Young Writers Society

Dr. Raithen

The door hissed open, and Basilisk appeared in the entrance. His scaled green bulk all but filled the reinforced doorway.
"Doctor, it appears we may have company on the way."
I mulled the situation. To stay would risk my genius, and that of my counterpart. And besides, removing Vergil from the cell at this stage would present further complications; it would be advantageous to know the extent of Vergil's power, and the nature of the medication used to control it, especially if he was the God-like being that he claimed.
That in mind, I stood and made to follow Basilisk from the cell before Arkham's finest arrived. Vergil turned to do the same, but I stayed him with a firm hand.
"Consider my offer; we will return for your emancipation as soon as the necessary arrangements are made at our end. Until then, you remain here."
"You can't do that, Raithen," Vergil growled, "Take me with you or I will destroy you and everyone else in this puny Asylum!"
"Now, now, my dear boy." I soothed, with more than a hint of belittling condescension, "That simply would not serve our mutual purpose, would it?"
Perhaps Vergil had expected my reaction to be one of abject fear; whatever the reason, he did nothing more to prevent our departure. His outburst troubled me, and despite the scales, I judged the same reaction from Basilisk as well.
A step behind my reptilian counterpart, I made my way toward general population, aware of the suspicious blue eyes of an unknown party boring into my back as we passed a navy-clad member of the Arkham staff.

Basilisk

I stood in the doorway, awaiting the Doctor to finish his business with the man he had sought to meet. I had decided to seek out Raithen following my business with the little punk that had tried to toy with my mind, and they were lucky to be female... but my morals only stretched so far. A warning involving the slow disembowelment of her was my technique in keeping her away from me, and if she disobeyed, I may decide that Brigade may deal with the job better than I.

Back to the situation at hand, I had appeared to tell the doctor that company was fast approaching from the exterior of the Asylum, and I could tell one of the newbies was here on business; not a new prisoner by any means. "Doctor, it appears we may have company on the way." I beckoned for him to follow me as soon as possible, and he complied following an outburst from the man sat in his cell.

His words were serious, and I could feel the power from him rising in his temperature, but it stopped bluntly; his abilities were limited by some kind of chemical agent. The Doctor was taking much too long, and I decided to move away from the Arkham staff that made their way towards (undoubtedly) this mysterious man. Raithen caught up after sealing the doors as quickly as possible, and the staff progressed towards the door, unknowing of our presence. However, a peer over my shoulder revealed a man in a blue jacket, one who I had not seen since my imprisonment, this was not just a new member of the Arkham staff: this was Pressure, the master of interrogation.

Quartermaster

I sat at my desk, twiddling my knife on the desk leaving a deep scratch in the woodwork. The interrogation had been a disaster and the thought of it caused me to lash out. My outburst didn't go unnoticed. A man in a blue jacket had entered but he showed no surprise as he took a position in front of the desk.

"And who might you be?" I asked.

"Pressure," He answered.

"So you are the new chief interrogator, well I think we better get to work then." I went to walk out the room and signalled for him to follow me. We walked quickly, Pressure right beside me when I caught a whiff of a bad smell. I beckoned over one of the guards.

"What is that smell?" I asked, having already figured out the answer but awaiting confirmation.

"That would be Kira Nemesis's cell," the guard replied. “She has eaten her cell mate and when we tried to clear up she ate the two cleaning crew.”

“Well, looks like we have a situation on our hands.” I looked at Pressure. “I’m gonna need your help with this one.”

“I must warn you, my power isn’t localised, it affects everyone and thing around the target,” Cautioned Pressure, “I may kill the guards.”

“Don’t worry, we have a few pressure suits which we can use, they’ll be able to handle the rapid change in pressure,” Once again I called over a few guards and told them the plan. I and Pressure would go in first and as Kira moved inhumanely fast I would use my heightened adrenaline rush and hit her with a couple of Shock rounds. Those by themselves wouldn’t knock her out but they will halt her advance giving Pressure the time to immobilise her while the cleaning crew got to work. It was a sound plan...

For the most part.

Dr. Raithen

The time was fast approaching when I would have to return to Vergil's cell if my schemes were to be successful. So often had he told me that he, and he alone, could afford me the access to the catacombs which I now so inextricably desired.
Still, there was the question of his medication. The Arkham staff had some way of repressing Vergil's power, and a hand on the leash would be advantageous if I were to set him free. Of course, the knife-edge needed to be carefully comprehended before it was trodden; there is no advantage in bringing the beast if there's no way to unleash its full potential when the time is right.
I had taken the task of observation upon myself. Basilisk, unnerved by the sight of this 'Pressure' had taken a leave of absence, one which would most likely end in the disembowelment of the aforementioned ghost from Basilisk's past. This left the medicine to me, and entirely explained my ungainly -and most ungentlemanly-position dangling by my legs from the exposed rafters of science lab 21b.
A surprisingly gentile fellow by the name of Rufus had afforded me such altitude. With a body partially mutated into that of a bat, it was little effort for him to carry my slight form up to the roof, whereby I had made my own way.
Of course, falling through to land so precariously balanced had not been a part of the plan, but any self-respecting scientist is willing to adapt to a radical shift in circumstance.
And so it was that I accepted my lot, hanging precariously above a milling posse of laboratory men and women, notepad in hand as they bustled about mixing the latest batch of Vergil's power-suppressing medication. The bat would be back in a half hour, and with a little luck, the feeling in my calves would return soon thereafter.

Deathwish

The bone chilling wind pierced my jumpsuit like knives. I managed to slip past the gorilla-like guards with relative ease and climbed to the highest point in this hell of a mental institution. The wind made it hard to keep my balance on the spire, which stood towering at least 100 feet above the ground. I closed my eyes and stepped off. I slammed into the concrete far below, the impact shattering every bone in my body and rupturing every organ. A massive pool of my blood seeped into the cracks of the ground.

Pressure

Kira Nemesis was quite the problem, but she was not unlike other supernatural people I had seen before; those that developed a taste for human flesh were not uncommon back in Britain, especially supernatural individuals who operated outside of any organisation. Despite her aggressive dislike of trespassers inside her 'lair', Quartermaster and I had managed to clean the room with little more than a slight score down the side of one of the guards who had assisted our rather trivial errand. And even that didn't matter too much- it would heal.

As Quartermaster and I had taken a walk to the south of the Asylum, arresting and returning to their cells those who had stayed out past curfew, we had found ourselves discussing more personal matters than I had originally intended, but these matters were merely about our activities in law enforcement. I was surprised to hear from my ally's own mouth that he had began his work in assisting the people as a vigilante, using powerful technologies which he refused to disclose the whereabouts of and just how he obtained them, yet I had no initial thought to question him; back at SUCAF we were encouraged to turn a blind eye to vigilantes who dealt no harm to law-abiding citizens, but his suspicious mention of his complete disinterest of giving me this information, regardless of the fact I had shown no interest, had me curious.

He had taken his turn to explain his origins, and I complied for the sake of conversation and friendliness by returning speech with my own history.

Like many of those labelled 'supernatural', my abilities were genetic, hereditary (although I have no idea from which ancestor) if you will. My power to fluctuate pressure by emitting, at low doses, fairly unnoticeable waves of vibration. However, as I begin to exert more energy, the ratio of pounds-per-square inch rises, which can cause a lot of damage around me to both people and objects. I am known as the 'master of interrogation' due to this power, which allows me to cloud all sense of thought, and furthermore others' abilities, even if they are supernatural in nature. As any intellectual could deduce, two main problems arise from this: for starters, my ability is not focusable, meaning all around me are affected, regardless of intent. And secondly, the strength of pressure is unpredictable, as is people's resistance to it, which makes it particularly harmful to the public, and, furthermore, why I operate in control conditions as opposed to out in the field.

The darkness of the Asylum had become somewhat comforting as all became quiet, silence drifting over Quartermaster and I as our conversation came to a close.

"I suppose you don't take your residence within the quarters of the security guards?" I inquired, despite the fact I could foresee his answer.

"With those baboons? No. I have much better taste in interior design," he mused with a wave of his hand.

I laughed slightly too, turning my head over my shoulder to check for any last wandering prisoners. "So..." I said, turning back to face my ally.
But he had vanished. Like the ghosts of those who had passed within the walls of this Godforsaken prison, he had whistled away without making a sound- like a spirit.

It must have been a peaceful existence- being all alone. But it made me wonder: How would it feel when death came to your lonely door?

And with that, I entered my own room.

Deathwish

For the brief moments after slamming into the ground, I knew nothing. No pain. No Emotions. No Thoughts. No Anything....then my regeneration kicked in. My eyes sprung open as a wave of immense pain spread across my body. I turned over as my skeleton began to reform from the broken shards scattered throughout my flesh. My organs grew back. I lifted myself using the wall for support as I healed from the last of the external wounds, leaving my jumpsuit soaked in my own blood and the vivid memory of the pain. I coughed up the remaining blood that had once filled my lungs. "Didn't.Think.So." I said pausing in between words allowing the cold air to once again fill my lungs.

HornTooth (Female, by the way)

I sat there at a table in the cafeteria, my orange jumpsuit unzipped, off my arms, and simply tied at my waist. It also revealed my white tank top that I shredded at the bottom with my own claws. I used one of my claws to scrape some leftover steak out from between one of my large fangs then got up and walked past a couple of inmates while on my way to my cell.

Specter

I stared grimly out of my cell window, watching a man climb up the tower and leap to what should have been his death. Of course, I knew better. I would have even if I didn't watch him regenerate afterwards then get up and walk away to somewhere else in the asylum. He was the very same person who tried to fight me earlier last week, pissing me off to the point that I used my power to reach inside his chest and pull out his beating heart. (An act that got me thrown into my cell, with my powers nullified for the for the foreseeable future.) The guy had started moving again by the time the guards came, with his heart laying on the floor. He was escorted to his cell, because he did start the fight, with the power-nullifying collar on. But the thing was, when I saw one of the guards lay their night-stick upside his head. The gash that it left there healed itself within a few seconds. Since that time, I couldn't stop thinking about it. It bothered me that he seemed that he couldn't die, I suppose that I'm one of those people who believe that if it bleeds then you could kill it. Didn't seem the case with this guy. A guard started banging the bars of my cell interrupting my train of thought. "Hey, your food's here." He shouted shoving the tray through the opening between the bars, just enough so that it tripped and hit the floor. The guard shrugged "Oops. Guess I should be more careful." He smiled ear-to-ear and walked away laughing. As soon as I leave this cell, I think I'll pay that guard a little visit. That thought of revenge lifted my mood as I turned my head to stare out the window towards the night sky.

Basilisk

Curfew was beginning to come into effect as the time drew closer to ten o'clock, and security guards started to clear out the public areas. The corridors weren't flooded, like I first thought they'd be when I arrived here (in comparison, this was like a free-range asylum), so not much conflict has ever come about from heavy barging within the halls of Arkham.

I had not seen Raithen since his meeting with the mysterious prisoner; he was conducting some intense form of investigation, no doubt. It didn’t matter much anyway- I had things to do myself, fortunately. Right now, I had something very special scheduled, involving me being a very naughty boy; assaulting security staff is a serious offense in Arkham. The last two hours of the asylum timetable involves the removal of inmates from public areas by 10pm, and allowing everyone to unwind and calm down before lights out at eleven... and allows me to achieve my goals just before I’m noticed in my trespassing goals.

As I made my way south of the asylum, toward my rendezvous, it was clear that I would require a distraction to ensure my stealth was maximised (or as the case presented itself, my chances of capture nullified). My mind wandered to the far corners of my knowledge of what priorities the guards held, yet this was all in vain. As I turned to face the outside doors, a body hit the ground and splattered with a sickening, yet slightly humorous ‘squish’. Guards forced their way past me and examined the corpse, shouting into their communication devices for a medical staff to arrive immediately. Smiling grotesquely at my good fortune, I turned inconspicuously back to my original path, and stepped as quietly as I could through the stone corridors.
Scanning to ensure my loneliness, I produced a chesty cough. There was no reply or sound of disturbance within the cells around me, so onwards I progressed towards the staff area. A large sign was bolted to the wall- a red background with a black stencil image of an anonymous figure holding a rifle- which marked out the guards’ quarters, a no-go area for inmates of Arkham.

Silently (or as close an eight-foot tall lizard man could get to it) I rested my shoulder against an iron door with the words ‘Guest Quarters’ marked upon its silvery surface, then forced my weight into it. The hinges creaked as they began to give, but I knew that the titanium bolts would soon halt the force against the hinges, and then it would come down to my brute strength against the steel lock across the door (isn’t it marvellous how much a little attention to detail can reveal so much?) which would break with a bit of effort.
I leaned in stronger, and the door jolted open as the bolt that locked the door snapped cleanly. I smiled evilly as tapped my claw upon my right index finger against my head. “I’ve got you now Jonathon Stephens. Time we found out just why you’re here.”

The metal door slid closed, and I dropped my scaly body against the concrete wall, concealed by shadows. And I waited.

Deathwish

After my body had regenerated completely, I slipped back into the corridors of the asylum. As I walked, I saw a large figure move in the shadows out of the corner of my eye but I dismissed it as my paranoia. The guards seemed to be frenzied about something, and came running with the some medical staff. I quickly moved to the ceiling when I heard the voices and footsteps, and waited there until they were safely out of sight before dropping to the floor.I wonder what that was about. While I was here, I began to sneaking around the entire asylum almost every night. There was a lot of things that bothered me around this place: one of the main things was what appeared to be a secret lab that I stumbled on a little while ago. It peaked my curiosity but I didn't dare to go back there, I got an extremely bad vibe from that place. The only time that I went there, I didn't manage to gather many details but I heard footsteps coming towards the place only a seconds after I entered. I shivered. Just thinking about that place sent a chill up my spine. I planed on doing the exactly same thing that I did every night: searching this so-called asylum and making sure that I didn't get caught. But assuming that I did, take care of whoever seen me just like the guard who just disappeared a few weeks ago.

HornTooth

Changing my mind about going to my cell, I began strolling through the asylum. My thoughts began drifting to how I got here, all the things I did, the people I shouldn't have killed... But why should I care anyway? The people I killed didn't care about me. At least not as much as I thought they did, so I tried to justify it by telling myself lies on why it was ok. I was quickly shaken out of my thoughts as I bumped into someone else. Deathstar, his name was? Or Wishdeath? Either way I didn't care, I mean why should I? No one here mattered to me. I just growled and kept walking.

Deathwish

While walking, I bumped into a woman with large fangs and long claws who suddenly emerged from a connecting hallway. She growled but just kept walking past me. I was kind of glad, while I able to regenerate, I had no interest in being shredded. I racked my brain trying to remember what the other inmates said her name was. Horntooth that's what it was. Very fitting. I thought speeding up my pace.

Pressure

I was stupid, but my brain was not entirely on the lookout for those who'd want to harm me, after all: I'd just got here. Yet it should have remained obvious to me that, in an asylum like this which houses many dangerous people, that I should always remain on the alert.

As I turned my key inside the lock, my mind should have identified the absence of the sharp click as the steel bolt sealing the door slid across. However, it did not. As the metal door creaked open, the darkness that met my gaze was greatly unnerving, and the requirement for light rose within my head; the suspicion of things lurking in the shadows had not altogether drifted from subconscious thought.
My hand shot across, the naked, chillingly cold concrete wall and groped for the light switch to reveal all mysteries within. As my finger stumbled across the plastic cover, it jumped forward and yanked downwards, catching the crooked plastic mechanism and, consequently, allowed the yellow stained light to ignite the room in a dirty blaze of radiance.
Sighing deeply, mostly in anticipating relief, I stepped into the room and stretched out my arms, before turning and sealing the door... but it fell open before I could even move towards my bed. I stared at the anomaly with nervous curiosity, and before I could realise what was happening, a giant scaled figure grabbed my throat, and used his other enormous mitt to seal my mouth.

“Now now, John, I’m not here for any trouble... well, maybe a bit of payback. But, my main intention is harmless- I just want to know why SUCAF sent you here,” Basilisk breathed abnormally quietly; it was not often a man like him tried to engage in the art of stealth.

I focused my mind to try and build pressure in the room, and make this lizard-like brute unhand me.
He blinked hard, and grinned a grotesque and horrific smile as he realised what I was attempting. His claws gripped tighter around my throat, squeezing all air from my trachea, and then proceeded to shake me wildly, much like a hunting dog.

“We can do this the easy way... or,” he cracked his knuckles in front of my face as he removed his palm from my mouth, “we can do this the hard way.”