Crazy Asylum #169

Gotham

Arkham Asylum

"And this supposed to be a mental asylum...?" I muttered, raising an eyebrow as I looked beyond the Arkham Asylum gate and into the grim dark interior that looked like something straight out of a horror movie.

It was early in the morning. The sun was out, shining brightly and illuminating the surroundings, but the lifeless visage of the mental asylum remained dark and eerie and full of shadows as if the light itself shied away from it.

"Sheesh... I'd develop a habit of stabbing people if I had to stay here too..." I remarked, shaking my head as I approached the gate and pushed a button next to the door cam.

Arkham Asylum was still in lockdown, but I figured I'd ask anyway, hoping to leverage my 'superhero, savior of Gotham, and slayer of the flaming giant' privilege to gain entry and save some time and effort.

If they let me in, I won't have to waste my time breaking into the asylum. If they don't, I'll waste an hour or so to sneak into the mental institution and be out of there with no sweat off my brow.

I briefly heard static before it disappeared, replaced by a masculine, gruff voice. "The Arkham Asylum is currently under lockdown until further notice. Come back another time," the speaker said, dashing my hopes before I could even ask, causing me to sigh.

I shrugged my shoulders and turned to leave. However, I only took two steps before I heard a commotion from the speaker, and a new, more neutral, and calm voice called out to me.

"Mr. Whitlock, correct?" asked the second voice, causing me to halt as I turned to face the camera, quietly nodding and waiting for the speaker to keep going.

"We apologize for the inconvenience. The asylum is indeed currently in lockdown..." the speaker added, trailing off, and I remained quiet, waiting for the yet-to-be-spoken 'but' I sensed in his tone.

Sure enough.

"However, the warden would like to speak with you in an urgent matter..." the speaker concluded, and I couldn't help but pause for a second at his words.

As far as I knew, every man who'd ever occupied the position of Warden in Arkham Asylum ended up going batshit crazy, so it wasn't all too assuring that the current one wanted to talk with me.

Still, I don't think the current warden was at that stage yet. But something has to be happening for him to want to see me because I could already imagine him asking me a favor or something.

As you should know by now, if there's anything I despised, it was giving people favors, especially the kind that gets me in unneeded complicated, and dangerous situations.

Then again, I was somewhat curious, and I liked to stay in the loop since knowing what was happening might help me steer clear of future trouble, not to mention I could merely say no if I didn't like what I heard, and that would be the end of it.

With that line of thought, I quickly decided. "Did something happen in the asylum?" I asked after a second's pause, shooting my shot to fish for some information.

"Nothing that we can't handle, but the warden made it clear he'd like to have a private face-to-face conversation," the speaker replied, confirming my suspicions that something did happen.

"Fine, I've got some time to kill," I replied, shrugging my shoulders. "But I'm here to visit one of the inmates," I added before the man could speak, making my demands clear.

"Of course. Please wait. One of our staff will be with you shortly," the man replied, and statics sounded from the speaker, signaling the end of the conversation as the gate opened.

A man in a security guard uniform appeared shortly after, slowly walking as he approached me. He stopped before me, giving me a quick glance before nodding.

"Follow me," the guard spoke, and I identified him by his voice as the one who told me to come back another time. I said nothing as I followed the man, giving him a once-over.

'Something is off...' I mused, frowning as I looked at the guard, noticing the weird way he walked and the scars visible on his wrists and the back of his neck.

Furthermore, the man looked emaciated and wore heavy clothing despite the hot weather, like he was trying to hide something, likely the said scars.

Curious, I activated my empathy and was almost blinded by the colorful aura that was a mixture of goodwill, compassion, and, strangely enough, utter and complete contempt.

'What the fuck...?' I wondered, resisting the urge to exclaim in shock at whatever the fuck was happening inside the man's head. That's Arkham Asylum for you, I suppose. Even the guards aren't right in the brain.

We had to walk for roughly two minutes to cover the asylum's spooky yard until we finally reached the main building. The guard didn't waste any time and quickly opened the door, leading me into the reception area.

I looked around, raising an eyebrow at the surprisingly neat-looking interior of the asylum, and quickly realized the reception hall was empty, with no sign of anyone around.

There were no guards, no nurses, no doctors, no one.

I wanted to question the guard, but I froze as I detected a foreign chemical component in the air, thanks to my Chemical Analysis power, slowly creeping towards me and guard against the air vents.

'Looks like I've been lead to a trap...' I mused as I immediately activated my Metabolism Manipulation power to slow my breathing so as not to inhale too much of the chemical.

I could put on my riot head gear and avoid it altogether, but I needed to lure out whoever was responsible, and I doubt they'd be inclined to show themselves if they thought their trap didn't work.

"Hey... where is every... everyone...?" I asked, putting on a lethargic expression as I turned to the guard, deliberately waning and holding my forehead.

"There won't be anyone else..." the guard said, grinning as he took off his hat, revealing his bald head. "It's just you and me," he added as he threw away his jacket and ripped the uniform shirt right off his body, the countless tally mark scars covering his body.

"You... you're Victor Zsasz..." I remarked, allowing some of my shock to leak into my expression. "What... is... what the hell is going on here...?" I asked as I dropped to my knees, staring into the deranged serial killer's eye.

"Retribution, my dear..." Zsasz said as he retrieved a knife from his pocket and slowly started walking toward me. "Your ignorant actions spared the lives of many, denying them the ultimate gift..." he added as he kneeled before me, raising the knife to my eye level.

"They continue to live without purpose, to suffer without cause, to be zombies... all because of you..." he added, and I had to resist the urge to scoff at the genuine agony in his tone as he spoke.

"Don't worry. I'm a merciful man. I will bestow the gift upon you, even if you robbed many of it..." Zsasz concluded, benevolently smiling as he lowered his hand and stabbed at my heart.

A loud clang reverberated in the empty reception hall as the knife connected and immediately broke upon contact with my skin, much to Zsasz's shock.

I didn't care much for Zsasz's pathetic attempt to stab me, but as I saw his face slowly change, taking the shape of one sharply dressed demon that caused me endless trauma in my childhood, I realized what was happening.

As if to confirm my suspicion, a calm, neutral voice reverberated in the reception hall. "Quite an impressive show you've put on, Grayson Whitlock," the man said, his voice booming as he talked through the speaker system.

"If I didn't know my own gas any better, I would have assumed it worked on you," he added, clearly amused, causing me to sigh in resignation as I got up, much to Zsasz's shock and confusion.

"Wha--" That was all the deranged serial killer could say before I sent him flying towards the wall with a kick to his stomach, knocking him out cold upon impact and likely breaking most if not all of his bones.

"What a shame... I was looking forward to seeing how my fear gas would affect someone like Zsasz..." the speaker regretfully said, sounding genuinely disappointed.

"Scarecrow, right...?" I asked despite already knowing the answer, looking around as I activated my Metabolism Manipulation to expel what little fear toxin I'd inhaled out of my body.

...

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