The Descent Chapter 1: Picture of a Pink Unicorn Part 1

Full Novel Synopsis: Sequel to 'The Spiralling', itself a sequel to the Kick-Ass (2010) movie. However, this novel can be read on its own. After Big Daddy died, Mindy was driven mad, subdued by Dave, and locked away in an Institute after killing all who she deemed responsible but Dave. Will she recover? What will happen next to a New York without her nor the Motherfucker? Elements of the Kick-Ass 2 (2013) movie and comic series will be taken in.

The Descent

Chapter 1: Picture of a Pink Unicorn Part 1

There’s always this burning question I asked, every time I flipped through a comic book, ‘what’s exactly going through the mind of a superhero when the shit hits the fan’? What exactly happens to Bruce Wayne when his parents were killed? Or how about when Rachel was blown up? Sure, we’d get the words and carefully drawn sad face off a page, or a good Bale performance, but what were they really thinking? Feeling?

After almost two decades, I guess my questions were finally answered. The biggest part about being a superhero, as it turns out, wasn’t the flashy weapons, or the team-ups, or the cool factors. It was all in the head, how much pain you could take inside and keep going. It’s all the difference between Batman and Two-Face, and I found that out the hard way.

8 months ago…

“Kill me! KILL ME, cunts! Kill me!” A rather young, but foul-mouthed voice screamed, her voice cracking from dryness, losing even more innocence than it already did, if that was even possible anymore. On the television screen, a girl not even 12 years of age was, with great difficulty, being stuffed into a straitjacket by four burly men, the best in their fields. Yet, they were having trouble, as the kid was continually tearing herself away from the straitjacket just as they were about to secure it.

As they finally pulled a strap over her flat, prepubescent chest and locked it, she delivered a precise kick at one of the orderlies, right in the throat. He stumbled back, his eyes wider than normally thought possible, as he struggled to breathe. Leaning on a wall, he slid down, fell unconscious, “I’ll fuck you up! All of you! Fucking fuck all of you!” She was screaming between threats, panting like an athlete on shots.

Another strap came in place, and then another. What looked like the devil’s daughter was finally in control. Another of the orderlies took out a syringe, plunged it into a bottle containing a clear fluid, and sucked it all out. After knocking it and testing the plunger, he leaned in, near the girl’s head, so that he could find a vein on her neck.

Despite his size and muscles, he was near-sighted, and preferred to be safe, which was when a surprise head-butt knocked him back. The girl was struggling against her restraints, growling and screaming like a possessed case, but another orderly took over, and stabbed the syringe in her neck, injecting the clear fluid. The girl screamed, and her high-pitched voice actually had the orderlies covering their ears.

I could still hear the screams, even after the television in Doctor Paul’s office was turned off. Couldn’t help but to lean forward, cover my eyes. I could still see her contorted face as she was trying to get out, trying to kill everyone and get even with me. The darkness my hands gave me didn’t help. Instead, it made the scene even clearer. It was even worse than the scenes from The Exorcists. This was real, that one wasn’t, “Oh God… Jesus, no.” I couldn’t help but to let a few tears crawl – it certainly wasn’t superman from a comic book page we’re talking about, it was the same girl who saved my life back at D’Amico’s, the same girl who started feeling like a sister after that.

She was even worse than a shadow of her former self. From the video recording, I could see her pallid face, yellowish in some parts, her hair messy. I saw the whitish slits on her arms, not exactly scars, but they will remain there for years to come, and even longer in her mind, in all of ours’. She wasn’t herself. She looked so thin and frail, yet she was somehow still able to fight off men five times her size. It was frightening to me even when it shouldn’t have been.

“Is there anything else I could do? To help?” I was swallowing saliva like cups of water, I wasn’t sure what else to say, what else to do. It was no longer my arena. It wasn’t about crimefighting any longer, not that I was that good to begin with. For months, I had been filling out questionaires, writing reports the size of essays, as long as I could possibly make them. It was a good way to make me feel helpless and worthless, after all, what I knew about her case made it worse. I made it worse, I started it all, “And please… Something more than papers, anything.”

My voice was quivering, I couldn’t help it. I hated it, I wanted to be strong for her, but I couldn’t. It was that hard I suppose – Well, that’s another level of badassness for those superheroes I’ve been reading. An epiphany at the wrong time.

“Yeah, well, okay.” Dr. Paul was flipping through his clipboards. I could tell that he, too, was a little taxed. The beads of sweat on his forehead, and his shivering fingers were all tell-tale signs that he had met his match. It didn’t help my own confidence, “She’s been a little quiet for the past couple days. She was usually swearing and beating people up. There’s one thing you could do. Please, come with me.”

The psychiatrist led me out of his office, through white, spotless corridors that managed to irk me. Hey, the cleaner it is, the more shitty the place actually is, but as far as asylums go, it wasn’t something that could run me out. I was used to it since the beginning, I had to be, for her, “I believe a little bit of positive stimuli could be beneficial to her mentally. I believe you are the positive stimuli. After all, if your reports hold true, you are what stopped her where half the police force and mafia didn’t.”

We went through the low security zone, and like any movies about asylums, and definitely not Arkham Asylum, there were patients milling about, playing card games, reading, watching televisions or zoning out, supervised by orderlies. I was hoping to see her there, but none of the patients were even remotely her size.

Instead, we ended up in the maximum security area, right past the high security zone, where the worst cases were held. There were a lot of orderlies, four in a checkpoint, a few others standing by these huge steel doors. There were even a few security guards present, and they weren’t just packing tasers or batons like the orderlies.

“Hey Paul.” One of the guards greeted my psychiatrist as they let us through. Inside, we were flanked by four orderlies and a guard. Even then, I couldn’t help but still feel unsafe. I was trying hard to beat out that fear like fire. I owed it to her. Passing by doors, I couldn’t help but to look in, hoping to see her in one of them. All I saw were men or women, all mumbling crazy things, or sitting still, too still. One of them was frantically writing giant letters on pieces of paper that I didn’t feel like reading.

“Here we are. Indeed.” The doctor said as he nodded to the guard escorting us. The four orderlies got ready. I could see sweat everywhere, just pouring. I tried hard not to, “I want you to talk to her, try to get her to communicate. Okay? Good. Alright, outstanding.”

I looked in, but I didn’t want to see. Instead, I forced my eyes close, drew back. I wanted to wait, hope against hope for any good surprises. The guard was still fumbling around with his keys, and my heart was thumping, hoping that she would remain docile even as I entered the cell. It took a while as I waited in the rather stereotypically dark corridor, but the guard managed to get the heavy steel door into her room to open with a very loud series of clicks. It felt like facing some final boss, for some reason. I entered the room, which was actually quite spacious, followed by everyone else. There were seven of us.

Inside was her, sitting on the floor, wearing a kid-sized patient’s gown, facing away from me, facing a wall. She was working on something with soft-looking crayons, I couldn’t see what. The Doctor nodded to me as he held his clipboard up, ready to jot down notes. I took a step. Another. Trying to be cautious. Took a deep breath, and released. I came closer, trying to be as casual as possible.