“That’s mine, that’s mine, and that’s mine. You touch any of this and I throw you through a window.”
“...You don't have any windows.”
“Exactly.”
“The fuck makes you think I would wanna touch any of your sweaty shit anyway?”
Franky and Reggie stood, arms crossed, against a wall, watching Crash show Claire around her new abode.
The killer leaned to his brother. “They deserve each other.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
“-And that’s your corner. Make yourself at home, kid.” Crash turned, and almost walked away before turning back. “Almost forgot.” He flourished a hand, and in it appeared a roll of newspaper, which he laid down in her designated corner. “There you go.” He said, chuckling smugly to himself. Claire said nothing, but she was clearly working out the logistics of papercutting someone to death.
Franky turned away from the amusing antics, and instead focused on the unconscious figure on the couch. Empathy hadn’t awoken, and aside from moaning and incoherent rambling, hadn’t said anything. The killer wouldn’t say that he felt sorry for the boy (He was still an annoying little shit), but he felt his situation. He, too, had been tortured by the subconscious, and apparently Empathy had gotten an extra dose.
“So.” He said to the room in general. “Any theories on why he hasn’t woken up yet?” All eyes turned to the angry little girl in the corner, who haughtily crossed her arms.
“If it wasn’t for me, you guys would be fucked.” All this earned her was glares, so she sighed. “Alright.” She walked over to the couch, and sat by Empathy’s head. “Yeah. I know why he isn’t waking up.”
She paused for an oddly long time, simply staring into space, and eventually Crash interjected. “Girl, if you don’t-”
“So the first time he was in the subconscious, when you guys banished him, I was the first one he ran into, yeah?” The brothers looked at one another, unsure whether that was a question or a statement. Fortunately, she continued. “So, we hit it off pretty well, hanging out, just doing stuff, when one day I took him into the city. That’s when they saw him.” The rooms other inhabitants had taken various seats, and were staring intently at the storyteller. Not that they particularly cared about Empathy or his predicament, but entertainment was a rare thing in the household.
Claire snapped her fingers. “It happened just like that.” She said. “One minute, Empathy and I are just chillin, hanging out like I said, and I turn around for one second.” She snapped again. “Gone.” Her eyes flickered back and forth between green stars and frightening black holes. “I searched for a long time.” She said. “A long time. The motherfuckers hid him in some cave on the ceiling of the cavern.” There was no green now, and her voice changed from a little girl’s to a haunting choir of dead voices. “Finally, I found them. I wrecked some shit, killed quite a few, and dropped the rest out of that hole.” She tilted her head towards Empathy. “And then I found him. He was… Bad. Way worse than he is now. They had been doing their thing for…” She sighed. “Well, quite a while.”
“He was delirious. He wouldn’t believe anything was real, and every once in a while he would just start screaming. Just, tear-your-ears-out, break-your-vocal-cords, terrified screaming, and he just wouldn’t stop. I had to knock him out just to get him out of that hole.” Crash, Franky, and Reggie all stared, finding themselves with a newfound respect for the limp figure on the couch. He had suffered beyond anything they had imagined, not that any of them would admit it out loud. “When I got him out, I brought him to Gabriel. I said… No, I demanded that the sorrows were punished.” She sighed, shaking her head, for the moment just a sad, young girl. “He couldn’t do anything. The sorrows were too important, too vital to the subconscious’s functionality.”
Reggie was confused. “I thought you said that you killed the sorrows?”
She smiled briefly. Apparently the memory was a sweet one. “Well yeah. I mean, sort of. It’s hard to kill anyone in the subconscious. Or anywhere in the mind, for that matter. It’s painful, but it ain't permanent.”
Reggie nodded, turning to Franky. “Which is why you didn’t kill Gabriel.”
“Anyway,” The girl said, “Empathy wasn’t going to recover, not after what they did to him. So, I talked to the guys in charge of the whole ‘Sensory Input Recollection’ thing.” This earned her three blank stares. “It’s like memory, sort of, but it includes your whole existence.” She waved a hand, trying to find a clearer way to state it. “Basically, I wiped his memory, but instead of him not remembering it, it’s like it never happened to him. Like a reset button.”
Understanding dawned on the brothers. along with a sense of foreboding. “You can do that?” Franky asked warily.
Claire shook her head. “Not to you, don’t worry. Empathy is only a minor personality, and even getting them to do that took… some convincing.”
The killer was somewhat relieved, but he was beginning to understand how much power the subconscious actually held. “So then what happened?”
“Then he was dormant. He just turned off, and we hid him where the sorrows wouldn’t find him and start over.”
Franky nodded. “That’s what Gabriel told me, that he was dormant. It makes sense that he wouldn’t want to give away the torture thing.”
Claire tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
The tall man stood, and began absently fiddling with a knife that materialized in his palm. “Well, think about. If he had told me about the sorrows, I could have put two and two together figuring that they would probably still want Empathy once he was up and about.”
Claire's scowl grew deeper and deeper. “Are you saying Gabriel knew the sorrows would take him?”
Franky didn’t answer, twirling the knife in his fingers, deep in thought, so Crash spoke up. “Well, yeah, he’d have had to. The fucker probably traded Empathy to the sorrows for their help in getting us out there, and then Franks.” The girl looked like she didn’t want to believe it, but couldn’t argue with the evidence. “What I can’t figure out,” Crash continued, “ is why those twats wanted us out there in the first place. I mean, stress? C’mon. Seems like a whole lot of trouble to go through just to tell Franks to do some yoga.”
“Unless,” Reggie said, “the whole thing was orchestrated by the sorrows. We know they have the ability to manipulate thoughts, because that is how we were led out there in the first place. It could have all been a ploy to capture Empathy.”
They were all quiet, pondering the predicament, when Franky exploded.
“This is such bullshit!” He hurled the knife at the wall, where it stuck, quivering. “I’m in a goddamn padded room, in a secure building! You’d think,” He shouted, kicking a chair across the room, “I’d be able to get some peace and fucking quiet!”
Crash stood, a confused smile on his face. “Peace and quiet? Since when is that- ? You’re the chaos dude, remember?”
Reggie stood as well, trying to calm the agitated killer. “Peace comes with stability, brother. The very thing you have struggled against for… Well, years.”
“I know!” Franky roared. “I know. It’s just...” He sighed, and slumped against a wall. “It’s been nonstop.” He said. “One thing after another, for literally years.” He began holding up fingers. “The judge didn’t pass the sentence, I get put in a straightjacket, I’m in an asylum, my doctor is a fucking…” He clenched his fists. “You guys get kidnapped, a guard might help me escape, that goddamn horse!” He threw up his hands. “Not to mention, apparently there is a culty group of assholes that live in my head who want to kill me!” He looked to his roommates, who wisely decided not to interrupt. “And it’s only been three days!” He lowered his head. “I’m just tired, guys.” He sagged to the ground, and when he looked up, the others were shocked to see the beginnings of tears in his eyes. “I have never slept.” He said. “Not once in my whole life, have I ever gone to sleep, and rested. It’s just on to the next crisis.”
Crash and Reggie looked at one another helplessly. It wasn’t that they were surprised by this outburst. They had all broken down at one point or another, but never with this much… emotion. They were both roughly shoved aside by a short, black haired little girl, who knelt in front of the killer.
“Hey dude. Look at me.” He did, and she seized his head between her hands. “I don’t like you.” She said. “I don’t like you, and I don’t agree with your life’s choices. But everyone here depends on your well being.” She yanked him to his feet, and looked up at him. “Yeah, so your life sucks. What are you going to do about it?” She held his gaze steadily, fiery green eyes challenging the morose grey ones.
Finally, Franky looked up. “Right.” He said. He walked past Claire, to the couch where Empathy lay. He stared at the boy for a moment, then turned back to Claire. “You told us that whole story, but it doesn’t explain why he isn’t waking up.”
Reggie glanced at Crash, as if to say, “Are we going to pretend that didn’t happen?” And Crash shrugged, as if to say, “I guess.”
Franky didn’t make eye contact with his brothers, instead staring at Empathy, pretending to be deep in thought. He wasn’t embarrassed, necessarily, by his outburst. He could be honest with his brothers, and he knew they wouldn’t judge him. What he was embarrassed about was that he had needed Claire’s brusque encouragement to pull himself together. Because the simple truth was, he had needed it.
Finally Claire answered. “He isn’t waking up because of the memory wipe. The torture reminded him of the torture that happened before.” She shrugged. “It’s filling a blank space in his mind. At least that’s my guess.”
Crash and Reggie rejoined the pair at the couch. “So how do we bring him back to consciousness?” The suited man asked.
Claire shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Reggie rubbed his chin. “How did he emerge from dormancy last time?”
“No clue. He just got up and walked away. He didn’t recognize me, or where he was, and somehow he ended up here.”
Franky looked at Crash. “How did he get in here, then?”
“Just opened the door. He came in, said hi, then started watching you.”
“Huh.” Again, silence came over the house, as yet another mystery eluded answer.
“Oh yeah.” Crash turned to Franky, a skeptical look on his face. “Earlier you said something about ‘That goddamned horse.’”
Franky nodded.
“When we were being tortured,” The redhead continued, “those fucking skinnies told me not to trust the horse. The hell does that mean?”
“They told me much the same.” Reggie joined in. “Don’t trust the horse, she is not one of us.”
Franky laughed, and shook his head ruefully. “Oh, you guys are gonna love this.” So, he explained to them his first meetings with Celestia, how she claimed to be part of the subconscious. And then he told them of his conversation with Gabriel, and how he said she was no part of Franky’s brain at all.
Crash blinked. “Wait, so…” He stopped, and a giggle escaped him. “Wait-” He tried again, but failed still to complete his sentence, laughing. After a moment, he wiped his eyes dramatically, and spoke again. “So you’re telling me,” He said, struggling to compose himself, “that there is a real pony princess that visits you at night?” Franky just glared at him, and the redhead lost it, doubling over in a fit of violent laughter.
“Gabriel could have been lying.” Reggie speculated.
“He could have been, but I don’t think he was.” The killer said. “He seemed genuinely afraid.”
Crash scoffed. “Afraid? The guy’s a pussy for someone who looks like a linebacker.”
“Well, not really.”
The trio turned to Claire, who was perched atop Crash’s pullup bar. “I mean, she claimed earlier to come from a completely different planet, where talking horses and dragons can do magic. That doesn’t disturb you a little?”
Crash pointed to the door. “We were just captured and tortured by a group of skeletons in a magical burning world that only exists in his head.” He said, now pointing at Franky. “I think pony princesses are a little low on our list of things to worry about.”
Claire shrugged. “Whatever.” She swung from her perch, landing on her feet. “So,” She said to Franky, “Why don’t you use some of your dream magic and make me a room so I don’t have to stare at this dumbass all the time.” Crash, the dumbass in question, smiled sweetly, and swung viciously at her head with a bat that had appeared in his hand. She nimbly dodged it, and the bat sped towards the next person in its path, who happened to be Franky.
He had time to say, “Hey, watch-” and then he was gone. The bat clanged loudly on a random exercise machine, and Claire stood, blinking, at the spot previously occupied by the black haired man.
She spun around, confused. “Where’d he go?”
Crash chuckled, and tossed his weapon into a wall, where it shattered and disappeared. “That means he woke up.” The redhead's smile faltered. “That, or the subconscious captured him. The muscled man slumped suddenly, as if the energy had gone out of him. His half-lidded eyes glowed a dull white.
“Umm…” Claire approached the apparently powered-off personality, finger outstretched as if to poke him.
Then, he straightened up, eyes regaining focus. “Nope, we’re good.” He said, wiping a bit of drool from his face. “He’s awake.”
The girl stared suspiciously at Crash. “What… did you just do?”
“I peeked in on our boy to see if he was alright. He’s fine. Awake.” Crash began loading weights onto a bar, which was racked at a bench press. “Now it’s time for me,” He said, laying down, “to get some R&R.” The girl stared at him for a bit, then turned to Reggie, who had retired to his chair by the fire. He had a book in his lap, but it was not open. For a tense moment, the only sounds were Crash’s breathing, workout equipment clanking, and the crackling of the fire as the two locked eyes.
Claire's ego demanded that she challenge this man with a smartass statement, to make herself above him, and prove that she didn’t take him seriously. But even she could feel that this quiet man in a suit deserved her respect.
“So…” She said, swinging her arms awkwardly. “I would sit, but…” She gestured around the barren side of the room. Reggie pointed a finger, and a small wooden chair appeared behind her. She nodded in thanks, and spun it around so that her legs straddled the seat, and her chin sat on the head rest.
“What do you need, child?”
She almost told him not to call her child, but refrained. “What did the monkey just do? With the eye glowing and the batteries-low face”
Reggie nodded, as if he had been expecting this question. “He peered through Frankys eyes, to see where he was and what he was doing.” The suited man stopped, and tilted his head. “No, that’s not right. He didn’t just look through his eyes. for a moment, Crash was Franky, feeling, thinking, and experiencing everything he was.”
The girl nodded, blowing black hair out of her face. “Alright. How can I do that?”
Reggie raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Why would you want to?”
Again she gestured around her. “Well, you guys ain’t exactly got an entertainment system, unless I want to watch Fat Bastard here jiggle his rolls.”
Crash scowled as he finished yet another set of presses. “Fuck off kid. I’m gorgeous.”
Claire sneered, and turned back to Reggie, who was staring at her intently. “Pardon me,” He said, “If I question your motives.”
The girl looked innocently at her nails. “Why would you do that?”
The man leaned back in his chair, and reached for a bottle of wine on the small table to his side. “Well,” He said, pouring himself a glass, “the first time we met involved you trying to strangle me.” Claire winced. She had forgotten about that. “Also, you originate from the subconscious, a place my feelings towards are less than trusting. Finally,” He said, “you have very vocally expressed your intentions for Franky’s well being, and I think his thoughts and experiences could effectively be used against him.” He didn’t mention the ability that Empathy had so recently tested, of controlling Franky’s body. No reason to put ideas in her head.
The girl examined her hands, avoiding his gaze. Crash had switched machines behind her, now pedaling furiously on a weighted bicycle.
At last, she looked up. “Alright.” She said. “About the strangling thing, I am sorry. I mean, I wasn’t thinking straight. I thought that you guys had tortured him.” She tilted her head towards the couch where Empathy lay. Reggie nodded, but said nothing. “And yeah, I’m from the subconscious, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
The suited man crossed his arms. “How so?”
“Picture us,” She said, “as different citizens of a city. No, better than that, people from different countries. The things we do are so varied, our responsibilities and… mindsets are so far removed from each other that you couldn’t expect to make the same decisions about anything.” Reggie sipped his wine. “So, that I’m from the subconscious doesn’t mean anything. I’m me, and I’m biased in my direction.”
The suited man slowly took a deep breath, let it out and said, “Alright then. That makes sense. Continue.
Claire growled. “As for Franky… Well, it’s true, I don’t like him. Actually, I hate him.” She raised her head to meet his gaze. “But I won’t make any moves against him. At least not mentally.”
Reggie made a skeptical face. “And why not?”
“Because if he dies, I die. I’m not stupid. In the subconscious, the things I did could be painful, but not fatal. If I fuck around here…” She shrugged. “Who knows what could happen.” She was silent now, and looked at Reggie as he considered her words.
He downed the rest of his glass, and set it aside. “These are good points.” He said. “And for the most part, I believe you. But…” Claire glanced down, unsure what would come next. “The final decision rests with Franky.” He grabbed an iron poker, and shifted a log in the fire. “I will speak with him, and if he agrees, then yes, I will teach you to peer into the physical world.” Noticing her downcast face, he winked. “Don’t worry. He usually listens to me.”
…
Franky gasped awake, clutching at his throat. His stomach clenched and seized as he violently coughed into the cells empty quietness. This continued for a moment, then he sat up, panting. He noticed that he was still in the center of the room, where he had sat down to meditate.
“That how you always wake up?” A voice said through the intercom.
“He nodded. “Pretty much. How’s it goin, Rose?”
The sound of a slurp. “Not bad. And yourself?”
Franky rubbed his eyes. “Better now. What time is it?”
“12:0...6. Wait, now 7.”
The tall man groaned. “Damn, I’ve been asleep a long time.”
“Twelve hours, dawg. What the hell was that about?”
“It’s… Hard to explain.” Sometimes Franky forgot how insane his double life made him seem.
“You wanna try me?”
The black haired man stood, feeling his sore legs pop after being crossed for so long. He started swinging his arms, and pacing around the cell. “Not tonight.” he said. “But I am awake now, and I think I will be for a while.” His stomach grumbled loudly. “I assume I missed dinner?”
Rose laughed. “Well, they delivered it, but that was at seven. Can’t promise it’s any good now.
He scanned the dark room until he saw a small tray near the door. On approaching it, he discovered a slice of (now stale) bread, a glass of water, a bowl of cold stew, and a couple of carrot sticks. “Fuck it.” He said, and sat down to devour his meal.
“Did I miss anything?” He asked around a mouthful of stew.
“Not much, really. You freaked… Intercom Guy way the hell out.”
Franky chuckled. “Did I? What’d he say?”
“Well, he said you started yelling at yourself, then just did one really loud scream. He thought you were having a stroke or something.” The black haired man laughed, almost choking on his food. “Then, he said you asked for some nature sounds, started meditating, and fell asleep.” Franky was cackling now, and had to give up on eating for the moment. Rose joined in, unsure exactly why she was laughing, but the sound was… contagious.
“What if i told you,” The prisoner said, “that I was just messing with him?”
There was a pause. “Were you?”
“No, but it would have been hilarious.”
Rose laughed.
For a moment they were silent, Franky eating his cold meal, Rose slurping her energy drink. Then she spoke.
“So level with me, dude.”
The killer looked up. “Sup?”
“Are you crazy? Like, mentally ill crazy, not serial killer crazy.”
Now Franky laughed. “You know, if I was someone else, that might’ve hurt my feelings.” He got up from the empty tray, and leaned against a padded wall. “Well,” He said pensively, “There are a few things wrong with that question.”
Another slurp. “Oh? Like what?”
“Firstly, isn’t it kind of a rule that crazy people don’t know that they’re crazy? I mean, ask a schizophrenic to diagnose himself, and he’ll tell you he’s perfectly sane.” Rose didn’t say anything, but he got the impression that she was nodding, so he continued. “Also, if a perfectly normal person sees thing, he’s hallucinating. But if he decides to interact with these hallucinations, despite knowing that the rest of the world can’t see them, then he’s psychotic.”
“I don’t see your point.” She said after a pause.
“What I’m getting at,” He said, “is that I see things in my head that not you, or me, or anyone else can prove are real. But you also can’t disprove them, since they only interact with me, inside my head. So, if I talk to them, and they talk to me, then that is as real as you and I.”
“Basically, it doesn’t matter if the things I see are real or not, because in the end it only affects me.” He pushed himself off the wall, walking to his cot. “So, take that however, because I might be crazy, and I might not be. It doesn’t change anything.” he climbed onto his cot, and stood on it for a moment, bouncing slightly to test its strength. Then, he climbed down and looked at the camera.
“I think I followed that.” Rose said. “And whether or not I agree, it doesn’t really matter, because like you said, no one can prove anything.” Franky nodded, glad she agreed. It was satisfying to successfully explain something to someone, and have them concur with his results. Especially when they weren’t tied to a chair. He put his hands in front of him, and started doing squats. Something he learned from Crash: If you have spare time, exercise.
“So,” The prisoner said, wiping back hair from his face. “We’ve talked a whole lot about me. What about you?”
“What about me?” She said, presumably with a smirk.
He kept squatting for a moment, then, “Where’d you grow up?”
There was a small pause. “Where was I born, or where was I raised?”
“Raised.”
“5-3-Oh, baby. Redding, California.”
He smiled. “NorCal, huh? What’s it like there?”
The sound of a crushing can. “It’s nice, in some ways.”
He stopped squatting, hands on his knees to catch his breath. “...Like how?”
“Well, I was going to give you some examples, but I can’t think of any.” She laughed. “The community’s shit, a bunch of tweakers and crazy cultish Christians. The weather’s bipolar, winter in the 20’s and 30’s, summer like the goddamn sun.” She paused now, and said in a conspiratorial tone of voice, “Tell you one thing though. NorCal has the best weed in the United States.” They both laughed, and Rose popped open another energy drink. “I love it though.” She said. “Couldn’t tell you why, but I do.”
The killer transitioned into lunging about the cell. “So how’d you end up here?”
“AACI, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, psychology has always kind of been my thing.” A slurp. “Majored in UCLA, actually.”
“Majored?” Franky looked up at the camera. “How old are you?”
She responded with what sounded like a wink. “Well, I’m afraid I’ve been instructed not to give you that information.”
“Whatever.” Franky scoffed playfully, then continued lunging. “Ok, so major in psychology, then what?”
“I was a criminal profiler, and a counselor for the police for a few years.”
“Really? What was that like?”
“It wasn’t bad. I met a lot of people, crooks and otherwise. I traveled a lot. And, back then, I was allowed to work with the prisoners face to face. Other than that,” She said, “It was a low budget version of this place.”
“So what changed?”
“AACI sent out the call. The “Great Father of Chaos” had finally been captured, and was to be held in a mental facility. All the best psyche people were sent an offer, and apparently, I was one of them.”
Father of Chaos. I’ve always liked that name. “So, you were all brought here because of me? Well, don’t I feel special.”
Rose gulped down the rest of her energy drink. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, pat yourself on the back, dickwad.” He chuckled, then came to a rest on the floor of the cell.
Wait a minute.
A criminal profiler. He thought. That’s her job. That’s why she’s here.
That means she’s been analyzing everything I say. She’s studying me. It hit him like a slug to the chest. How much of what she’s said is real? Was any of it real? Was she just trying to get information? He rolled over onto his side, almost shocked breathless by the realization. And Intercom Guy, too. He sat up stiffly, and with a growling voice said, “Hey, Rose-”
He would’ve continued, had not a pair of violet eyes caught his attention from a dark corner of the room.
“Sup dude?” Rose answered, unsuspecting.
Franky’s eyes narrowed. He would confront her later. Right now, he had some royalty to deal with. “Rose, would you mind if I talked with myself for a bit?”
“Uh… Sure. Yeah, no, that’s cool.”
“Thanks. Do you think you could turn off the camera and microphone? It might get a bit personal.”
“Sorry, can’t do that. But I can turn off my end of the mic so I don’t interupt.”
“...That’s fine.”
With a ‘click’, the intercom was off. Franky stood, stretched, and casually addressed the figure in the corner. “Howdy, Princess.”
“Franky.” The horse stepped out of the shadows, tilting her head suspiciously at the prisoner.
She looks tired. He thought. Good. “How goes things in the subconscious, your majesty?” He sneered, slowly walking closer.
Unconsciously, she took half a step back, before remembering her pride and sneering right back at him. “As well as it can, when you live in a garbage pit.”
Ignoring the jab, Franky tilted his head. “Really? No problems at all?”
She slowly shook her head, not realizing the trap that was being set. “What do you-”
“You must not have talked to Gabriel.” He cut her off. “Prince Gabriel?”
“I don’t-”
“You see, he said the subconscious is in quite the uproar right now. In fact, when I asked around, no one seemed to know where you were. Or who you were.”
Celestia’s mind was racing now. What does this mean? She thought. He thinks he can actually communicate with his subconscious? He crazier than I thought! “Well, we probably don’t live in the same area.” She said, smiling what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
The killer nodded patronizingly. “You’re right. Good point.” He turned away, facing his window. “So, Princess. What brings you here this fine night?”
Behind him, the pony let out a silent sigh of relief. She knew his suspicion wasn’t abated, but at least he wasn’t asking questions anymore. At least, not questions she couldn’t answer.
“I was hoping you could answer some questions, actually.” She watched back tense up, and his fists clench.
“Questions? Like what?”
She paused. Finally, her mission was proceeding. After so many months of watching, waiting, following, she was finally doing. “Like…” She said. “How did it all begin?” She was surprised by her own lack of subtlety, but continued. “How did you become ‘The Dark One’, ‘The Father of Chaos’?”
an answer lept into Franky’s mind, and he almost said it aloud, but instead he laughed. “Why would I tell you anything?” He said, spinning to face her. “I’m gonna be honest. I know you’re lying. I don’t know what you are, but you sure as hell aren’t a part of my brain, and I’m going to find a way to kill you when you least expect it.” That last part wasn’t supposed to have been outloud, but Franky stood firm, letting Celestia feel the rage in his eyes. It was a skill he’d always had, being able to be completely calm and relaxed except for his eyes. It scared the hell out of people.
The princess’s shock at her facade being broken quickly faded. She had been expecting it sooner or later. Posing as a figment of his imagination had only been a way to contact him initially. He stood calmly in front of her, and though he hadn’t raised his voice, she felt his psychotic rage knotting in her gut. She quenched that immediately, not letting it turn into fear. She steeled herself, glaring at the human, but with a hard smile. This, she knew how to handle. Hostility is what she had first expected from him, and when he had been complacent, she was unsure how to proceed. But now, with raw, honest anger, she was in her element.
“You go ahead and try to kill me, ape.” She said. “I’ve taken dragons, griffons, minotaurs and hydras all to the grave. I’ve lifted nations up, and I’ve brought them down. I’ve lived longer than your species has been banging rocks together to make fire.” She stepped forward, her face almost touching his. “No human is going to get the best of me.”
If one of her subjects from Equestria had seen this display, they would have been awed. And then they probably would have fainted. Her ponies were a peaceful, gentle species, and she was they’re loving and generous ruler. But they had no idea the things she had to endure, the things she had to do to give them this peace. the ponies knew nothing of the carnage of war, the screams and screeches of the dying. The utter chaos was unimaginable to them. And that was how it was going to stay. Whatever the cost, She thought.
“You will tell me anything I ask.” She said, lacing her words with a forceful magic. “If I ask you a question, you will answer it, honestly, and in detail.” She knew the spell would drain her, and she was already tired, but cast it anyway. Franky’s laughter shocked her to the bone.
“Why the fuck would I do that?” He chuckled. “You think you scare me, miss I’ve-been-alive-since-the-stone-ages?” He stuck out his index finger and put it on his forehead, mimicking a horn. “I’ve killed more mythical creatures than you!” He said in a falsetto voice. “Bow down, hairless monkey!” He doubled over in laughter
Celestia stared at him wide eyed, backing away now. Why hadn’t her spell worked? What was going on?! “Y-you will obey me!” She tried again, but the steel in her voice was gone. Suddenly, the killer straightened up, and seized her by the throat. She was still a horse, so his hand didn’t wrap all the way around, but he dug his fingers in to get at her esophagus. Weakly, she thrashed and tried to escape, but she was drained and exhausted, and Franky was riding an adrenaline high.
“I guess this is going to be my first time killing royalty.” He hissed, dancing about as she tried to kick at his legs. celestia gagged, and the prisoner laughed as he saw the first pangs of fear enter her eyes. Then, with a loud ‘Pop!’ and a flash of light, she was gone.
“Shit!” Franky shouted, jumping back.His hands had been burnt by the explosion, and he blew frantically on them.
“Hey!” The intercom clicked on. “What was that?”
The prisoner quickly hid his hands behind his back, and turned to where he thought the camera was. The flash had left him blind, and he was blinking in earnest. “What was what?”
Franky could tell she was scowling suspiciously. “What do you mean what was what? That loud pop! What’d you do?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t hear anything. Must’ve been feedback from the mic.”
Rose wasn’t convinced. “MmHm. Then why’d you say shit?”
“Um. I tripped. And I think I hurt my hands.” Franky wasn’t sure why he was covering for himself. For some reason, he didn’t want Rose to think he was crazy, even though he had just gotten into a fight with a magical horse princess.
She MmHm-ed again, but didn’t pursue the subject. “Well, she sounded like a bitch.”
The killer chuckled involuntarily. “You don’t even know.” He leaned against one of the walls, clapping his hands in front of him, then wincing as he remembered they were burnt.
Rose waited awkwardly for a response, then, “So, what’d she want?”
“What do you mean?” Franky avoided looking at the camera, and he sounded… defensive.
“Well, she had some questions for you. What were they?”
He wanted to snap back, to snarl at her that she could go fuck herself, but something held him in check. He knew that she was the only one he got to talk to, all night, every night. Also, he kind of liked her, at least as someone that got his sense of humor. I guess having Empathy in my head, unconscious or not, is having an affect.
“Yo! Earth to Schizo!”
Franky looked up at the camera, bearing a faint smile at the nickname. But then it was gone. “Why,” He said, “should I answer any of your questions?” The ice in his voice surprised Rose.
“What do you mean, why should you…?” Her tone suggested that she was squinting skeptically at him. “Talking to you is a fucking roller coaster ride.”
The prisoner glared back at the camera. “You’re right. What could I possibly be referring to? It’s not like anyone just revealed any particularly disturbing info, is it?”
“Hey, tone down the sass, boy, or I’ll tell them you’re allergic to everything but refried beans and pepto bismol.” A long slurp of some energy drink. “Are you talking about the part where I listened in on your conversation with the princess chick?”
“No!” He pushed off the wall, pacing frustratedly. “I’m talking about the part where you’re a shrink!” He stopped, and turned towards the camera, even though he wouldn’t be able to see her reaction.
“I prefer the term ‘Criminal Profiler’.” She said, somewhat jokingly.
“Whatever.” Franky waved a hand. “You’re analyzing everything I say! You probably haven’t said a real thing to me! It was all a trick to…” He struggled for the right term. “Get information.” God, I sound like a whiny teenage girl. But, truthfully, the betrayal hurt. He had known this girl for less than a week, had never even seen her, and yet… Somehow he had trusted her. Shows where listening to Empathy gets me.
There was a creaking through the intercom as Rose spun in what must have been an office chair. “Ok, first of all,” She said. “I have never once told you a lie.” Before he could interject, she finished. “I may have withheld a little bit, but no lies.” He grudgingly accepted this, gritting his teeth but saying nothing. “Second of all, there is no faking either. If I said you were a cool guy, I meant you were a cool guy, and if I asked when you became a killer, it was because I was genuinely interested.”
Now he started to protest, but she cut him off. “And while I may be writing some of our talks down, or trying to figure you out, you’ve killed more than 400 people, and are in a padded cell. Any normal conversations between you and I are impossible, and that’s your fault.”
Franky closed his mouth as the truth of that hit him. He had burnt a lot of bridges over the years, and having regular social interactions was probably one of them. he was quiet, pondering for a small while. Eventually, “Do you remember how you said you left the mic on so you could interupt me?”
“...Yeah.”
“You weren’t fucking kidding.”
They both laughed, lightly, tentatively, but the tension was broken, and the following silence was comfortable.
“So.” The black haired man plunked onto his cot. “Intercom Guy too?”
“You mean is he a shrink? Yeah, sorta. I mean, he’s mostly here to observe.” She slurped noisily, and let loose a loud belch. “Technically, so am I. It took both of us a whole ton of fighting to get these positions, and even now we aren’t allowed to talk to you in person.”
Franky looked up, puzzled. “Phelps talks to me in person.” Unfortunately.
“Yeah, well, he’s who we were fighting against. If he had it his way, it would just be you and him, all day, everyday.”
The prisoners gut actually heaved at the thought. “Well, thank god for you two, then.”
Rose chuckled. “Exactly.”
“So what’s the big deal about Phelps, then?”
“He’s the asylums senior psychiatrist, so what he says pretty much goes. He’s also pretty influential in the psychology world, with some famous essays and stuff.”
“...He reminds me of a Nazi.”
She snorted. “Yeah. A little Nazi doctor. I can see that.” They laughed together, and for the moment, Franky was enjoying himself. There was no impending disaster, all of his friends were safe, and nobody was trying to kill him. It felt, he supposed, what living in a padded cell in a fortified building was supposed to feel like. Untroubled. Finally.
…
A world away, in a dark bedroom, a loud ‘Pop!’ interrupted the night. Celestia flashed into existence, and stumbled to lean against a wall. She was gasping, and her throat aching and throbbing. What happened? She thought, eyes wide. She had tried to nudge his emotions in her favor, but… It didn’t work. Why not? She replayed the scene over in her mind, trying to ascertain what went wrong. Why did I lose my temper like that? He should not have been able to provoke me so much. Her thoughts were interrupted and she froze as the doors to her bedroom chamber burst open.
“Your Highness, are you alright?!” Two members of her royal guard stood in the doorway, looking ready to charge at any threat.
Too shocked and too tired to remember their names, she simply smiled. “Yes, of course, soldier. I’m fine.”
“We heard a bang.”
Her mind raced. “I apologize for the alarm. I tripped over my dresser.
The guards didn’t look convinced, and they noticed the bags underneath her eyes. But, she was their princess, and they could tell when they weren’t needed. “No need to apologize, your majesty. Sleep well.” They walked out cautiously, returning to their posts outside the door.
As it closed behind them, Celestia let the smile fall. She was beyond exhausted, but her heart was pounding, and she had many questions that needed answering. A sigh floated through the quiet chamber. Tonight, sleep would not be an option. She considered a revitalizing spell, but decided the corresponding crash would not be worth it. Instead, she would walk through the gardens. The crisp autumn air would wake her, and the walk would allow some meditative thought.
While world-to-world teleportation was a loud event, short range spells wielded only a flash of light. With that, she was outside, and the night washed over her. The palace gardens were a thing of wonder. Flora and Fauna from all over the world, masterfully blended together in a colorful paradise, one that attracted ponies from every corner of Equestria. She trotted down a small paved path, lit on either side by small luminescent flowers. The nocturnal creatures chittered and rustled around her, only revealing themselves as small pairs of eyes. The princess breathed in deeply, trying to steady her heart rate. She turned around, and beheld the palace itself. Also a thing of wonder, if she did say so herself. Resting on the edge of a huge cliff, it truly befit an eternal princess of the world. Massive towers and turreted walls scraped the starry sky, and beautifully wrought portcullises and palisades bordered the great white walls.
She turned her eyes to a particular tower in the west wing. Atop that tower, she knew, her sister stood, watching over the citizens of their domain, guarding their sleep and dreams. Another sigh, this one brought by remembrance of other times. To guard dreams. She thought. Thank the sun that is a freedom we have. Before, in the dark times, Luna would patrol the streets at night, with squadrons of Lunar Guards. Guards that wouldn’t always return to their families the next day. They would defend the civilians against monsters, or apprehend criminals. Ponies locked their doors at night, for fear of what lurked beyond. Guarding dreams symbolized a hard one peace. A peace that would be maintained, Celestia told herself. No matter the cost.
She kept walking, brushing aside the leaves of a reaching branch. The farther she continued down the path, the less organized the garden seemed to become. Trees grew in strange, bent directions, and flowers were loud, unmatching colors. It began to look less like a garden and more like a forest. Finally, she entered a clearing. In its center lay a simple, unassuming stone pedestal. She stood before it, quiet, unmoving. She only stared. If there had been anyone present, they would have been awed by the image. A lone princess, mane flowing on an invisible wind, wings tucked to her back, in a trance like memory. But, had they seen her eyes, they would have seen the profound sadness there.
A soft voice interrupted the scene. “A strange hour for a walk, I would think.”
Celestia smiled without looking up. “On a night too beautiful to be missed.”
There was a clopping of hooves. “With a mare to preoccupied to enjoy it.”
Celestia turned to face the speaker, still smiling. “Hello, sister.” The pony before her was a stunning sight. She was a dark, midnight blue, and she held herself with the grace of an Amazon Warrior. Or a princess. Her mane flowed with a wind as well, but instead of the bright colors her sister had, it shimmered darkly, as if a patch of the night sky followed her about. And it was fitting, for this was Luna, Eternal Princess of the Night.
The pair performed the alicorn version of a hug, crossing their horns, and wrapping their wings around one another.
“Should thou not be sleeping?” Luna asked when the parted.
Celestia sighed. “I wish. I’m just…” She stopped, and looked solemnly into the distance.
Luna had a concerned look on her face, and used a hoof to bring Celestias gaze back. “What troubles thee, sister of mine?”
The other princess smiled sadly. “I’m worried.” She said. “I’m worried for everything we’ve built.
“Ah.” Luna nodded slowly, understandingly. “I was wondering why thou would come...here.”
Together they looked at the pedestal, remembering what it stood for, why it came to be… What once stood atop it. Celestia closed her eyes. She knew what she had to do. She had known ever since she had learned what Frank’s title was. Father of Chaos. She shuddered, and her horn began to glow. If she was ever to understand chaos, to prevent it...She would have to look it in the face.