up his arms. Then, he attempted to stand in front of the hand dryer, but by then Grumpy Guard Guy was impatient.

“C’mon.” He growled, and wrenched Franky away by the shoulder. The other guard clapped on the handcuffs, and together they departed.

The walk back to the lobby was quiet, because the guards didn’t want to talk, and Franky seemed to be doing something behind his back. Unbeknownst to them, he hadn’t washed the soap off of his hands and arms, and was attempting to maneuver them through the handcuffs. He didn’t particularly want to escape, nor did he think he could (they could shoot faster than he could run). But, if he was only allowed to leave his cell in handcuffs, it would be handy (heh) to know he could get out of them.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, he couldn’t, at least not without breaking his thumbs. Oh well, I tried. By now, the trio was back in the lobby, and the prisoner noticed the strange energy again. There was even more security in the small room, though none of them seemed to be doing anything but stand around and talk mutedly. Something was going on, but Franky had no idea what. And he didn’t like being out of the loop.

“This is the worst pool party ever.” He whispered conspiratorially to the guard on his left, who happened to not be part of his escort. At the man's confused look, he just shrugged. “Just sayin.” His guard guys dragged him towards the elevator, but were stopped by a man in front of it.

“You’re gonna have to wait, guys. Elevator’s bringing people down from the top floors.”

The nervous guard shifted from foot to foot.”We need to get him back to his cell. Fast.” The man took a moment to examine the prisoner, and recognition flashed in his eyes.

“Alright.” He said. “You get first priority as soon as it’s back on this floor.” Grumpy Guard nodded, and led Franky to a corner of the room to wait. The black haired man took this opportunity to scan the lobby. He was looking for the guard from the hallway, the one who had crossed his chest. Before he could locate him, however, there was a stirring in the center of the room.

An imposing figure stood there, barking out orders and pointing at people, as official looking as one could be. He was as tall as Franky himself, and held a fierceness that the prisoner found invigorating. His grey hair spoke not of age, but of steel.

“You, you, and you.” He said, selecting three guards at random. “I want you with the team I’ve posted outside. They’ll fill you in. Move.” The three in question nodded an affirmative, and one snapped a clumsy salute before they headed down a hallway.

So there’s an exit that way. Good to know.

The fierce man continued. “Alright.” The rest of the room shifted their focus to him, if it hadn’t been there already. He glanced at a watch. “It’s 02:30. As you know, we’ve got-”

“Sir!”

The grey haired man's eyes narrowed, and he turned to release hell on whoever dared to interrupt him. As Franky’s shocked stare would tell, it had been Nervous Guard Guy.

The skittish man gulped. “Sir, I strongly suggest we do not discuss details in front of this particular prisoner.”

Suddenly, Franky felt the fierce man's eyes on him. An inexplicable knot formed in his gut, and while he wanted to smile or wave, he was unable to do anything but stare back. I wonder if that’s what people feel like when I look at them? And then, the grey haired man looked back to the guard. And, fortunately for him, seemed to agree.

“How soon can you have him out of here?”

“As soon as the elevator comes back, sir.”

A curt nod. “Alright. Five minutes then you take the stairs. Briefing when he’s gone.” He turned back to the room at large. “Everyone who knows where to be, get there.” A few guards peeled away at that, going down hallways and through doors. But most stayed in the lobby, awaiting instruction.

Franky turned, slightly awed, to his escorts. “Who is that guy?”

Neither answered, but a guard who had been standing nearby overheard. “Gregory Machand. He’s the warden. And chief of security.”

Franky shook his head. “He’s cool.”

At that moment, several fates collided in one single, subtle action.

At the front entrance of the asylum, the three guards sent by the warden exited the building.

Closer to the lobby, a guard paused, holding a door open to wait for his partner.

And finally, in the lobby itself, one security member, coming from the bathroom, knocked on a door that had locked behind him. The warden himself opened it.

That instance, that split second when all three doors were open, allowed something from outside the asylum to slip in. A single snippet of sound, a contact form the outside world, made its way into Franky’s ears. It was only a hum, a buzz, a static that could have come from anything. But before he had time to analyze it, the second passed, and the lives that had intertwined for a moment separated. The doors closed. The prisoner blinked and felt disoriented for some reason.

What was that? He thought. It sounded like… a clothes dryer, or something. The sound had washed over everyone else as well, and he could tell it made them uneasy. What…?

His thought process was interrupted yet again as the elevator door opened, and security personnel began filing out, making the lobby more crowded than it already was. As soon as it was empty, his escorts ushered him into the elevator, and as it slid shut. The Chief of Security started to brief his men. “Alright gentlemen-” And then it was closed. But that sound. It stuck in the killer's mind. It felt so...familiar.

“Hey guys, what was that?” He asked the guard guys. Neither answered, but nervous Guard flicked his eyes around, and Grumpy Guard made a growling sound in his throat. Claire does that, Franky noted. “Seriously though.” He said. “It sounded like… something.” With a whoosh, the trio was exposed to a hall, lined with doors and rooms, normal building things. But, for no discernable reason it made something click in the killer's brain.

Cross my heart. A flash of a thousand faces, all uplifted and screaming with a fierce joy. Franky spinning around slowly, arms outstretched. Hope to die. The indescribable feeling as he raises his fist and roars, and is swept into a primal state of joy as his voice turns into thousands.

They’re here, he thought. That was why he recognized the sound. The sound of a crowd, the beautiful, chaotic hum that only comes from a multitude of humans in one place. He grinned. That also explained all the security. It had been no secret that he had been taken to AACI. And the Children of Chaos couldn’t be legally prevented from assembling, despite the countless legislative acts trying to label them as a terrorist organization. He laughed out loud, startling the guard guys. By now, they had passed several rooms and were approaching the hallway containing Franky’s cell.

“I don’t suppose,” He said, still smiling, “that it’s too late for me to go say hello?” His statement was vague, but the guards reactions confirmed his suspicion. They both gulped, nervous guard practically stumbled, and suddenly they were hauling ass down the hallway. Franky was laughing as hard as he could, struggling to do that and not fall over. When they arrived in front of his cell, tears were running down his face, and breath was coming in short gasps. The door swung open, and the cackling prisoner was thrown inside, where he landed face first on the thankfully padded floor.

“Hey! You forgot to take the cuffs off!” The guards looked at one another, and the door slammed shut.

“You fuckers.” Franky muttered, but he was still laughing.

When he finally subsided, Rose declared, “Dude, that must have been one helluva shit.”

That almost set him off laughing again, but he managed to ask, “What?”

“You were gone for a long time.” She said.

He started working on getting up, which was harder than it sounds with his hands behind his back. “Yeah, we had elevator trouble.”

Rose interrupted herself midsentence. “Elevator trou-Why the fuck were you on a different floor?!”

The prisoner was pretty sure she was trying to make him laugh. “None of the guard guys had the key to the one down here.”

“Oh my god.” He couldn’t see her, but he knew she had a thumb and forefinger on the bridge of her nose.

“Yeah. So hey, Rose?”

“Hmm.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

A pause. “Tell you what?”

“That today's Tuesday. The fuck do you think?”

“I get it.” He said, finally on his feet. “If I knew, I might try to escape, but… I don’t know.”

“Today’s Sunday.”

“They’re here, Rose.” He said. “My people are here, my friends, my followers. The Children of Chaos.” One would be hard pressed to miss the pure glee in his voice.

She sighed. “Yeah. You know I can’t talk about it though, right?”

“Why not? We talk about other stuff you’re not supposed to.”

“Yeah, but that’s like… protocol and shit. Things that, err, Intercom Guy gets weird about. This is- I could be locked up if I told you. And not in some cushy asylum with my own cell.”

Franky nodded. “I get it. It’s all good. I’m just happy they’re here, is all.”

“...Had a hard time getting to my car yesterday.”

“Really? Why?

“They were all in the way. Shouting at all the employees, saying to let you go.”

“Huh. That’s...rude. Hey, next time, just cross your heart, and say, ‘Cross my heart.’ they should let you through.

Rose barked out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

“Why not?”

“Would I be allowed to work with gang members if I started throwing up blood signs?”

Franky pursed his lips. “That’s a solid point”

There was a pensive lapse in conversation, both of them pondering one thing or another. The prisoner bounced on his toes, feeling his legs. If they weren’t too sore, he would do some exercise...Well, maybe not. Instead, he walked over to his cot and sat down.

“So, Rose.”

“Sup.”

“What time is it?”

“3:17”

Franky groaned. “I’ve only been awake for three hours.”

“Yeah, well, stop falling asleep at these fuck-random hours.”

He tried to rub his face, but was prevented by the handcuffs, which did wonders for his mood. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have a choice last time.” He said, attempting to blow the loose strands of black hair off of his face.

“What does that mean?”

“It means…” He paused, shaking his head wildly about, before tossing his hair back with a flipping motion. “It means that I can afford to indulge the hallucinations when I don’t have anything else to do.” He knew nothing about his other life was a hallucination, but he hoped that he could derail her from this line of questioning. Distraction.

“What am I doing for the rest of the day?”

There was the rustling of papers. “Why can’t they just fucking email this to me? Hold on.” Finally, she said,, “Alright. 8:30, you go to Phelps.”

“...That’s it?”

“Yup. You ain’t got nothin else on the schedule.”

Franky groaned. “Great. So not only do I have to go talk to a short, bald, nazi motherfucker, for the rest of the day I just sit in here.”

“Supposedly though, today is the first bit of your psych evaluation, so if it goes well, you might be able to go to the cafeteria and stuff.”

He grunted, and sat back on the floor, where he began to work on getting the handcuffs in front of him.

“Hey homo.”

The prisoner snorted. “What?”

“Remember a couple of nights ago when I asked how you first became a serial killer?”

Franky looked up. “Oh yeah! Where did we get with that?”

“Uh, Intercom Guy walked in before we even got started.”

The prisoner stood, his hands still cuffed, but at least they were in front of him now.

“Well, storytelling is definitely a fun way to kill time.” He walked back to his cot, and sat cross legged on it, facing the camera. “Hmm. Where to start.”

There was the wet ‘clack’ of Rose opening an energy drink, then a slurp. “How about when you first realized you were a serial killer?”

The killer ‘hmmed’ again. “Yeah, that could work, but there's a bit of backstory you would need, or it wouldn’t make much sense.” He tilted his head. “Or it might. Fuck it.”

“I’m pretty sure I was 22-”

Cozy. Cozy is how you would describe that night. The bar was warmly lit, bustling in a quiet sort of way. Clinks of glasses, quiet conversation, a friendly calm occasionally punctuated by drunken laughter. The bartender, a burly man with huge, tattooed arms, hummed softly to himself as he cleaned a shot glass.

There was a light bell chime, and a crisp autumn chill slipped in as the door to the bar opened. Other than a glance, no attention was paid to the newest patron, a tall, black haired youth with his hands tucked in his pockets. He surveyed the room, casually but consciously, and made his way to the bar.

“Hi there.” He said, finding a stool.

The bartender eyed him suspiciously. “Howdy. What can I do for you?”

Franky examined the shelf behind the large man. “How about a J&B?”

The bartender chuckled. “Mhmm. Got an ID?”

The younger man sighed dramatically. “Not on me, I’m afraid.”

“That’s what I thought. Can’t serve to minors, kid.”

Franky locked eyes with him, grinning fiercely. “What if I swore I was 22?” He poured all of the persuasive energy he could muster into the gaze, feeling it work it’s way over the bartender's soul.

“Nope, sorry.” The man chuckled again. “Wish I could take your word for it.”

A sigh of defeat. “Yeah, alright. Can I have some Doctor Pepper?” One of the downsides of being off the grid, not having an ID. The bartender placed a glass of soda in front of him, and Franky glanced to those seated around him. He-

“Wait, wait. Why were you off the grid?”

Franky looked up at the camera in annoyance. “That’s all backstory. Doesn’t matter right now.”

“Well, you have to tell it to me sometime.”

“Yeah, but I figure we have a few months at least of storytelling ahead of us. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“...Yeah, alright.”

“May I continue?”

“Please.”

There were five people seated at the bar, with Franky in the middle. To his right there sat a man who looked to be in his late 20’s, chatting casually (desperately) with a woman probably twice his age, though she hardly showed it. She didn’t look as if she minded the attention either, but Franky was willing to bet she liked em a little younger. He turned his head, now looking to his left. Sitting next to him was a man who looked like he’d seen some interesting years. His outfit said logger, his face said retired, but his posture said soldier. Probably a ‘Nam vet, Franky reasoned. Further past the old man, almost in the corner of the room, there was someone who very clearly didn’t belong. A middle aged, very well dressed business man. He exuded white collar wealth and class from his very pores. Or, he would, if he wasn’t sloppy drunk. As of then, he was halfway through a glass of whiskey that had been refilled a few times already.

The young man's interest was fully piqued at this point. This wasn’t a shady part of town, by any means, but it was the industrial section. Of a lumber town no less. Not even the owners of the mills dressed like that. He grabbed his soda, and walked over to the suited man, selecting a stool next to him. The man didn’t even look up.

“Rough day at work, huh?”

His bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair made him seem quite pitiful as he groaned into his drink. “I guess you could say that.” He tipped the glass back, draining it, earning a whistle from Franky.

“You know, there are healthier ways to forget your sorrows.”

The man motioned to the bartender to refill the glass. “Yeah, but they aren’t as fast.”

The younger man took a sip from his soda. “I hear venting helps quite a bit. Need a pair of ears?”

The man glared at him suspiciously. “What are you, a homo or something?”

Franky put on a winning smile. “Just a concerned citizen.”

It took some time, and a few more half pints of whatever he was drinking, but the man's story began to spill out.

“I’m a lawyer, right? A defendant. I make cases for people…” He stared into his glass, and apparently decided that Franky knew what a defendant was. “I make pretty good money.” He chuckled. “Great money. Me and my wife, we’ve got a house. Cars. Great house. Anyway, this client comes in one day, this lady.” He struggled to turn and look at the black haired man. “Stunner.” He said. “Ten outta ten. Eleven outta ten. The body on her…” He slumped back to his drink. “I took her case, if you know what I mean. She starts coming in the office, all the time, we made these appointments.” The story from there was hardly coherent, but Franky pieced together the basics. Somehow, (Franky thought he heard “Receptionist), the lawyer's wife had found out about his mistress. Now, she was divorcing him, taking everything, including the great house.

Classic, the young drifter thought. He expressed his deepest condolences, nodded when necessary, shook his head in disbelief when expected. Eventually, the bartender announced last call, and told the patrons that the bar was closing.

Franky helped the well dressed man stumble to his feet. “Well, you’re in no shape to drive.” He said. “Where are you staying?”

“Uh. S-south of here. A hotel.”

“I’ll drive you. Lemme see the keys.”

The drunk man fumbled in his pockets as Franky practically carried him outside. He produced the keys, and almost handed them over, when he asked, “What about your car?”

The black haired man laughed. “No one’s gonna steal my old rice beater. But if we left your car here all night…” The lawyer conceded the point with a “huh,” and Franky snatched up the keys. The drifter figured that response would prompt less questions than admitting he didn’t have a car. They finally made it to the vehicle, a brand new Chrysler, pitch black and shiny. Franky helped the man into the passenger seat, before getting in himself.

Watching the man's head loll, he said, “Hey, before you pass out, where’s your hotel?” The lawyer weakly lifted a hand, pointing down the road. Then, the hand fell, and he was conscious no more.

“Guess I’ll just have to find it.” Franky muttered to himself. He ended up rooting through the man's pockets until he found the key card, which had the hotel name and room number on it. With some more searching, he found it, just a little further downtown. Then, he had a hotel employee help him carry the unconscious man to his room. When the employee departed (with a generous tip form the lawyers wallet), Franky closed the door behind him.

“Ugh,” He groaned. “Why is this always so much work?”

Hours later, the sun had already risen, and was beginning to peak in the sky when the lawyer awoke. His eyes started to peel open, caked and crusty, but the sunlight forced them shut again. His head was pounding mercilessly, and his body was all kinds of stiff and sore. And Jesus Christ it was cold!

I’m going to get up, he thought, close those blinds, get a damn blanket, and go back to sleep. 1. 2. 3! His eyes snapped wide open. He couldn’t move, and soon, he discovered why. His arms and legs were firmly tied to a chair. And he was definitely not in his hotel room.

The morning air was crisp and cold, not because the window was open, but because he was outside. Well, mostly. The ruins of a large, open building surrounded him, walls crumbling to reveal pine trees outside, and the floor being overtaken by weeds.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Said a voice very close to the lawyer's head. He gave a startled yelp, and jerked to see who was behind him. This did not help his hangover, and he winced as the throbbing escalated.

“You’re thinking, I’m never going to drink again! And you’re right.”

A tall figure strode into his view, and when the figures face was revealed he gasped. “You!”

Franky grinned. “Me!”

The lawyer struggled with his bonds. “What is this shit?! Where are we?” He opened his mouth to say more, but noticed the large knife in Franky’s hand.

The black haired man chuckled, and placed his free hand on the lawyer's head. “Well, if you’ll give me a second I’ll explain.” He found a place to sit, across from the lawyer on the floor.

“Last night,” He started, “I brought you to your hotel, intent on robbing you blind. But, as it turned out-”

“I don’t have any money!”

Franky nodded. “Exactly. And what you did have, I accidently gave to a guy at the hotel.”

The other man whimpered, not to mourn the loss of his money, but because his captor was running the knife up and down his leg.

The black haired man continued. “Now, if I had you go to an ATM, we’d only get about $1,000, and I don’t really feel like holding you hostage to go make a withdrawal. Not that you’d have that much anyway.” Franky sighed. “Man, your wife really cleaned you out.”

The lawyer burst out. “Then what do you want? Why am I here? You know I don't have anything!”

The other man stood up. “Well I was getting to that, buddy, just hold on.” He walked to stand in front of a hole in the wall that served as a window.

“Last night,” He said, “I had a choice to make. I could leave you there, on your bed, and no one would have ever known I was there. I could have taken your car to a chop shop, and be on my merry way.” He spun to face the lawyer. “But I came to realize something. About myself. I had a moment of clarity into my own mind.” Franky held his arms out, as if for a hug. “I don’t do this for money! I never did!” He twirled about, indicating the abandoned warehouse. “I don’t make much money anyway, I’m homeless for fucks sake!” Suddenly he was very close to the lawyer, their faces almost touching. “I do this,” He said, his voice almost a whisper, “because it’s fun.”

The other man gulped, and he was shaking uncontrollably. “Do what?”

A smile split across the killer's face. “Oh, you’re about to find out!”

He would find out later rather than sooner, because Franky left him tied up to find some creative way to kill him. It was an abandoned mill warehouse, there must be something interesting. However, he returned, frustrated, about half an hour later. “There is nothing here! Not even tools goddamnit!”

“Please let me go.” The lawyer's voice was raw from screaming for help.

“I hope you realize,” the killer said, “that we’re in the middle of nowhere. Also no.”

The black haired man's spirits were greatly lifted when he found an old wood chipper, but fell again when he couldn’t get it started. After another half hour, he returned to his captive, brandishing a board with several rusty nails sticking out of it.

“This is the best I could find.”

His victim whimpered as Franky lined the board up with his head. “Please…” the killer let loose a vicious swing, connecting with a solid ‘thwack!’. The man screamed and then sobbed, blood pouring down his wrecked face. But when Franky inspected the damage, he realized it was only superficial, and the nails had pushed out the back of the board, instead of penetrating the skull.

“Huh.” He said. “I guess I could just use the board.” Just then, however, something caught his eye, and his smile returned full force. The warehouse sported a sort of office building, maybe five stories tall, but it was boarded up and Franky hadn’t been able to get inside. But, from his new vantage point, he could see a single pulley mounted on a pole on the top floor, with a long, thick rope trailing all the way to the ground. It gave him a wonderful idea

He dragged his captive (and his chair) outside, although it took longer than it had to because the lawyer kept squirming and wrenching around, occasionally knocking himself over. Eventually, the pair was underneath the pulley, the killer looking up at it with his hands on his hips. A moment later saw him sweating profusely, despite the chill. His feet were planted firmly on the ground, and he was slowly but surely hoisting the lawyer into the air.

“I really don’t know,” Franky gasped, “if leaving the chair on you was such a good idea.”

The other man responded with a trembling scream, much less energetic than his previous objections. This may have had something to do with the fact that he was already two stories up, and each wobbly yank from the killer made him think he was going to fall. The rope wasn’t actually tied to him, instead being firmly knotted onto the back of the chair.

“W-wait!” He shouted down to his captor. It hurt to speak at all, thanks to the mess the nails had made of his face, but there were bigger things at stake here.

“Just… just let me down. Slowly. I can get you money.”

The killer paused, wrapping the rope around a nearby pole so he could wipe his brow.

“Yeah?”

“”Yeah! I have friends! I could- I could take loans, I could just steal it for you-”

“Look, I’m sure you could, but that’s not the problem at this point.”

The man practically choked. “What is?”

Franky put his hands on his hips and gazed up at the dangling lawyer. “The problem is I’m putting everything I’ve got into getting you up there. If I started letting you down now, i’d probably drop you. And from that height… Well, you’d just break a bunch of bones. It’d be super painful.” The man started to interject that broken bones were better than death, but Franky continued.

“Also, didn’t we just have a huge talk about how I wasn’t after money?” With that, his break was over, and he started hoisting again.

“Please! Don’t do this!”

“Please, I’ll do anything you want. Anything!”

“Why are you doing this? I’ve never even met you before.”

“Oh god, please!”

Eventually, the desperate cries shifted from pleas to insults.

“You fucking...asshole! You filthy rotten piece of shit!”

“You’re crazy! You don’t deserve to be alive! Your parents should have drowned you!”

Spittle and blood flew from the man's lips, and his eyes bugged out as he raged at his captor. But Franky steadfastly ignored him, humming softly to himself as the lawyer rose higher and higher.

Eventually, the cries faded away altogether, giving way to a quiet sobbing.

An hour passed, and finally the black haired man stopped, tying the rope firmly to the pole. He raised a hand up to shield his eyes from the glaring sun, which, paired with his intense efforts at the rope, had left him quite drenched. Five stories up, swaying softly in the crisp autumn breeze, sat the lawyer, almost comatose and unaware that he had stopped rising. The killer peered up at the broken man, contemplating exactly how this next phase would go. I could just leave him up there. Let him starve to death and dry out. The thought of some random hiker discovering the lawyers mummified corpse amused Franky greatly. But, the risk of someone stumbling into the mill while he was still alive was rather high. How long do people take to starve to death? Two weeks? I think it’s two weeks. No, he would do this as originally planned. Besides, after all the work I did to get him up there, it would be anticlimactic to just leave.

He drew the knife from his belt, and tapped it gently on the rope.

“Hey! Lawyer dude!” There was no response, and the captive remained motionless. Franky seized the rope, and shook it violently.

“Hey! Wake the fuck up!” When the silence continued, the killer began searching the ground for rocks. When he found a good fist sized one, he eyed his target with a squint. I don’t know if I can even throw that high. He cocked his arm back, but thankfully for his tired limbs, the lawyer chose that moment to start moaning again.

“Hey! Lawyer guy!” he saw the man's good eye open, and the living pendulum swayed a bit as he struggled once again with his bonds. Then he noticed how high up he was, and panic overrode his comatose silence.

“Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.”

“Hey hey hey, calm down man.”

The lawyers bloodshot eye locked on Franky with a desperate intensity.

“Let me down.” He whispered.

“What?”

“LET ME DOWN!” The ferocity of his scream tore at the wounds on his face, and droplets of blood pattered into the dirt next to Franky.

“No. Afraid I can’t do that. But,” He said, “I’ve had a change of heart.”

The lawyer let out a choked sob. “What?”

“If you want, I’ll take your last words, and get them to whoever they need to get to.” The dangling man gasped, and hung his head to his chest. After a moment of silence, Franky moved his knife to the rope.

“I mean, if you don’t want to-”

“No! No, just let me think!” The man's eyes were darting around frantically, as if he were trying to read a book that would save his life.

“I can’t-...alright. Tell my wife. Tell her…I’m sorry.” He began to sob in earnest, fitting words in between wracks of grief and pain. “I’m so sorry! I never should have- tell her to remember me from the early years! When we married. We were happy…” His breathing began to slow, and so did the tears. “That…That’s all I can think of.”

“Hey man, that was great.” Franky craned his neck to look the lawyer in the eyes. “You know, I just realized, I won’t be able to deliver that if I don’t know your name.”

The man gave a manic chuckle. “Oh yeah. My name is-” There was a loud snap, and his answer devolved into a strangled scream as he plummeted towards the ground five stories below. The rope whipped away from Franky, lashing around like a viper with its head cut off.

A sharp crack split the morning, echoing in between the abandoned buildings and into the woods. Franky remained where he was, knife still poised where the rope had been cut.

“Oops.” He examined a splinter of chair that had landed near his feet, then went to inspect the crash site.

“Well goddamn. That’s a mess right there.” The lawyer had attempted to swing the chair below him as he fell, a last ditch effort to soften the landing. All it had done, however, was slam broken chunks of chair into his body, and not really absorbing any of the momentum. Blood was pooling rather quickly, so Franky stepped back from the mangled pile. After staring for a moment more, he turned around, and started making his way to where he had parked the lawyers car. Victims were great sources of fun, but dead bodies were generally pretty boring. Unless you just happen to stumble on them, I guess. He swung his arms, grimacing at how sore they were, and then at the thought of how much they would hurt the next day. Totally worth it.

He went over the details in his mind. The lawyer was divorced, living in a hotel, no money, no job. Nobody would come looking for him, not for at least a week. If anyone did, they would go to the hotel. Let’s see… who saw me with him? Franky blinked. Well, everyone at the hotel lobby. And the guy I tipped to help me get him in the elevator. He pushed through an overgrown trail, and finally found the car. I can definitely make it out of state by then. The killer sat for a moment in the driver's seat, then fished around in his pockets for the keys. Thankfully, he found them, along with a $20 bill he didn’t remember putting there. But first, lunch!

There was silence in the cell for about a minute.

“Damn.” Franky couldn’t tell what Roses tone meant. “That’s some rough stuff dude.”

He nodded slowly. “I can see how it would be.” He had purposefully left out all the witty banter with Crash and Reggie, and their absence from the story made him seem colder and more calculating than he actually was. But for some reason, he was unwilling to share the knowledge of their existence with Rose. For now at least.

“I’m... not gonna defend my actions.” He said, leaning back into the cot. “I know my choice cut me off from most people, and I’ve made my peace with that.”

“Your choice?”

“The choice to… I don’t know, give into myself, I guess. I knew I was a predator at heart, and it’s not like I hadn’t killed before.” He grinned. “That day I decided to be a professional.”

“So, this was your plan from the start?” Rose's voice spoke of intrigue, not accusation, and before Franky could ask her to elaborate she continued. “I mean, to become the ‘Father of Chaos’ and all that.”

The killer barked out a laugh. “Oh hell no.Back then I was just a dumb kid indulging myself. There was no purpose behind any of it.”

“You said you were 22 right?”

“Yup.”

“How old are you now?”

The prisoner fixed a quizzical gaze on the camera. “You guys still don’t have my birth certificate?”

“Nope. Or any type of identification, or record of your existence before the Chicago Police started to make a profile. Whoever vanished you did a very thorough job.”

“Thanks. I hid a box of stuff before going off the grid, and among other things it’s got a copy. I’ll tell someone where it is before I die.”

Rose sniffed. “So you’re not going to tell me how old you are?”

He chuckled. “Nah, I’ve kept it a secret for this long. Besides, you didn’t answer when I asked you.”

“That’s fair. Alright, how about this one: why did you torture the lawyer?”

The killer frowned. “The thing with the board wasn’t as clean or sophisticated as I would have liked, but I wouldn’t say I tortured him.”

“Although that is fucked up, that’s not what I’m talking about.” She took a deep breath, and Franky thought for a second that he heard some shakiness. “I mean the last words. Why did you tease him with that at the end?”

The killer was silent for a long minute, his chin resting on his knees as he pondered the question.

“I honestly don’t know. I didn’t really think about it.” He tilted his head. “I guess I thought it was funny.” Still do, actually.

“Couldn’t you still have sent a letter or something to his wife? What happened to the whole ‘always keep your word’ thing?”

He levelled a glare at the camera. “I was 22! I didn’t have ideals, and I was trying not to get caught. Also, you might have missed the part where I didn’t know his name.”

“You said you had his wallet, right?”

“Yeah.” He said cautiously.

“So you had his ID.”

That made him pause. “Yeah, I guess I did. But there’s no way I could have delivered his last words without letting his wife know he was dead, which would have led to his body being found, his car being tracked, and me getting caught.”

“Alright, that’s fair. I’m just trying to figure out your motive.”

Franky tapped his head. “You’re trying to psychoanalyze me is what's happening.”

“...Well, yeah. We’re both professionals at something and it’s not like I can turn it off.”

“Well, is it working? What have you figured out so far?”

“Uh. It’s kind of hard to explain, actually. I haven’t reached any conclusions, I’ve just got a bunch of questions.”

“Like what?”

“Here, like this.” There was the sound of a notebook or pad being flipped through. “You mentioned you don’t care about dead bodies, as opposed to living victims. But a large number of your victims, in recent years at least, have been positioned post mortem for whoever happened to find them.”

He chuckled, some of his best masterpieces rushing to mind. “Ok, but that’s not a question.”

Rose scoffed. “But it poses a question, you ignoramus. If you don’t get any enjoyment out of playing with dead bodies, then why did you spend that much energy on making the crime scenes so… extravagant?” She took a long gulp from her drink. “My theory is, the attention from the press made you feel like you had to one up yourself.”

Franky was plainly affronted as he faced the camera. “Excuse me?! Attention from the press?” He stood up from his cot. “Absolutely slanderous!” He declared. “That’s only partly true.”

“Obviously, the first few were about making a statement-” He started.

“What kind of statement?”

“The kind you can’t translate into words, Rose. The kind that shakes people. You saw them, I’m sure, you felt what I’m talking about. Words can be twisted around, taken out of context, and most importantly, words can be silenced.” He smiled. “My message was heard very, very clearly.”

The killer began stretching his arms, trying to touch his toes despite still being cuffed. The skin on his hands was dry, red and cracked from his altercation with Celestia, so he made sure to face away from the camera.

“I’ll admit,” he said, standing up, “that getting a reaction was a huge part of it.

I knew that whatever I made would be marveled at, and at least one person would have to take pictures. You know some police photographer has put together an album of all of my kills, an actual account since I confessed so much during the trial.” He cackled. “HahaHa they dug up so many decaying chumps. But anyway. That album would be worth a lot of money one day.”

“What the hell are you talking about !?” Rose shouted. “You’re saying you’re statement is an art piece? Or an essay written by some college student about how clever you were?”

Franky spun to stare directly in the camera.. “Do you really think those crowds of chanting people would be outside if all I’ve achieved is an essay?”

“Oohoho! Got her!” Crash chortled. “Finish it off.”

Don't tell me what to do.

“I will be remembered, Rose. I will have books and songs written about me, government failsafes written because of me, and that’s if I’m not the destruction of government itself. And I may be conceited, but I think there will be religions formed around me when I’m gone.” He huffed at the camera, daring her to prove him wrong.

She scoffed. “So it is for attention. You’re so focused on being ‘remembered’ that you’d kill other people? Torture other people?”
“I kill people for a lot of different reasons Rose. I’m playing a bigger game, and making a difference.”

“You think your ‘bigger game’ is more important than morality?”

Franky laughed. “Well, having morality in the first place would probably help that.”

There was silence in the cell, both parties fuming.

Heavy breaths played over a speaker in two rooms.

“Your lack of impulse does not excuse your terrorization of society!” Her shout caused him to laugh outrageously. It meant he was winning.

“I am excused by no one. I do what I want, and whoever wants to try and stop me, well...they can try. I am an absolutely free human being, living to the fullest,” He flexed his arms, “in my prime, and I’ve got the highest kill count of anyone I know. Because I’m a professional.”

“...That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. You’re a free man that lives in a cell.”

“Ha! Because I turned myself in! How do you know I’m not exactly where I want to be?”

When she finally responded, it was a change of subject. “It’s 8:15. I should call for the guards to bring you to Phelps.”

“Good. Finally a break from this nonsense.” He huffed again and turned his back the camera, trying and failing to cross his arms.

Silence returned to the cell once again.

I don’t have to justify myself to someone I just met.

“Shut up about it, pussy. Do pushups.”

Franky got on the ground and began pumping out push ups, as fast as he could considering he was doing diamonds. After a couple dozen, he stopped, staring at the ground.

“I wouldn’t actually rather be around Phelps than you.” He said, not looking up.

“Ha! I know.”

…

The sun shone into through magnificent stained glass windows, each easily over twenty feet tall. They scattered colorful rays of light all over the throne room, and splaying onto the floor. The murals depicted grand scenes, masterfully illustrating the history of a nation. The rest of the room was enchanting as well, white marble floors and pillars accentuated by great banners that hung from the ceiling. The massive gilded doors opened onto a beautiful red carpet which led up to the throne itself. Actually, there were three. A central, golden and white throne that was flanked by two smaller ones to either side.

Normally, this courtroom would be filled with ponies, talking, watching, waiting to appeal to their leader about one thing or another. The childlike imitation of politics that Celestia allowed to exist flourished here. But not today. Today it was empty save for the two beings in the center of the room.

The Princesses faced each other, a determined look in both of their eyes. They each took deep, somewhat nervous breaths, and bent their heads down in unison. Their horns began to glow , and immediately the room grew cold, as if sucked out into a vacuum. The beaming sunlight seemed to fade, still shining, but now sickly somehow. The light on the floor began to flicker, bending and swirling in ways that shouldn’t have been possible. Both of the Princesses were grimacing, struggling to maintain the spell as a powerful wind whipped their manes across their faces. Then, with the sound of tearing metal and a great crash, everything snapped back into its place. The air rushed back into the room, bringing the warmth with it.

Celestia tentatively opened her eyes and glanced around the throne room. Nothing seemed to be broken, but the shadows were still crawling, and one small table appeared to be floating in the air, but after a moment nothing else happened.

Luna sighed in obvious relief, and Celestia felt herself ease as well. Maybe it didn’t work.

A timbre voice dashed her hopes into the ground. “Generally, when I’m sent off to do a task, I expect to be allowed to finish it before I’m called back.”

The royal pair jerked around, trying to find where the voice had come from.

“Show thyself, demon.” Luna growled.

“Demon? That’s a little harsh don’t you think?” the sisters jumped back as a grinning mouth materialized directly in between them. It was followed by a pair of yellow eyes, and then an ear, and other random body parts until an entire being stood in the throne room. Well, a conglomeration of whole beings. One hand the paw of a lion, the other the talon of an eagle, a unicorn horn, an antler, the tail of a serpent… The creature was an offense to any natural system in existence.

He rested with his cheek on a fist, elbow propped on a wall that wasn’t there.

“Hello darlings.”

“Discord.” Both ponies were tense, either from nerves or fear, but they hid it well. Now was not the time to show weakness.

Luna spoke first. “We have need of your...assistance.” She spit the word like it made her sick.

“If you’ll recall,” the spirit said, “I’m already assisting you.” He stood up straight, and began popping the joints in his long tail. “Which I was actually in the middle of, before I was so rudely summoned.”

Celestia noted something. “Why are you bleeding?”

Discord looked down at himself, and gave a small grunt. A rather large gash ran down the side of his body, from which he was very much bleeding.

“Well, you know.” He snapped his fingers, and a roll of duct tape appeared in his claw. “The life of an ambassador is a dangerous one.”

They watched with mild disgust as he patched himself up, before something else clicked in the princesses mind.

“An ambassador?” Celestia eyed him suspiciously. “I sent you to find the minotaurs and then report back to me.”

“Oh that? I did that ages ago!” He twirled a finger, and all of the blood that coated his side and the floor drained into a vial, which he tossed at a surprised Luna.

“As it turned out,” He said, “The minotaurs were having a little inter-tribe conflict, and needed someone as a go between.”

The Princess of the Night almost incinerated the vial, but stopped as she considered it’s potential value. She teleported it to her chambers instead. “This doesn’t explain your injury.” She said.

To that he simply shrugged. “Minotaur tradition. If you want an audience with the chief, you wrestle for it.”

Celestia interjected, her eyes narrow. “So while you were out wrestling minotaurs-”

“And winning, until you pulled me away.”

“-you simply forgot the instructions that you must report back to me?”

Discord stopped grooming himself. “Wait, he hasn't got here yet?”

Luna spoke slowly, her voice as dark as a ponies could get. “Who?”

The white princess sighed. “You may not have been aware, Discord, but this was actually a very important task.”

“Which I would very much like to get back to.” He said, turning towards the huge throne room doors. “So if you’ll kindly excuse me-’

“No.” Celestia said sharply. “You have a new objective.”

The spirit of chaos spun on his heels, causing the room to spin with him. A large grin split his face, his single fang gleaming. “I thought so.”

Suddenly he was much closer to her, their faces almost touching. “So what is this objective, this thing so important that you would call me back into your beloved kingdom?”

She simply glared at him, her violet eyes steadily gazing into his manic yellow ones. It was as picturesque a scene as any could ever hope to see. The Eternal Princess of Equestria, a pristine symbol of purity, order, and peace, locked in a silent battle of wills with the physical embodiment of chaos. The room crackled with the intensity of their stare. Luna was the only witness to the moment, and she knew it wouldn't be one that would soon leave her memory.

Celestia took a deep breath, and finally spoke. “Your objective is...to teach me the ways of chaos.”

Discord blinked, and a his mouth slowly opened. The princess celebrated internally, for having won the battle, and for having successfully caught Discord off guard.

The chimeras laughter echoed throughout the throne room, and shook her out of her reverie.

“This.” He cackled, holding his face in his hands. “This is too good. I knew whatever you summoned me for would be delicious, but this.”

“Don’t think that you can corrupt me, Discord. You are to simply be an instructor, guiding me through the mindset and performance.”

“Performance? You intend to learn chaos magic as well?” He clapped his hands together in childish glee, a cloud of small black butterflies appearing as he did so.

Luna snorted as one flittered near her nose. “And I will be present for the whole ordeal, demon, so thou would do best to avoid trying anything.”

“Oh my dear Luna, I would never!” The strange creature chuckled. “Besides, why would I sabotage this wonderful opportunity to bond with the two of you?”

“I would remind you of our agreement.” Celestia drew herself up tall as she could, but she still wasn’t eye level with the chimera. “You remain in our lands, free and unleashed, as long as you follow our commands, and cause no harm to any ponies.”

“Yes, yes. And I am not to attempt to subvert any of your precious subjects minds.” He waved his hand. “I won’t be harming anyone, and since you came to me, I won’t be breaking any rules. But enough of this, let’s dive right in to the deep end of the pool.” He pointed at the ground, which now sported a long swimming pool. He prepared to jump in, before he was grabbed from behind with magic.

“Not yet. Our lessons will begin tomorrow night, in the garden.”

Discord rolled his eyes, but complied, letting the pool vanish. “Very well then.” He turned to the princesses, and gave a dramatic, sweeping bow. “My ladies, I take my leave. I need to draw up... a lesson plan.” With that, he vanished, the sound of a loud belch echoing through the courtroom as the only indication he had been there in the first place.

The ponies shoulders sagged with relief. They shared a longsuffering glance, but neither spoke or moved. The birds chirped happily outside, and bells could be heard coming from the city, no sign that it was anything other than a beautiful day.

Lunas speech was hesitant. “Sister, are you...certain that this is the right course of action?”

Celestia trotted over to a window, and looked out over her city. “No, I’m not. But I am certain that chaos is a threat we have fought for much too long, with no end in sight. One must understand her enemies.”

Her sister didn’t look convinced. “We have been at peace for centuries. The only threat, the only enemy I can see is Discord himself.”

The princess continued staring out the window. It was that peace, that centuries long golden age, that really scared her. She had thought it was too good to last, but she knew it too good to last forever. She had been alive for millennia, and she had never before witnessed an unbroken calmness such as the one her nation saw now. The dam would break. It had to. And when it did, whatever the cause, she would be ready for it.

At the far end of the throne room, one of the huge doors creaked open. There stood a tan pony with a bag around his neck, looking like he had seen better days.

“Your highnesses!” He gasped, obviously out of breath.

“Citizen!” Luna boomed. “Were you not instructed to leave us in peace?”

The pony flinched and almost ran out of the room, but Celestia called him over.

“What is your name?” She watched as he dragged himself to her, his coat covered in burrs and scratches. “And what in the world has put you in this state?” She touched his forehead with her horn, and restored his energy through a spell.

He sighed with relief, and drew himself up straight. “Thank you, princess. My name is Tango, and I’ve been travelling for three months to get here! I just arrived in Canterlot, and I had to see you right away!”

She looked at him curiously. There wasn’t anywhere in pony controlled lands that was three months away, even if you were just walking. “I appreciate your spirit, Tango. What is it you travelled all this way to see me for?”

He reached into the bag and produced a book. “To give you this!”

Celestia floated the book to her to examine. It’s cover read, “My Report”, and sported a hand drawn picture of a minotaur.

It was also signed, Discord.

Prolouge

There was a strange sight floating above Manhattan, at 1am. However, even in the bustling metropolis, with its inhabitants that never seem to sleep, no one saw the sight. It was a white pony, with wings and a horn, floating majestically in the smoggy sky. Her mane and tail flowed in the wind, shimmering with many different colors. Upon her haunch was what seemed to be a tattoo of a bright sun. And yet, no one saw.

She, on the other hand, was being quite observant. She remained motionless, watching as the city people went about their day. Here a hot dog vendor started setting up shop for the day, there an underpaid night guard returning home from his shift. The pony smiled. But then, she sighed. She had been observing all over the earth, and she had seen many wondrous sights. Wondrous, but not all savory. She had seen poverty, plague, starvation, and war. But she had also seen generosity, kindness, love, and caring.

However, she was not here for kindness. No, she had plenty of that on her own world. No, she was here for the failings of humans, to learn from their mistakes, and prevent her little ponies from making the same ones. She turned her eye to an ambulance, sirens wailing, that was racing it’s way to some emergency or another. This was not a problem. Accidents happen. But she knew that in this world, there was a fair chance it was not an accident.

So she followed, a morbid curiosity dragging her towards the red and white flashing lights. As it turned out, she did not have to follow far. The ambulance stopped outside of a small apartment complex, which was crowded already by what she recognized as police vehicles. The pony swooped down from the clouds, and paused outside the door of a first floor room. Several police officers were outside, preparing a battering ram for the door. She trotted up to them.

“-several calls in the area.” One was saying. “Said they heard screaming.”

After being given the order, the officers smashed down the door. The pony was the first one inside. And what she saw almost made her vomit. On a wall opposite the door words were scrawled in blood.

So, Officers. Do you like your junkies rare, medium, or well done?

Underneath each option was a body, all horribly mutilated. The “rare” body was skinned, completely, and it resembled a raw, human shaped steak. The pony could see muscles, veins, tendons, and even some bones. The skin itself was draped over it’s shoulders, like a sick security blanket.

The next poor souls lay slumped against the wall, legs sticking out. His chest had been torn open, and in the small hollow of his ribcage flickered a still burning fire. His mouth hung open, and his eyes stared towards the ceiling, as if he had been screaming as he died. Which was very likely.

The third body had been burnt beyond recognition, now a black, spindly husk.

The police had come inside now, and some of them did vomit. The more seasoned officers simply stared, jaws agape, before fanning out to search the building. But by then, the pony was long gone.

She lay, sobbing, in her massive bed in the royal chambers. She had seen many things, over many years, and she had come to think that nothing could faze her. She had been very, very wrong. But she had to continue her research. And as much as she would like to hunt down the monster who had committed this terrible crime, she could not interact with the humans.

Meetings. Lots of Meetings

The cell was dark, but not a scary dark. It was a warm, black, comforting blanket, that seemed to envelop ones soul. A small bit of light shown through the window, a testament to the setting moon. The light made the figure in the bed seem peaceful, like a child sleeping without a care in the world.

The illusion was shattered and the quiet broken by a loud gasp. Franky began to cough and spasm in his cot. He tried to roll over, but he forgot that his arms were restrained, and he thumped onto the floor. As he tried to get his coughing under control, a voice spoke over the intercom.

“You all right in there, big guy?”

Franky stopped coughing long enough to gasp out, “Intercom Guy?”

The very feminine responded,”Nope, sorry. The dude checked out at ten. Just been me for the last couple of hours.” The convict lay panting on the padded ground.

“Who are you?” He paused. “And thank you. I’m fine.” Might as well give Empathy a chance.

“Hey, no problem. I’m Dr. Quinzel. I guess you could say I’m your night shift.”

Franky chuckled. “Who’d you piss off to get that job?” He rolled off his stomach and sat up, looking at the camera.

“Eh, you know. It’s really not that bad. I’m more of a night person anyway. I get to talk with some pretty chill people, too, Even if they are criminally insane. By the way, you can call me Rose.”

“Nice to meet you, Rose. I’m Franky.” The girl didn’t notice the lie, or if she did, she made no comment. The tall man tilted his head. “What time is it?”

“Umm, about three o’clock.”

Franky groaned. “Well, that’s what I get for going to sleep at six.”

He heard a crash from the intercom, and Rose muttered, “Shit.”

“You all right?”

“Yeah, just dropped my cup.”

Franky tilted his head. “You just leave the mic on?”

“Umm, yeah. Why?”

“Well, Intercom Guy just clicked it on when he was gonna talk.”

“How could you have a real conversation if you keep having to press a button? Conversations are instinct. You have to be able to interrupt the other person.” She said all of this in a “Well obviously” tone of voice.

“That’s-”

“Like this.” She interrupted

Franky blinked, then smiled. A genuine smile, not the scary one.

“I like you.” He said. From the intercom came the tshchk! of someone opening a soda. Or an energy drink, He rationalized.

After slurping noisily, Rose responded. “Well, I’d like to say the same, but I don’t really know anything about you. You seem pretty chill, though.”

Franky seemed stunned into silence for a moment. “What?! You don’t know anything about me?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a little bit?!”

“Mm-mm.” This was accompanied by another slurp.

“Wha- How? Don’t you watch the news?”

“Nope. It’s all a bunch of propaganda brainwash bullshit.”

Franky floundered. “But… but… Surely, you must have seen something! On the internet, newspaper, talking to a friend! Anything!” He looked at the camera. “You’ve got my file up there. I know that.”

There was the sound of a can crushing, and a squeak as Rose spun in her office chair. “I didn't say I didn’t know what you’ve done. I said I don’t know anything about you. Who you are. You’re personality. As for your file, I haven't even touched it. I like to learn about a person from them.” She spoke in a serious tone that shut Franky up, and he sat on his bed in silence.

Alright. Here’s where I would normally tell her to fuck off, and then kill somebody. But Empathy’s right, I can’t blow off the only people available to me now. And besides, friends are good to have.

Franky spoke again, this time calmer, and he sounded apologetic. “Ok, just now, I sounded like an egotistical asshat, and for that I’m sorry. I’ll try not to do that again, It’s just that I don’t interact with people on a friendly basis a whole ton.”

Roses tone changed too, lighter now. “Hey dude, it’s all good. Honestly, I was messing with you just a little bit, so it wasn’t all your fault.” The two sat sat in semi-awkward silence, unsure of how to continue. It didn’t last long, however, as a topic of conversation came up soon enough.

“I. Hate. This. Jacket.” Frankys voice was filled with venom. He had just tried to yawn and stretch, failing because of the restraints.

Rose laughed. ‘What, white not your color? We’ve got black, khaki, jumpsuit orange. Hell, if you’re a good boy, they might let you wear the pink one.” Franky glared for a moment, then joined in the laughter.

When it subsided, Rose said, “You know, you actually were big news for a long time there. Everybody was scared you were going to hit their city next. But, the thing is, nobody had any facts. You were just a crazy guy going around America on a killing spree.”

Franky chuckled, and it was accompanied by his feral smile. “Did you see any of my speeches?”

“A couple. Gotta say dude, you were pretty freaky.”

“Yeah, I know. That was the point. But it got peoples attention, didn't it? And I got my point across.” Rose didn’t say anything, and Franky was afraid he had disturbed her. “Listen,” He said, “If you want me to stop talking about something, just tell me. I don’t talk to people that often, and I don’t know what’s ok to say.”

She apparently had another energy drink, because she made a sipping noise before responding. “No, it’s good. I’ve known people who've done way less than you, and who were way bigger assholes.”

“Is that a prison joke?”

She chuckled at that. Well, I guess Empathy is good for something. He tried to think of some way to continue the conversation, but Rose spoke first.

“Hey, do you think…” She paused.

“Think what?”

“Well, do you think you could tell me your story. I mean, I already know the basics, but I want to hear it from your perspective.”

Franky shrugged. “Sure.” He wasn't about to shy away from his past. His past defined him. It was all that made him special. And, if he did say so himself, it was a really cool story. “Alright. It all started… Where should I start?”

Rose thought for a moment. “Hmmm, How ‘bout your first kill?”

Franky laughed. “Jesus, we’d be here all week. I don’t think you want to hear my entire life.”

He couldn’t see her, but he could tell from her voice that she was surprised. “Oh. Ok. How about when you decided to be a serial killer? Or are those two the same?”

He nodded. “Alright, that’s a good place to start. And no, they’re not the same.” The prisoner adjusted himself on his cot, and struggled with his restraints for a moment. He opened his mouth to begin, but at that very moment, there was the sound of a door opening.

Rose whispered from the intercom, “We’ll talk later.” Her chair squeaked as she turned to greet whoever it was. “Hey dude!”

Franky recognized the male voice that responded. “Hey Rose. How’s it goin’?

Franky jumped up and tried to wave at the camera. Instead he just smiled. “Hey Intercom Guy!”

“Ah! Um. Hello Mr. Cor- um, Franky. Hi.”

Rose and the prisoner chuckled, and then she said, “Why you here so early? Aren’t you supposed to come in at six?”

Intercom Guy yawned. “Yeah. But I couldn’t sleep. I figured I would come in, hang out, and maybe get some work done. Also, I know you’ve got those energy drinks.”

Rose said, “Here,” and presumably tossed him an energy drink.

After a few minutes, everyone had settled back down, or at least it sounded like they had.

After another moment of silence. Franky asked, “Um, what time is it now?”

“About four o’clock.”

He groaned, resting his head on the padded cell wall. “And what time does that doctor dude come?”

Rose started shuffling through papers, supposedly looking for a schedule. “Let’s see. Who you got?”

“Dr…. Phelps, I think.”

“Aha! Okay-” Rose was interrupted by Intercom Guy.

“Wait! Are you sure you should tell him… I mean, he isn’t supposed to be told anything! What if he… You know…”

Franky barked a laugh. “What? Escape? Kill everyone?”

Intercom Guy yelped in surprise, apparently unaware that he could be heard. “You just leave the mic on?!”

He must have reached to turn it off, because there was a smack, like someone slapping a hand, and Rose said, “Don’t touch my shit.” Intercom Guy shut up, and Rose continued. “As I was saying… Dr. Phelps is scheduled to visit you at 8:30. So, what do you wanna do for four hours?”

Franky sighed, and did a backflip off his cot, landing on his knees. “Can you guys send me some food?”

Intercom Guy, who had finished sulking, spoke up. “Actually, yeah, we can. Solitary confinement was just for yesterday, when we were still figuring things out.”

“Sweet! Can I make an order?”

“No, sorry dude.” Rose said. “Best we can do is breakfast.”

Frank waited.

“...Which is?”

“Pancakes, bacon, and a muffin. Also, a banana.”

Well shit, That actually sounds awesome. “Alright.” He said.

“Cool. We’ll call it down.” Not wanting boredom to settle in, the prisoner started doing curl ups. After a couple sets, a feminine voice came from the intercom. “He prefers sit ups to any other exercise, ‘cause he gets to lay down after every one.” She snickered at her own joke.

Franky frowned up at the camera. “That wasn’t even-” Then he snickered as well. They chuckled, then laughed, then howled. In the end, Franky was on the floor, gasping, and Rose sounded like she was crying. The problem was, every time one of them came close to regaining control, the other would laugh, setting them both off again.

Intercom Guy muttered under his breath, something about “-completely unprofessional. Hopped on energy drinks.”

When someone arrived with his breakfast, a male voice asked Franky to step away from the door. He scooched over to the corner, and one of the pads on his door swung inward. a hand poked through, carrying a tray, and it was set down on the floor. Before it swung shut, Franky caught a glimpse of a familiar face. “Hey! Guard Guy!” The guard didn’t respond, and the door swung closed with a “whumph”. The prisoner approached his meal, and was practically drooling when he encountered a problem. “Umm, guys? How the fuck am I supposed to eat this?” After some deliberation, he settled on a strange cat like technique of eating, sitting on his knees and lapping up the food. To say the least, it was messy. Rose snickered through the intercom, trying and failing to control herself. Franky ignored her, smacking his lips loudly. When the ordeal was over, he sat up, and on the floor was a perfectly shining tray. “I would flip you off, but I’m still wearing this.” He shrugged his shoulders. Intercom Guy and Rose applauded lightly, and laughed. Franky bowed as well as he could, considering his arms were bound and he was on his knees. And so, the morning crept slowly by, with Rose, Franky, and Intercom Guy. Some would describe it as hanging out, and no outsider would be able to tell that they had just met. They were comfortable with each other, for reasons unknown. of course, Intercom Guy was still scared to death, and stuck to policy exactly. Whenever Rose said something possibly compromising, he grew nervous, reminding her about protocol. He was generally ignored. At six o’clock, Rose checked out.

“Alright. I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Play nice.”

“Bye Rose.”

“See ya.”

And so, for two and a half hours, Intercom Guy and Franky traded jokes, ones that couldn’t have been spoken with Rose present. Finally, eight o’clock rolled around, and the two guards came to escort Franky to his meeting with Dr. Phelps. This meant another long walk down the hallways, which Franky planned to take full advantage of.

“Hey guys!” Neither guard responded. “Oh, are we doing this again? You can talk to me, you know. Seriously, I feel like I’m a prisoner.” He giggled, and the guards rolled their eyes. “In all seriousness though, I know you guys are my escorts, but you are also my body guards.”

The guard on his right looked at him skeptically. “ I’m probably going to regret this, but what are you talking about?”

Franky looked surprised. “Well, your job is basically to get me from place to place safely, right?”

The guard on his left scoffed. “No. Our job is to get you from place to place, without being a danger to anybody. We are fully authorized to shoot you if we feel it necessary.”

“Well, yeah, but what if I’m in danger?”

Now the guards looked surprised. “Why the hell would you be in danger?”

Franky gave them a look that said, “Really?” “It’s not exactly a secret where I am.” He said. “I made a lot of enemies when I was in power. What if an angry mob of my victims family members decide to storm the place?”

It was now that the guards were reminded that Franky, although smiling and cheerful, was also a nationwide serial killer. Technically, they weren't supposed to talk to him at all, but since that rule was already out the window, they decided to voice their disgust for him. “You were never in power.” One sneered. “You killed for attention. You were a fucking diva. A macabre popstar.”

Franky’s sneer was just as menacing. “You know what power is, guard guy? Power, is the ability to control. Ever see one of my rallys? Watch one of my speeches? Thousands of people showed up to those. And did exactly what I told them to. A popstar raises his arm and the crowd roars. I lifted my arm and the crowd destroyed a fucking city. How’s that for power?”

The guard held his ground, matching Franky’s stare evenly, until he noticed his surroundings. The two had stopped in the middle of the hallway for their confrontation, and had attracted a gaggle of spectators. The other guard was trying to urge them on, looking around nervously. The rest of the walk was in silence.

Franky was left inside a small, brightly lit room with one guard. He sat in one of two chairs on either side of a small table. He amused himself by staring creepily at the guard, who wouldn’t meet his gaze. He didn’t have to for long, however, as the second guard, the ballzy one, soon returned with Dr, Phelps. To a normal person, he would have been short. To Franky, he was tiny. He was pudgy, balding, and sported a pair of square rimmed glasses on his thick nose. He looked like a high school science teacher. For some reason, Franky immediately hated him.

The small man lifted his clipboard. “So… Tyler Cordova.”

The prisoners eyes narrowed, but his smile remained. “Call me Franky.” He hissed.

Dr. Phelps smiled. “Of course.” The patronizing little smile mocked Franky from the Doctors fat red face. “So. Franky. Do you know why you are here?”

The response was dripping with venom. “No, why don’t you enlighten me?”

The fat man pulled out the chair across the table, and took a seat. The guards assumed places on either side of him. “You are here,” He said with a sickening chuckle, “to be studied. You are to be analyzed, interviewed, examined and observed.” he said these things like they gave him wet dreams. “We are going to find out everything about you, and make sure nothing like you ever happens again.”

The smug little smile made Franky want to rip it off. Oh yeah. He thought. This guy is going to die. Dr. Phelps prattled on about something or other, incarceration for life blah blah blah. Franky, meanwhile, contemplated his situation. Well, I can’t kill him now. This goddamned strait jacket! But, even if I could, I suppose I should wait a few days. If I tried right now, the guards would just shoot me. The fat lips on the doctors face bobbed up and down, dancing a perverted little dance. Containment and prisoner treatment policies yada yada yada. Ok. That’s one problem I definitely need to solve. How do I convince him to take off this jacket? Franky waited until Phelps took a breath and then asked, “Hey, could you take off this jacket?”

The Doctor blinked in surprise, then whipped out his patronizing little clam of a smile. “Why would I do that? How do I know that you wouldn’t try to kill me?”

Franky tilted his head towards the guards. “They would pump me full of lead before I even cleared the table. And besides, I have no reason to kill you.” Bullshit.

The doctor shook his head, and chuckled a chuckle that almost made Franky pop a blood vessel. “You attempted suicide by turning yourself into the police. You even pleaded guilty to all charges trying to get the death sentence. You might try to kill me, and then welcome the bullets.”

A decision was made then, in the depths of the prisoners mind. He would wait. Oh, he would wait years if he had to. But in the end, this man would die by his hands. “I promise,” Franky said slowly, “not to kill you today.”

The doctor tilted his head to the other side. “Not today?”

Franky nodded. “That’s the best you’re going to get.” The fat man thought for a moment, then he, too, nodded, and stood, approaching the other end of the table.

“Wait! What are you doing?” one of the guards reached out to stop Phelps.

The fat man slapped his hand away. “Calm down. He promised.” The guard looked at him like he was fucking stupid. Before he say just how fucking stupid, the doctor continued. “This man,” He said, “never breaks a promise, no matter how big or small. Even if it inconveniences him greatly, it will be kept.” Franky nodded along to this. Phelps kept talking. “Once, he promised the police of Phoenix, Arizona, that he would be at a specific place, at a specific time. The police had time to prepare an ambush, snipers,entire squadrons of armed officers, and he,” the doctor pointed, “knew it. And still he came.”

“I also escaped.” Franky chimed in. The fat man turned to him, and produced a small key ring from his coat pocket. Right then, Franky forgot all about his hatred for the small doctor. right then, the doctor possessed something that meant everything to Franky. Those keys. All he could think about was how sore his arms were, and how ready he was to be able to move them again. He was a very active person, and being restrained at all was aggravating. The jacket was torture.

The doctor flipped through the keys with an agonizing slowness.By the time he had the correct key in his hand, and approached the bound prisoner, Franky was practically bouncing with excitement. Now, standing up, the doctor would have had to crane his neck to meet Franky’s eyes, but sitting down they were at eye level. Like a hyena watching a bone being waved in it’s face, the black haired killer almost hurt his neck following the short psychologist around to the back of his chair. He felt a key slip into the clasp at the back of his neck, and the resounding click was the most beautiful sound he had heard in days. Now the doctor was undoing all kinds of straps and buckles, unwrapping Franky like a mummy. Unable to contain his excitement any longer, the prisoner began to laugh. It started as a low, menacing chuckle, and evolved into a loud, maniacal laughter that caused the guards to level their guns at him with uneasy expressions. As the last strap was undone, the oppressive jacket fell off, and the doctor stepped away. Franky stood, slowly, his arms still crossed over his chest. Suddenly, one arm shot out, making both guards jump, and almost fire at him. The cracks and pops emanating from his limbs (both now), sounded like someone was breaking dry branches for firewood. His joints were stiff and sore, but it felt so good to be free. He cracked every knuckle he had, and wiggled his fingers in a spidery motion.

“Hey! What are you doing?” The guards were on high alert, and any movement of Franky's was tracked by two gun barrels. He had ducked beneath the table, but they relaxed slightly when they saw he was only doing pushups. The doctor, who had been scribbling on his notepad, gave them a look that said they were being paranoid. The guards were, however, each fully aware that Phelps had been promised safety, while they had no such thing.

A buzzing sound filled the room, and Dr. Phelps took a pager from his pocket. Tucking away his pencil and notepad, he said, “Mr. Cordova, as enlightening as this has been, I have matters to attend to.”

Franky’s head popped up from beneath the table. “Leaving so soon? Doctor, I’m hurt.” So I’m not his only patient. Good to know. The short, fat, annoying, brain doctor reached for the door, then turned and regarded Franky. And as excited as he was, staring into the doctors eyes brought an angry coldness to his heart.

“These men will escort you back to your cell.” Phelps said. “We will meet again tomorrow.” The guards shared a despairing glance, and Dr. Phelps exited the room. Franky flashed his sharper than normal teeth, and stood. “Well, gentlemen. Let us vacate the premises, hmm?” He tried to walk out after the doctor, but the guards stopped him. One held out a pair of handcuffs. Franky sighed. “I don’t suppose those are for him.” This was accompanied by a glance towards the other guard.

Well, this isn’t quite as bad. Franky thought. The guard behind him had a hand on his shoulder, and the one in front kept looking back at him. Probably just to check if I’m ok. The prisoner was about to do what he did best, and break the silence, when the trio rounded a corner in the hallway. It seemed as if news of Franky’s exit from his cell had spread, and now a rather large group of nurses, security, and other miscellaneous personnel had gathered in front of his cell door. When they spotted the killer and his escorts, they silently parted, creating a straight path to the door. Every eye was on franky. Which was perfect. He loved attention. He deliberately slowed his pace, meeting each gaze as he passed. About half of the gathering looked down when he passed them, averting their eyes from his piercing black diamonds. And of the other half, most of their faces only had a mild distaste, a morbid curiosity. And a little fear. But there were others still. These met his eyes with a fierce determined hate. He felt their fire deep in his gut, as if they were trying to burn holes in him. One lady eyed the guards’ guns, as if contemplating jumping out and killing Franky herself. Family members. He rationalized. They lost someone.

One man stood out beyond the others. He was unassuming, with forgettable brown hair, and a stern yet unimposing face.He was dressed in the black uniform of the asylum’s security. As Franky passed, they stared at one another, and he saw no anger in that stare. No hate. Instead, he saw respect, like that a soldier would give his commanding officer. He puzzled over this, and when his guards had opened the door, he turned back to look at the small crowd. One guard removed his handcuffs, and once they were off, started to shut the door. Right before the door swung shut, so subtly that Franky almost didn’t catch it, he made made an “X” over his chest. And then he was gone. There was a soft boom, and the prisoner was alone in his cell.

He didn’t move for a long time, simply staring at the wall in front of him. Cross my heart. The mans face flashed in his head. Hope to die. Images of a cheering crowd, Franky laughing on stage. Cross my heart. The man was a brother. A Child of Chaos. Franky knew his supporters would come for him, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon!The killer shook his black mane, and walked to his inadequately small cot. They had moved so fast! Or, maybe, the security guard had always worked here, and it was a coincidence that he was sent to this particular asylum. His eyes widened. Maybe he wasn’t a brother at all, and the police had simply planted someone for Franky to trust! He sighed. I can’t figure this out on my own. Reggie, Crash? What do you guys think? No response came, so he tried again. Hey. Reg, Crash. You guys there? What about Empathy? What’s going on with the little dickpickle? Still, no response came. He shrugged. It wasn’t unusual for his mental companions to stop monitoring his actions. At one point, Reggie had asked Franky to flip through every page of a book. He didn’t have to read it, just see it. After that, Reggie could access it at any time. Many long hours had been spent in libraries, flipping through books a page at a time so that Reggie could read. Crash, on the other hand, was less of an intellectual. One puzzle piece of the emotions that created Crash was Franky’s frustration. His anger, his rage. All of it cumulated and swelled in Crash, and without some sort of outlet, he exploded. Or, other people did. So, whenever Franky was dreaming, Crash made himself an arsenal of weapons, and and went balls-out crazy on the monsters of Franky’s subconscious. Or he just beat the ever living shit out of a punching bag hanging from the ceiling at their house. So, the absence of the prisoners friends wasn’t unusual, just… Lonely.

Franky sighed again. He closed his eyes and leaned against the padded wall. There was no way he could fall asleep, but he could at least relax. Without looking up, he said, “Intercom Guy, is there a way I could get some food or something?” After waiting a moment, he realized there would be no reply. He must be on break or something. A groan escaped the prisoners lips. Today was going to be boring. He opened his eyes and sat up, intent on exercising his arms some more. A strange cry left his mouth, and it sounded a little like, “Ogodwatthefuk!” This outburst was due to the fact that, alone in his cell, steel on one side, pads on the other, he had come face to face with a big pair of purple eyes.

Author's Note

Hey guys. I know it's been a year, and most of you probably don't remember me, but I am sorry. If you care about my apology, follow the link
http://www.fimfiction.net/blog/335765/my-apology