Chapter 1 - The Introduction of Jad Omega.
"Clean the blood up off the ground..." I chanted cheerily.
"Spin the mop 'round and 'round..." I continued.
I stopped as I felt something fall into my hair from above. Looking up with surprise, I grinned. Hanging above was the newly slaughtered corpse of a large male. His jaw hanging agape as a large meat hook pierced the back of his neck and found its way out of his mouth. The chain that held the body creaked as the soft wind rocked the heavy corpse back and forth. I set my mop aside and grinned as the pleasure of admiring my own work filled my body. Slashes and deep knife wounds surround the corpse like flies. The corpse belonged to a once old friend of mine, Ivory. He was caught and sent to my office for an...interrogation once they figured out he was the one responsible for the large drug cartel called "AineC .Co". "Ivory Grey..." I spoke underneath my breath. "You cold hearted son of a bitch.".
Finishing my cleaning duties, I walked over to my desk and flipped open my journal.
April 1st -
A long day, it was. I found myself once again losing my sanity as I slaughtered another *patient. I still do not know where this burst of killing-lust, so to say, is coming from. I do not like the new owners. I miss the old asylum. At first...everything was fine. Now they have changed my heart so much I get more and more in depth when I am required to kill. I somehow lose reality and often snap back sometimes hours after a kill with no remembrance of who, how, or why I had killed them. It doesn't happen all the time. But I have noticed it is beginning to come more and more often. I am not sure of what this means, or what will happen if I continue. I must find a way to keep myself sane. Aside from that, the night has grown old, and day soon approaches. I need to sleep as the shadows will soon retire, and I will with them.*
Farewell,
-Jad Omega
I closed my journal and examined my office for any other duties I would need to complete before retiring to my room for slumber. My office is my safe-haven. It is dark, it is clean, it is mine. The office walls are completely sealed off to the outside world other than an extremely highly placed window which lets in small amounts of natural light. I try to avoid it. Five steel tables, wiped clean and polished, sit in a line in the middle of my office. Next to each long table lies a smaller table each covered with tools. The floor is a strong concrete, dark grey and wiped clean of all blood stains from bodies hanging above. The ceiling and walls seem to stretch on forever into the pitch black abyss. I have yet to find the end of either, even when flying up as high I can. Last but not least, is my desk. My desk is one of my most valuable possessions. It holds all my victim logs, personal items, and items of which shall not be named. The desk lies in the so called "corner" of my office, away from the tables, and away from the carnage.
Everything appears to be fine, so I pack my journal away in its usual desk drawer, head towards the large steel doors which exit my office, head outside, lock up, and stare at my office entrance. I brush some dust off one of the doors with my thumb and turn to face the seemingly endless hallway. Heading down the hallway there are two exits. On the left about fifty feet down lies the entryway to a spiral staircase. The stairs will take you down to the main waiting room of the Asylum, yet nobody has ever went down those stairs other than the guards, and I. Farther down from the stairs on the right side lies a wooden door. This is the entrance to my room. I'm hardly ever in there, yet I still use it during the day to escape the light, and attend to any personal matters I would require. Showering, Eating, and reading apply.
I unlock my door using a lock-pick and let myself inside. The scent of my intense burner fills my nose, and my wings flare up a bit. I puff them down and smirk. Smelling this scent always brings me memories of myself when I was younger. It keeps me in the sane. I don't much to hold onto in this world, so what I have I treasure dearly. My clock above my bed reads 6:23am. It's getting late. I hop into the shower, wash and style my hair, then slink off to slumber. The night has ended.
Chapter 2 - Who...are you?
April 2nd. 8:42pm. It's time to get up. It is time for work.
My eyes cracked open just as I watched the last few strands of light dissapear from a far away window. The shining beams of the moon soon began to bask the city in a beauty of which I loved more and more each night. Lights of the moon creeped into my room and illuminated my various items hidden throughout my room. With this light, I felt relaxed, I felt at home.
There was a knock at my door. The sound of China plates. Footsteps walking away. That was breakfast.
I opened my door to my usual breakfast. Two muffins, steaming fresh from the oven, coffee black as the night with extra sugar, and an apple, red as blood. Throwing away the muffins and apple, I sat up on my bed and sipped my coffee to my own pace. I've never been a person to eat breakfast. I'm more of a..."Snack all day and then eat as much as I can during dinner" kind of person. I set my coffee aside and walked over to grab my work uniform. The outfit is simple. A black t-shirt with grey stripes going vertically from top to bottom. It's supposed to indicate that you are now located in a prison. A reference to the grey bars that you'll be staring at for the rest of your life. I threw on the shirt just for company respect then began to put on my own uniform.
A black long sleeved shirt made of silk covered my upper torso. Built into the shirt was a hood that went over my head just enough to cover my eyes. The shirt went down past my waist and was tucked into my pants. The pants were baggy, but around the lower calf became wrapped in a gauze-like material and then tucked into my shoes. Around my waist wrapped a black piece of leather. It was not used as a belt, but I liked it better as a cosmetic piece that seemed to add effect. I put on my leather gauntlets that covered my lower arms and every part of my hands but the tips of my fingers. These gauntlets had been with me since I started working here and I feel as if I would be completely unable to function without them. Looking over to my left, hanging on my wall was my mask. I was gifted the mask with my promotion. It looks like a bird mask. White as bone with big black circles as the eyes. The nose extended out of the mask and curved down slightly. There layed no spot for a mouth. I rarely ever wore it as I had the intense feeling that if I cloaked myself even more, I would lose my own sanity and wake up with myself as my own patient in the Asylum.
