under konkilicious construction-ah
Prologue - Welcome to Arkham Assylum Edit
First day... isn't that the expression people use? I was off to work as a guard at Arkham Assylum. I never questioned why they spelled it with two s's... I suppose that was because they're the people who paid me.
Who's "they", you ask? Well... nobody ever really knew who was in charge of the Assylum. It remains that way. Everybody knows the Batvane watches over it, but then you have a doctor obsessed with coitus, an insane judge who deems 97% of the inmates as guilty, and a manager who probably belongs in one of the cells.
I crossed the bridge in my rusty Lincoln. Oh, this was when there was still a bridge—from the United Gamers Society to the Assylum. Yeah, it was called the United Gamers Society at one time. The island just off of Japan... surprisingly, a majority of the residents were American. They all played games and lived in "temporary paradise," as the signs advertised. Being disconnected from a nation meant no rules, though... and no rules meant insanity. That's why the Assylum was built in the first place, right?
Let me get back on track... when I finally reached the rock on which the Assylum was placed, I had no idea what would happen two years later. It began that day. The descent into madness. Not that I had anything to do with it... the guard I was replacing was one of many killed during the previous week. Of course, that was mentioned nowhere in the job description. Their deaths allowed a certain chain of events that began the day I arrived. Those events would lead to something even worse... something far smellier. That is what caused the end of all mortal control on the island. That's what caused the death of the Kink.
Chapter 1 - Jailbreak Edit
"Wake the hell up, you lazy, dinkilicious bed-humpers!" shouted the gruff, drill sergeant-esque voice of Victor. "Shit is about to go down, and apparently you lot are more important than the trash we keep here!" He came storming into the barracks, shining his flashlight in our eyes. His loud footsteps echoed throughout the room as he pounded his boots into the floor each time he brought one of his feet down. Speaking of his boots, there was a rumor going on that they were made from the skin of one of the former prisoners. That was basically our cue to jump out of bed and face our head of security, eyes-front. It was hard to focus on him instead of the overly-fancy mustache on his face, which was all you needed to look at to know just how highly he thought of himself.
"Something wrong, sir?" I asked. I realized how stupid I was sounding, considering he just mentioned that shit was about to go down.
"What do you think, numbnuts?!" Victor exclaimed. "I wake you girls up in the middle of the night saying that shit is about to go down—of course something is wrong! What, do you think I want to talk to you?"
"Could've been a training drill, sir," I replied sleepily. This was sort of an impulse thing with me; I tend to talk when I know I shouldn't. "You know, test us, see if we would be ready in the case of an emergency."
"And that's exactly what this is!" the head of security boomed loudly, his spit flying into my face. "An emergency! In case you haven't been hearing the screaming, all the assholes and crazy people have decided that today be the day that they try to check out of here one lifetime too early. You guys, being the so-called best of the best—the only reason you're even allowed to work here—are going to put them back in their cells."
"Is there a plan, or are we just going to be running in, guns ablazing?" inquired one of my colleagues, who had just gotten his uniform and weapons out of his locker.
"Prevent the escape from being a success—kill anyone who tries!" Victor replied, his voice suddenly sounding deeper and more guttural than usual. "Well, what are you waitin' for? Get your guns, batons—whatever the suits are permitting you to use these days—and get to it!"
Everybody moaned and groaned, tired and frustrated at having to be woken up at this particular hour. What time was it, anyways? I looked over to the clock above the door, but I couldn't make it out; I was just too tired. Not that the thing even works, anyways. A few years back, Victor broke it so that would train ourselves to be able to wake up at appropriate times ourselves. After a few moments of staring blankly around the room, I finally had the energy to head over to my locker and fetch my gear, getting into my dark red uniform and sticking my A.A.S.T. nametag onto the shirt's left breast pocket. Then I clipped my flashlight to one side of my belt and my gun and baton on the other. Time for a day in hell.
"Shuffle, ladies! Move it, move it, move it!" yelled Victor, resuming his drill sergeant persona. By now, we all had our uniforms and prisoner control gear ready, and exited the barracks, marching down the corridors and splitting up into groups of three.
It was awfully dark; various parts of the Assylum had their power completely cut. That was sort of confusing, though—I mean, whoever was doing this, why didn't they just shut the power off everywhere? Was this random, or meticulously planned out?
"Hey Joshua, stop daydreaming… err, nightdreaming—you know what I mean," hissed Frank, jabbing me in the side with his flashlight.
"I only got about three hours of sleep, Kelly," I replied. "It's not my fault that our inmates don't have any consideration for our sleep schedule." Kelly was his last name, by the way; he was very sensitive about that.