33 Into the Looney Bin #33
Hucking the radio device I snagged from one of the cops after a bit of sweet-talking, I couldn't help but crack a grin. You gou gotta love those acting and persuasion skills, right? Still, the smile faded real quick when I redirected my eyes toward that foreboding asylum gate.
The outside of Arkham Asylum was like something out of a horror flick rather than a place meant to help folks. The gate, all rusty and spiked, made eerie creaks in the wind as if it couldn't about the craziness it held inside.
The whole vibe around the asylum just added to the spookiness. Mist hung around like it was trying to make everything more mysterious than it already was, and the busted streetlamp's flickering played tricks with the shadows, making them dance and creep like a shadow theatre.
Getting closer to the entrance, I felt like I was walking into a bad dream, especially with those distant, welcoming screams and cackles you hear in moves when someone is about to walk somewhere they realy, reeeealy shouldn't.
"Seriously, whose idea was it-- to turn a place of healing into something that looked straight out of a cheap horror movie?" I grumbled to myself, barely holding back a sigh.
Stepping into the asylum's creepy courtyard, I couldn't help but question my life choices. The place had an atmosphere that screamed "bad idea," and "return from whence you came," but with my purchases done and a measly 80 points left in my balance, turning back wasn't an option.
I sighed, keeping a close eye on anything that twitched, moved, or even thought about moving.
Now, about my prep for this quest – I got two things from the system shop. First up, the prob badge, a nifty little 50-point item that transformed into whatever proof of identity I needed it to be.
The item was handy for slipping into places I had no business being in, but it had a catch – it quickly reverted to a plain old blank card. Cheap and cheerful, right?
The second thing was my shadow control power, which wasn't as as cool as it sounded. The system offered many levels of shadow control power, but I could only afford the basic version.
It allowed me to meld into the shadows to hide my body, manipulate them to obscure my features and create flimsy shadowy constructs.
The constructs, which I shall address as shadow thingies, would vanish with a firm squeeze, and you could barely call them solid. Still, they were enough for the purposes of this escapade. Distractions, hiding, lock-picking – simple utility stuff that matched my budget.
So, no-- no super impressive strangling shadow hands, just budget-friendly shadow tricks.
But that's enough recap for one day. I had a mystery to solve and a spooky metal asylum to explore.
....
As I strolled through the asylum, I had to hit pause at the spectacle of five men. The wild glint in their eyes and the shredded, crazy jackets screamed 'Not your average citizens.' And if that didn't give it away, the blood-stained kitchen knives and an assortment of household items they wielded certainly did.
To top it off, a trail of bloody footprints traced back to them, starting from a guard cabin a bit down the way. Whoever had been in that cabin didn't exactly get the good ending, judging by the pool of blood at the entrance and the red-stained windows.
The crazy gang clocked me pretty quickly, heads snapping in my direction in eerie unison. Like their looks weren't creepy enough, they had to add the synchronized spook factor. One of them, a bald, burly dude whose gut competed for attention with his torn-up jacket, took a swaggering step toward me.
He regarded me with a mix of glee and madness, smacking a bloodied crowbar into his palm in a classic intimidation move. "Well, well, what do we have here?" he sneered, making me feel oh-so-welcome.
Another one from the gang of the five crazies, a scrawny fellow with hair that looked like it had been through a blender, shot me a grin."A little lamb wandering into the slaughterhouse," he chuckled, giving his bloodied knife a lick as if it were dipped in chocolate syrup.
Observing this gang of merry lunatics, there were no shivers running down my spine or anything. I mean, come on, they were just your run-of-the-mill, homicidal sociopaths.
Instead of fear, my dominant emotion was curiosity, prompting me to give my trusty Dreadbane Pendant a little pat under my hoodie. The last time I unleashed its weird vibes on a bunch of thugs, it turned them into a bunch of half-crazed, emotionally wrecked individuals.
Now, facing these loony inmates, I couldn't help but let my imagination run wild.
I pondered the possibilities as I continued my pendant-petting ritual. Would they get even crazier? Maybe I'd scare the crazy right out of them? The real kicker was that I had no clear answers, lost in contemplation like a philosopher in a madhouse.
While I was having this existential crisis, the jolly inmates decided it was time to up the ante, emboldened by my silence.
"Hahaha... looks like he's already frozen in fear," chuckled the portly, bald one, his grotesque grin stretching from ear to ear. "This will be a walk in the asylum park," he added, taking what he likely thought was a menacing step toward me.
The others gleefully joined the parade, each expressing their joy and craziness in their own special way. It was like a carnival but with more sharp objects and less cotton candy.
"Well, I guess I'll just have to try it out..." I silently mused, taking a deep breath. With the bravado only someone with a magic barrier protecting them could muster, I summoned the most menacing expression my acting skills could conjure and began my ominous speech.
"Every step closer is a stride into your worst nightmare," I intoned, giving my best Darth Vader impression. "Turn away now, or embrace the darkness that awaits..." I continued, adding a dramatic flourish with the shadows and activating the almighty Dreadbane Pendant.
Sure, I felt a pang of cringe at the edgy words that spilled out, but damn, were they effective. Instantaneously, the baldy and scrawny inmates dropped like marionettes with cut strings, eyes rolling back, and froth escaping their mouths.
The third one opted for a more vocal response, screaming incoherently while yanking out his hair and making a run for it. Meanwhile, another fellow started digging into the ground, as if aiming for an impromptu burial.
But the real curveball came from the last one. Instead of reacting like the rest—fleeing or fainting—he just looked at me, unfazed, as if my display had been nothing more than a mundane light show.
"Talk about a tough crowd..." I chuckled, scratching my head while eyeing the lone-standing inmate. "Are you brave or just stup--" I began, only to bite my tongue as the deranged lunatic lunged at me, brandishing a bloodied candle like a twisted makeshift weapon.
Wildcat's training kicked in without a second thought. I sidestepped with a swift move, avoiding the incoming strike by shifting my torso. Seizing the moment, I clenched my fist and delivered a quick uppercut, sending the assailant staggering backward.
Looking at how far his head was pushed back like he was gazing at the night sky, I anticipated the satisfying thud of his collapse, but instead, he snapped his head back into place, fixating his gaze on me. It was an eerie sight that honestly freaked me out more than just a bit.
"Now, that's just friggin' weird..." I muttered, wincing at the uncanny display. Jumping back to maintain a safe distance, I couldn't help but acknowledge the need for a bit more force.
"Guess I'll have to use a bit more force..." I declared, dodging and weaving while landing calculated punches whenever the opportunity presented itself.
After a relentless five-minute session of teaching the lunatic the finer points of taking a nap, I stood over the unconscious body. Oddly, there was no triumphant grin on my face, just a tinge of concern lingering.
I had geared up for a standard psycho-killer brawl, not a dude who could absorb a beating and keep standing up like he was the protagonist of a friggen shounen manga, his face looking like a swollen tomato and all that.
"I wonder if I should call back Rattigan just to be safe..." I pondered aloud, scratching my head as if seeking counsel from the thin air. The idea hovered momentarily before I dismissed it.
Rattigan was there for serious situations, not to be my personal emergency hotline. I shouldn't rely on him for every little thing.
"More importantly..." I mused, crouching down beside the unconscious nut job and delving into the chaotic folds of his straight jacket. After a bit of a spelunking expedition, my fingers triumphantly discovered a green thumb drive shaped like a question mark.
I had felt it grazing my knuckles while beating the living shit of my newly-acquired, crazier-than-usual friend here, so I decided to see if it was anything important, and it looks my hunch was in the right place.
