Young Writers Society

Dr. Raithen

Complications, I mused. Complications are the bane of all men bold enough to think great thoughts.
I had failed to appease the illumination, and now the entrance to the Asylum's sub-levels were swarming with guardsmen, swarming with complications.
So I had moved on, attempting to gain an insight into the mind of the Chimera- the girl had seemed to view her status as one of importance, making the experiment all the more interesting.
Again, complications. This time the officers had caught up with me, taking me to meet with that pretentious creature, the Quartermaster. I had lost my quarry, missed my opportunity. Until now. Now a new one presented itself.
I watched the girl from across the hallway as she rocked back and forth in her cell, battling inner demons. Her lips moved, but no sound came forth, or certainly none which could be heard from this great distance.
I paced slowly towards her, slipping into her cell to stand perhaps two meters from her quivering form. Her eyes remained screwed up, her face half-buried in her crossed arms. I observed her for a moment more, then spoke;
"I can silence them."
She looked up at me, seeming both to jump, yet already know I was there. I continued to observe her as she partially uncoiled, then shook her head.
"No, you can't."

Rose

"You can't do anything to help me," I whispered.
"Don''t speak to him, you foolish girl!"
A red hand print appears on my cheek, blood rushing to the point of impact. It stung like fire, bringing tears to my eyes. I shook like a leaf, wishing the man before me would just disappear. He was only bringing me trouble, after all. I turned my head away from him, ignoring his curious looks.
Go away. I thought. Just go away.

Basilisk

I was escorted back to my cell by the silent guards; they hadn't dared open their mouths at this moment in time, they wanted to be spared the intimidation that did so well. They uncuffed the diamond bounds and thanked me for my 'cooperation', which was clearly non-existant, then left and strolled off down the hall.

"Bah, what happened to visiting privellages?" I spat, angrily, annoyed that such a pathetic little man would even attempt to threaten myself. The whole situation had brought me back to the scenario at hand, however. Those projects that Raithen and I saw; what the hell were they? It seemed that the illusionist certainly knew what he was talking about, there really was something despicable happening at the heart of the asylum; something that my interregator did not want me to know, which had only resulted in my curiousity growing.
"Hm. Perhaps I should find the good old Doctor and investigate things further," I smiled, clenching my fist and cracking my knuckles.

Dr. Raithen

I lowered myself back onto my bunk, reviewing and replaying that which I had seen. The girl had been struck; not by any physical force, but in a way which elicited a physical reaction. Another product of Arkham's ghastly womb?
I rejected the idea. For now, at least, I assumed that only one form of experimentation was pre-eminent in the Asylum's hidden depths, and it was that one upon which I would focus my efforts.
I glanced upward, staring through tinted goggles at the monstrous figure who had all but escaped my attention as he had made his way from the door of my cell to my bedside.
I regarded my fellow intellectual coolly, as he did me. Eventually, Basilisk's coarse tones broke the silence;
"This way, Doctor-" he gestured towards the door of the cell, beyond which the Asylum stretched apparently ad infinitum-"We have much business to discuss."
I nodded, rising with fitting grace to follow the hulking Basilisk from the cell. Even as I turned my mind to the business in question, I still allowed myself a brief glance at the girl in the cell opposite, her cheek still mired by the red handprint.
Another riddle; one which could soon be given my undivided attention.

Basilisk

The Doctor and I strolled down the long corridors, deep in complex thought and conversation. Many of our fellow inmates regarded us, but we did not do so in return; we had much more important things to focus our attention on.

"We must have struck a nerve in Arkham's body; for us to be wheeled of for interrogation just like that, well, I had no idea the Asylum has an interrogation room. There is something truly dark inside the catacombs of this foundation, and despite the forces that may try and stop us, we must discover and reveal it. Call me crazy, but I have... a feeling, a premonition if you will, that this entire has a very sinister purpose that could affect all within the Asylum's walls."

Raithen considered my thoughts for a few moments, analysing every word to understand my exact or symbolic meanings. He was an odd man, sure, I had met geniuses, hell, some would consider me as one, but the dear Doctor thought like... a God. Yes, that must be it. Like a higher state of conscience, a more formidable mind than just that of a logical thinker. Despite the fact that my IQ was much higher than many of the inmates in this hellhole, I could still confidently refer to Raithen as the 'brains' of the operation. I was more the orchestrator than just the muscle in the group, I had my finger in most pies around the Asylum, and furthermore I had resources readily available if I required them.

"Your thoughts Doctor?"

Dr. Raithen

"Your thoughts, Doctor?"
I allowed myself a moment's more contemplation before I spoke, selecting my words as delicately as a jeweller or a watchmaker selects the ideal tool for his trade.
"There is something remiss occurring in the bowel of this insidious institution, that much is for certain. As to what and why, for now they remain a mystery."
I paused for a moment, allowing Basilisk to digest the notion. For a moment he looked as though he might respond, but no words escaped his scaled lips.
"It strikes me that perhaps a more considered plan of action is in order. Our failure before stemmed from a lack of pre-meditation on our part. The Illusion we encountered was knowledgeable, but their motives were unclear. Our trust in them nearly lead to our untimely demise; I would not be so predisposed as to give them my faith a second time."
"I have not encountered the Illusion again since then." Basilisk said in reply. I nodded agreement.
"I feel we would benefit from a more considered reconnoitre of the area. Perhaps if you would be so kind as to do so, I could attend briefly to other matters before we reconvene?"
This time Basilisk nodded agreement. I regarded him through goggled eyes before turning to leave.
"I hope this can be a productive time for us both." I called out, smiling beneath my mask as I though once again of the broken creatures I had seen cowering in their respective cells, each one representing another opportunity.

Rose

I paced in my cell, slowly, with my arms curled around me. I contemplated using the knife I had hidden away in my shirt, just to rid myself of this mental torture. I brought out the old thing, noting the crusted blood on the blade. I had used this many times in my sprees, and the thought of cleaning it had not crossed my mind.
"Leave it alone and hide it away! They'll surely find you out if you brandish it like that!" He screamed.
I camouflaged the dagger as a guard strolled by. I looked around at all the people, the creatures, wondering which one He would pick as my next victim. I sure did hope it wasn't that man who came to my cell earlier; he was quite nice.
I spent the next couple of hours thinking of all the innocent people He had me finish off for his own personal pleasure. I had been so sick and twisted in those days, willing to do whatever He demanded because I was just as gruesome as He. I yearned to talk to someone about my experiences, just so I could feel somewhat freed from my past.
Perhaps once I got out of this place, I could start up my old tricks again. The mere thought of it made me grin. Maybe this situation wasn't all bad.

Thalia Vial

I pace around my tiny cell, like a caged lion. To entertain myself in this prison, to which I have just arrived, captured by mere mortals to my complete disgrace, I decide to pick out the toughest looking person that walks the hall. Soon, two prisoners, not one, walk by, deep in conversation. A golden opperutnity.

I close my eyes, and tunnel deep down in the scaly one- I don't know his name-'s mind. I touch him with my thoughs, and now all he sees is blackness, no light whatsoever, blind, helpless, mewling. He blinks rapidly with his reptilian eyes, trying in vain to see. I push further. I send images, horrible images deep into his brain, which adapt to form his worst nightmares, seen right before his eyes in a gruesome hullucination.

The other person with him pauses as his cohort crashes to the ground, clawing at his eyes. His confusion is only momentary, however, as I sieze control of his mind as well, trasferring ghastly hullucinations to his mind as well. Soon, they are both on the ground, moaning. After a few moments, however, the fun stops when gaurds cart them away to medical. As they approach, I open my eyes, severing the connection between my mind and the other two prisoners'. Immeadiately, they come to their senses, but are still in a daze. Their eyes are glazed with the afterimage of the horrors their minds conjured, but they will forget soon enough.

The gaurds don't suspect a thing, I am inside my own cell, minding my own business.

Oh, I think to myself, Iam going to like it here.

Basilisk

Images. Horrible images; betrayal and victory for those who I swore to wage war against.

The blindness meant nothing to me, this being who had attacked me (my first guess being the illusionist), whoever they were, had clearly no idea of my biology. I could feel them, everything, the vibrations and heat signatures of those around me were as clear as daylight, but these images, they were overpowering; torturous.

I saw my love, Violet, with a gang of disease ridden, fat, bigoted men, piling on her in a frantic sexual fashion. Armies of snobbish men and women butchered through my allies: Brigade, Joust, Sonar, Nightshade, all of them slaughtered. It was defeat in the grand scheme of everything; all this suffering and the failure of redemption. It was too much.

My head bolts upright, and I realise that (for some exceptionally odd reason), that the guards are trying to haul me along the jail's concrete floor. As to why they would even attempt to tow a one-and-a-half ton lizard man through a series of corridors was beyond me. I sat up and shrugged off the guards, to discover that Raithen was on the ground, laughing.

"Basilisk, are you there? I think I require assistance."

"I'm here Raithen, can you see, are you ok?"

"Nightmares are for the mentally weak; I am perfectly well, but my vision is impaired. Can you guide me to my quarters?" The prison officers look up at me in questioning, as if they pondered some kind of a relationship between us, but it was much deeper than they could think.

"I have this, officers, I'll escort this man back to his cell. But I request you do something."

"Thank you Jason, we won't have to waste too much time here. What do you need?"

"Make sure you have a cleaning team on hand, because when I find who did this, the prison's going to get an extra touch of intestine."

The mustached man I had spoken to nodded, trying not to appear contradicting towards me, but at the same time not really taking my request seriously.

As I turned away I took a look around, but nobody caught my attention in the sense that they were suspicious. I shook my head, ridding myself of the memory of the images I had seen and spoke to the doctor.

"Raithen, did you experience any nightmarish visions at all? I get the feeling we're being targeted."

Vergil

Deep in the bowels of Arkham, a door slid open. And then another. Three bolts slid back on oiled mechanisms. One of twelve guards moved forward and punched in a code, opening the final door.

The guards pulled back, revealing a slight figure, wearing a straight-jacket over which mysterious runes were inscribed. A burlap sack covered the figure's face entirely. As the figure walked, its feet dragged, burdened by an iron weight and manacles. The figure was pushed roughly forward, into the room.

The room was, to all means and effects, a nuclear bunker. The floors and walls were made of titanium, although they shone oddly. It was devoid of all furniture, save a complex wall of computers, connected by a series of wires to a steel chair.

The figure in the burlap sack was ushered into the chair, and its feet and legs were clamped firmly. Then the guards stood back, impassive.

Another door opened, and a series of men in white cloaks walked into the room. Some gasped when they saw the figure, one even crossed himself. One snapped something, and they set to work at the monitors. They sparked to life. One screen seemed to show a pulse and breathing, another an x-ray and thermo-scan of the figure in the chair.

Almost reverently, a scientist pulled back a limb of the sack and injected a silver liquid into the figure's neck. On-screen, pulse slowed. Then, the man in the white coat pulled up the sack, revealing...

... a completely ordinary human face. Chiseled features, pale skin, long black eyebrows, a wave of black hair, greasy from many days of ceaseless travel, and puffy indigo eyes.

"Amazing," muttered one. "The avatar is completely human, down to the DNA. A perfect human shell. No technology we possess, or will possess in a thousand years, is this advanced."

"You know I can hear you," slurred the man, in a distinct upper-class London accent. A few scientists cried out, most simply nodded.

"I have a name as well... Vergil. And I would like to know what am I doing in this cell."

"You have been brought here for testing, Vergil," replied one, apparently the leader. "Experimentation. Arkham, the government, I mean, wish to discover more about your kind."

Vergil blinked. "This is Arkham? Different from what I remember it."

"You've been here before?"

"I was detained at Arkham shortly before its founding, yes," Vergil replied. "For the very same reasons. All tests failed, ultimately." He tried to lean forward for effect, but was constrained by three straps at his waist. "Then they all died. Each. And every. One of them."

"Ark-Arkham is the most advanced and s-secure fortress in the continent," the leader stuttered. "We will not make the same mistakes."

Vergil chuckled morosely. "And pray tell, when the liquid you've constrained my powers with wears off? What, then, will stop me from razing this prison to ashes?"

Sweat beaded on the scientist's brow. "You... you cannot. Similar liquids were injected in you upon your discovery, and we have burned constraining runes onto your flesh."

"Mhmhm, so it seems," said Vergil, thoroughly unconcerned. "These runes are ancient... perhaps older than I am. Yes, they will stop me from great exhibitions of power... but, who says I won't be able to escape with but an inkling of my abilities?"

"Enough!" the scientist declared, eyes wide, breathing heavily. He thought, maybe, just maybe, he could hear something, a faint rasping, too quiet to discern. His eyes darted around, and the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to beckon to him, giggling. Wait a minute... there were no shadows in this room!

His fist slammed down onto a keyboard. "You will be injected with a highly sophisticated parasite. When you awake, you will find yourself in a maximum security cell, designed just for you."

Three scientists moved toward Vergil. He felt a sharp sting in his neck, then blacked out.

Kira Nemesis

Never ever, do you want to spend a night in cell 10567475, the prisoners of Arkham hav heard of the legend that specks an entity lives in that cell. That during the night, something comes out, prisoners hear lip smacking noises coming from that cell. And the man who is unlucky enough to be put in that cell, is normally its next meal. Horrible wailing can be heard from that cell, heard of crying, screams of anguish, pain. Then, silence, some say that, if wait for the blood to leak out of the cell, you can look into the reflection and see what lives inside the dark cell. But if the entity see's you in the reflection, your its next meal, be forewarned of what lives inside of that cell, it's a death sentence.

Dr. Raithen

The curtain of blackness lifted as quickly as it had descended. I gazed about, unfazed, taking in my surroundings. I was back in my quarters, reassuringly; I put great faith in Basilisk, but the opportune moment for betrayal had presented itself as I floundered in shadow. That he had not taken the chance to assert himself pleased me greatly.
Basilisk blinked heavily, adjusting to the return of sharp light on defenceless retinas. A curt nod indicated that his vision had returned unimpaired, and I reciprocated, along with a brief instruction:
"Guard the door, Basilisk, against any physical intrusion. I will attempt to better understand the attack we have experienced already."
The lizard turned, providing an effective barricade across the doorway with his hulking figure. I sat cross-legged on my bunk, closed my eyes, and sank into meditation. I cast my mind back to time spent in the mountain monasteries of Nepal, to training in the development of one's mind not only as a tool, but as a weapon.
The touch of another presence flashed through my visual cortex, a blur of light and sharp eyes, a pacing figure in their padded cell.
The connection was severed as soon as it had been established. I may be a genius, but I am no telepath- once the other presence pulled away, I could do nothing more. Still, I had learned all I might need.

I slipped into the records room in Arkham's secure wing. The code had been simple enough to acquire; a little bathroom talc on the keypad made visible the sweaty thumbprints of the various Arkham staff.
Walking as silently as any city cat, I slunk from shadow to shadow, over to the central monitor. Suppressing a laugh at the simplicity of it all, I flicked the power on and reclined in the operator's chair. The screen fizzed and crackled to life, an insult to technology. I tore through the firewalls like a chainsaw through butter, then began patiently sorting through the various criteria in Arkham's antiquated filing system, burrowing down through the midden of scum and villainy to locate mine and Basilisk's assailant. Thus far, no further attempts at mental terrorism had been made, though I was still wary as I pored through Arkham's seemingly infinite records.
An hour passed without incident; I was confident that Basilisk could watch a door without tremendous risk of error. The monitor flashed with names and images, but nothing struck a cord. I yawned, and cursed this body of flesh in which my genius was caged. Perhaps when I chose to leave Arkham, I might do something about it...
I cast the thought aside; at last, a face I recognised.
Thalia Vial. The name meant nothing to me, but the face was certainly the being I had identified. I had not seen them about the asylum before, so I could only assume that they were a new addition to the populace. That, or my eidetic memory had finally failed me; it is necessary to look at all possibilities, no matter how unlikely.
I stood, not bothering to deactivate the monitor- the Arkham staff would be unable to detect my hand in this, and there was little point expending time and effort erasing the evidence when I could instead be exacting my self-indulgent revenge, and the more frightful ideas of my reptilian counterpart.
As I swept from the room, I noticed a file had been left open on the desk. I took in the title- 'Prisoner Transfer: Maximum Secrecy'- and my curiosity piqued. I skimmed the contents, and made a mental note.
Cell 21758. Maximum security wing. 04:00. Three hours time.
Basilisk could enjoy his revenge alone, I decided. For my part, a new opportunity had arisen.

???

The concrete floor was chilling in the October gales, the skies grey and dull. Crows, ravens and other assorted carrion-munching birds orbited the enormous building known as Arkham; it must have been some kind of aura that the asylum exuded. Behind me, two guards had ran to overtake, speeding into the front gate to, undoubtedly, deal with some kind of brawl. Although this mental prison was rough, I knew that it was under control, but suspicions back at SUCAF had grown when the coordinators had requested help from us, and I was sent.

My selection was not because of my high rank, merely my abilities. It was revealed in the dossier that was sent that they required a being who could specialise in interrogation and suppressing uproar; my exact area of expertise. I had not doubted for a single second that I would, unfortunately, run into some old faces in the RSUS, although many were dispatched to different prisons to protect against any form of escape from the confines in which the were held.

My navy-blue cotton jacket shifted as I moved every step, and I flicked up my hood to reveal a young, white face with eyes as pale as ice and sharp, defined lips and nose, and a head of walnut-auburn hair, that flickered into a fringe upon my forehead. I regarded the guard at the kiosk, who requested to see my identification, and he almost seemed to shiver as he read it and opened the gate.

The Asylum interior was much warmer than outside, although it seemed dreary and downright unhygienic in many parts it was not something that had entirely surprised me. Men and women strolled around, and the helmeted, charcoal grey clad guards patrolled around the stony corridors, searching for trouble.

Cell 21758, my destination, was guarded by a series of complex doors and mechanisms that guarded the bunker-sized room. I waited for all of the security walls to clear before stepping forward, gazing at the old, balding man, with thick, round glasses who had approached.

"Mr Samuels, It's a pleasure to meet you," the scientist said, reaching out his hand.

"Likewise," I replied, ignoring the gesture; I was not here to make small talk. "Enough with the preliminaries: I came here on urgent business, and I wish to address the situation immediately. America is very far from Britain, and we have enough problems ourselves, so let's get to it."

"Straight to what's important. Very good. This man-" he pointed to an unconscious man behind a pane of thick glass, with dark hair and a rather usual appearance, "is our reason for summoning you."

"Oh? He looks harmless, I could be wrong, but let's face it, you have worse people in here."

The old man shook his head, and the white lab coat swayed with him. "No, this man is exceptionally powerful, more so than any other person in this asylum, but he is currently under powerful degrading drugs that contain his abilities."

"Right, and you've heard that my powers can dampen the mind, holding any abilities back... correct?"

"Indeed, but on this scale, it shall be exhausting for you, it will require much power to limit his power, but we are aware that it is possible for you. These drugs that we use are scarce, and it can take days before we get new shipments."

"So I'm a stand in?"

"Until we find a permanent alternative to this rotation, you are right."

"Okay, but what about his immunities? How much can this guy take? Sometimes if I exert too much of my ability it can get a bit... messy."

"He'll be able to take anything you throw at him, if you could just kill him it'd be great, but you won't be able to."

"Fair enough. So, you'll summon me when I'm needed, what do I do until then?"

"Help around with prison security. You may meet a permanent resident of ours, but you'll be replacing him for interrogation purposes."

"Okay then, so just patrol until trouble or call, got it." And with that, I left the scientists to their work.

Dr. Raithen

Locks are a funny thing. Some seem to struggle even with the concept, understanding how the most basic systems work. The individual who designed the security systems on Arkham island fit perfectly into that category.
I, on the other hand, do not.
I waited patiently in cell 21758. The patient was due to transfer in twelve minutes, giving me time to make my own preparations. I considered trying to conceal myself, but ultimately settled on a somewhat more delicate approach.
I slipped my fob watch from within the chest pocket of my long and draping lab coat, popped open the engraved casing and observed the mechanism, a beautiful and intricate display of craftsmanship.
I slipped the casing back together, flipped open the face and read the time; three fifty, almost to the second. I let the cool ovoid rest in my palm as I calmly watched the door.
Ten minutes passed in an instant. The sound of the electromagnetic lock deactivating gave me but a moment to rise from my ungainly seated position and take up a more gentlemanly pose before the door swung open, revealing seven armed guards, two doctors, and my prize.
I let the fob watch dangle from its chain, drifting hypnotically from side to side as I spoke softly to the men before me.
"Very good, gentlemen. I'll take it from here."
The guards lowered their weapons, turned and, along with the two doctors, walked entranced from the doorway, sealing the patient in with me. I laughed, and stayed the watch with my free hand, causing my new cell mate to start. Behind my mask, a grin split my face like a rough chasm.
"Welcome to cell 21758, Vergil. I am Dr. Raithen. We have much to discuss."

Vergil

Vergil blinked as a man stopped a watch, formerly swinging in a hypnotizing fashion. A simple trick, but an effective one.

"Welcome to cell 21758, Vergil. I am doctor Raithen. We have much to discuss."

Aha. So, the man knew his name. And had managed to discern the location of his transfer. Interesting.

Vergil shook the doctor's hand. "Good evening to you, sir. It seems I owe you my liberation. You mentioned discussion. Do sit down, make yourself at home," he smiled wryly, "not a palace, but I've been in worse."

"Firstly," the doctor began, "I am intrigued. Your prison record shows you were detained here centuries ago, far longer than an ordinary human being would live. Furthermore, you seem to be treated with exceptional... fear, mayhaps? Certainly, the amount of security assigned to you exceeds any ordinary prisoner. The question arises naturally, what are you?"

"I applaud your logic," said Vergil. "You assume correctly, I am indeed not an ordinary prisoner, as you put it. I am, well," Vergil chuckled, "I am a god."

The doctor raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Vergil gave a little shrug. "I am superhuman. Close to immortal, you could say. For how long I've been existing, I could not say exactly. Where I come from, neither. My purpose here… a mystery."

"How vague."

"You must forgive me," Vergil said apologetically. "I am not myself at the moment. I have been drugged and weakened. On that note… what do you intend to do now? It won't be long until more guards will show. And something greater. I sense a powerful presence... a disturbance in the Force."

The doctor stared. Slowly, deliberately, Vergil winked.

"I have an, ah, associate that could hold off guards," said the doctor, ignoring Vergil's last joke.

"Indeterminately?"

"And that," the doctor leaned forward and laced his finger together, "brings me to the second part of my plan."

"Do tell."

"I propose we venture into the catacombs, Vergil."