//------------------------------//
// Meetings. Lots of Meetings 
// Story: We're all a little crazy 
// by Draconaquis 
//------------------------------//

        The cell was dark, but not a scary dark. It was a warm, black, comforting blanket, that seemed to envelop ones soul. A small bit of light shown through the window, a testament to the setting moon. The light made the figure in the bed seem peaceful, like a child sleeping without a care in the world.
        
        The illusion was shattered and the quiet broken by a loud gasp. Franky began to cough and spasm in his cot. He tried to roll over, but he forgot that his arms were restrained, and he thumped onto the floor. As he tried to get his coughing under control, a voice spoke over the intercom.
“You all right in there, big guy?”
Franky stopped coughing long enough to gasp out, “Intercom Guy?”
The very feminine responded,”Nope, sorry. The dude checked out at ten. Just been me for the last couple of hours.” The convict lay panting on the padded ground.
“Who are you?” He paused. “And thank you. I’m fine.” Might as well give Empathy a chance.
        “Hey, no problem. I’m Dr. Quinzel. I guess you could say I’m your night shift.”
Franky chuckled. “Who’d you piss off to get that job?” He rolled off his stomach and sat up, looking at the camera.
“Eh, you know. It’s really not that bad. I’m more of a  night person anyway. I get to talk with some pretty chill people, too, Even if they are criminally insane. By the way, you can call me Rose.”
“Nice to meet you, Rose. I’m Franky.” The girl didn’t notice the lie, or if she did, she made no comment. The tall man tilted his head. “What time is it?”
“Umm, about three o’clock.” 
Franky groaned. “Well, that’s what I get for going to sleep at six.” 
He heard a crash from the intercom, and Rose muttered, “Shit.”
“You all right?”
“Yeah, just dropped my cup.”
Franky tilted his head. “You just leave the mic on?”
“Umm, yeah. Why?”
“Well, Intercom Guy just clicked it on when he was gonna talk.”
“How could you have a real conversation if you keep having to press a button? Conversations are instinct. You have to be able to interrupt the other person.” She said all of this in a “Well obviously” tone of voice.
“That’s-”
“Like this.” She interrupted

Franky blinked, then smiled. A genuine smile, not the scary one.
“I like you.” He said. From the intercom came the tshchk! of someone opening a soda. Or an energy drink, He rationalized.
After slurping noisily, Rose responded. “Well, I’d like to say the same, but I don’t really know anything about you. You seem pretty chill, though.”
Franky seemed stunned into silence for a moment. “What?! You don’t know anything about me?”
“Nope.”
“Not even a little bit?!”
“Mm-mm.” This was accompanied by another slurp.
“Wha- How? Don’t you watch the news?”
“Nope. It’s all a bunch of propaganda brainwash bullshit.”
Franky floundered. “But… but… Surely, you must have seen something! On the internet, newspaper, talking to a friend! Anything!” He looked at the camera. “You’ve got my file up there. I know that.”
        There was the sound of a can crushing, and a squeak as Rose spun in her office chair. “I didn't say I didn’t know what you’ve done. I said I don’t know anything about you. Who you are. You’re personality. As for your file, I haven't even touched it. I like to learn about a person from them.” She spoke in a serious tone that shut Franky up, and he sat on his bed in silence.

        Alright. Here’s where I would normally tell her to fuck off, and then kill somebody. But Empathy’s right, I can’t blow off the only people available to me now. And besides, friends are good to have. 
Franky spoke again, this time calmer, and he sounded apologetic. “Ok, just now, I sounded like an egotistical asshat, and for that I’m sorry. I’ll try not to do that again, It’s just that I don’t interact with people on a friendly basis a whole ton.”
Roses tone changed too, lighter now. “Hey dude, it’s all good. Honestly, I was messing with you just a little bit, so it wasn’t all your fault.” The two sat sat in semi-awkward silence, unsure of how to continue. It didn’t last long, however, as a topic of conversation came up soon enough.
“I. Hate. This. Jacket.” Frankys voice was filled with venom. He had just tried to yawn and stretch, failing because of the restraints.
Rose laughed. ‘What, white not your color? We’ve got black, khaki, jumpsuit orange. Hell, if you’re a good boy, they might let you wear the pink one.” Franky glared for a moment, then joined in the laughter.
When it subsided, Rose said, “You know, you actually were big news for a long time there. Everybody was scared you were going to hit their city next. But, the thing is, nobody had any facts. You were just a crazy guy going around America on a killing spree.”
Franky chuckled, and it was accompanied by his feral smile. “Did you see any of my speeches?”
“A couple. Gotta say dude, you were pretty freaky.”
“Yeah, I know. That was the point. But it got peoples attention, didn't it? And I got my point across.” Rose didn’t say anything, and Franky was afraid he had disturbed her. “Listen,” He said, “If you want me to stop talking about something, just tell me. I don’t talk to people that often, and I don’t know what’s ok to say.” 
She apparently had another energy drink, because she made a sipping noise before responding. “No, it’s good. I’ve known people who've done way less than you, and who were way bigger assholes.”
“Is that a prison joke?” 

She chuckled at that. Well, I guess Empathy is good for something. He tried to think of some way to continue the conversation, but Rose spoke first.
“Hey, do you think…” She paused.
“Think what?”
“Well, do you think you could tell me your story. I mean, I already know the basics, but I want to hear it from your perspective.”
Franky shrugged. “Sure.” He wasn't about to shy away from his past. His past defined him. It was all that made him special. And, if he did say so himself, it was a really cool story. “Alright. It all started… Where should I start?”
Rose thought for a moment. “Hmmm, How ‘bout your first kill?”
Franky laughed. “Jesus, we’d be here all week. I don’t think you want to hear my entire life.” 
He couldn’t see her, but he could tell from her voice that she was surprised. “Oh. Ok. How about when you decided to be a serial killer? Or are those two the same?”
He nodded. “Alright, that’s a good place to start. And no, they’re not the same.” The prisoner adjusted himself on his cot, and struggled with his restraints for a moment. He opened his mouth to begin, but at that very moment, there was the sound of a door opening. 
Rose whispered from the intercom, “We’ll talk later.” Her chair squeaked as she turned to greet whoever it was. “Hey dude!”
Franky recognized the male voice that responded. “Hey Rose. How’s it goin’?
Franky jumped up and tried to wave at the camera. Instead he just smiled. “Hey Intercom Guy!”
“Ah! Um. Hello Mr. Cor- um, Franky. Hi.”
Rose and the prisoner chuckled, and then she said, “Why you here so early? Aren’t you supposed to come in at six?”
Intercom Guy yawned. “Yeah. But I couldn’t sleep. I figured I would come in, hang out, and maybe get some work done. Also, I know you’ve got those energy drinks.”
Rose said, “Here,” and presumably tossed him an energy drink.

After a few minutes, everyone had settled back down, or at least it sounded like they had. 
After another moment of silence. Franky  asked, “Um, what time is it now?”
“About four o’clock.”
He groaned, resting his head on the padded cell wall. “And what time does that doctor dude come?”
Rose started shuffling through papers, supposedly looking for a schedule. “Let’s see. Who you got?”
“Dr…. Phelps, I think.”
“Aha! Okay-” Rose was interrupted by Intercom Guy.
“Wait! Are you sure you should tell him… I mean, he isn’t supposed to be told anything! What if he… You know…”
Franky barked a laugh. “What? Escape? Kill everyone?” 
Intercom Guy yelped in surprise, apparently unaware that he could be heard. “You just leave the mic on?!” 
He must have reached to turn it off, because there was a smack, like someone slapping a hand, and Rose said, “Don’t touch my shit.” Intercom Guy shut up, and Rose continued. “As I was saying… Dr. Phelps is scheduled to visit you at 8:30. So, what do you wanna do for four hours?”
Franky sighed, and did a backflip off his cot, landing on his knees. “Can you guys send me some food?”
Intercom Guy, who had finished sulking, spoke up. “Actually, yeah, we can. Solitary confinement was just for yesterday, when we were still figuring things out.”
“Sweet! Can I make an order?”
“No, sorry dude.” Rose said. “Best we can do is breakfast.”
Frank waited.
“...Which is?”
“Pancakes, bacon, and a muffin. Also, a banana.” 
Well shit, That actually sounds awesome. “Alright.” He said.
“Cool. We’ll call it down.” Not wanting boredom to settle in, the prisoner started doing curl ups. After a couple sets, a feminine voice came from the intercom. “He prefers sit ups to any other exercise, ‘cause he gets to lay down after every one.” She snickered at her own joke.
Franky frowned up at the camera. “That wasn’t even-” Then he snickered as well. They chuckled, then laughed, then howled. In the end, Franky was on the floor, gasping, and Rose sounded like she was crying. The problem was, every time one of them came close to regaining control, the other would laugh, setting them both off again. 
Intercom Guy muttered under his breath, something about “-completely unprofessional. Hopped on energy drinks.”

When someone  arrived with his breakfast, a male voice asked Franky to step away from the door. He scooched over to the corner, and one of the pads on his door swung inward. a hand poked through, carrying a tray, and it was set down on the floor. Before it swung shut, Franky caught a glimpse of a familiar face. “Hey! Guard Guy!” The guard didn’t respond, and the door swung closed with a “whumph”. The prisoner approached his meal, and was practically drooling when he encountered a problem. “Umm, guys? How the fuck am I supposed to eat this?” After some deliberation, he settled on a strange cat like technique of eating, sitting on his knees and lapping up the food. To say the least, it was messy. Rose snickered through the intercom, trying and failing to control herself. Franky ignored her, smacking his lips loudly. When the ordeal was over, he sat up, and on the floor was a perfectly shining tray. “I would flip you off, but I’m still wearing this.” He shrugged his shoulders. Intercom Guy and Rose applauded lightly, and laughed. Franky bowed as well as he could, considering his arms were bound and he was on his knees. And so, the morning crept slowly by, with Rose, Franky, and Intercom Guy. Some would describe it as hanging out, and no outsider would be able to tell that they had just met. They were comfortable with each other, for reasons unknown. of course, Intercom Guy was still scared to death, and stuck to policy exactly. Whenever Rose said something possibly compromising, he grew nervous, reminding her about protocol. He was generally ignored. At six o’clock, Rose checked out. 
“Alright. I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Play nice.”
“Bye Rose.”
“See ya.”

And so, for two and a half hours, Intercom Guy and Franky traded jokes, ones that couldn’t have been spoken with Rose present. Finally, eight o’clock rolled around, and the two guards came to escort Franky to his meeting with Dr. Phelps. This meant another long walk down the hallways, which Franky planned to take full advantage of.
“Hey guys!” Neither guard responded. “Oh, are we doing this again? You can talk to me, you know. Seriously, I feel like I’m a prisoner.” He giggled, and the guards rolled their eyes. “In all seriousness though, I know you guys are my escorts, but you are also my body guards.”
The guard on his right looked at him skeptically. “ I’m probably going to regret this, but what are you talking about?”
Franky looked surprised. “Well, your job is basically to get me from place to place safely, right?”
The guard on his left scoffed. “No. Our job is to get you from place to place, without being a danger to anybody. We are fully authorized to shoot you if we feel it necessary.”
“Well, yeah, but what if I’m in danger?”
Now the guards looked surprised. “Why the hell would you be in danger?”
Franky gave them a look that said, “Really?” “It’s not exactly a secret where I am.” He said. “I made a lot of enemies when I was in power. What if an angry mob of my victims family members decide to storm the place?” 
It was now that the guards were reminded that Franky, although smiling and cheerful, was also a nationwide serial killer. Technically, they weren't supposed to talk to him at all, but since that rule was already out the window, they decided to voice their disgust for him. “You were never in power.” One sneered. “You killed for attention. You were a fucking diva. A macabre popstar.”
Franky’s sneer was just as menacing. “You know what power is, guard guy? Power, is the ability to control. Ever see one of my rallys? Watch one of my speeches? Thousands of people showed up to those. And did exactly what I told them to. A popstar raises his arm and the crowd roars. I lifted my arm and the crowd destroyed a fucking city. How’s that for power?” 
The guard held his ground, matching Franky’s stare evenly, until he noticed his surroundings. The two had stopped in the middle of the hallway for their confrontation, and had attracted a gaggle of spectators. The other guard was trying to urge them on, looking around nervously. The rest of the walk was in silence.

Franky was left inside a small, brightly lit room with one guard. He sat in one of two chairs on either side of a small table. He amused himself by staring creepily at the guard, who wouldn’t meet his gaze. He didn’t have to for long, however, as the second guard, the ballzy one, soon returned with Dr, Phelps. To a normal person, he would have been short. To Franky, he was tiny. He was pudgy, balding, and sported a pair of square rimmed glasses on his thick nose. He looked like a high school science teacher. For some reason, Franky immediately hated him. 
The small man lifted his clipboard. “So… Tyler Cordova.”
The prisoners eyes narrowed, but his smile remained. “Call me Franky.” He hissed.
Dr. Phelps smiled. “Of course.” The patronizing little smile mocked Franky from the Doctors fat red face. “So. Franky. Do you know why you are here?”
The response was dripping with venom. “No, why don’t you enlighten me?”
The fat man pulled out the chair across the table, and took a seat. The guards assumed places on either side of him. “You are here,” He said with a sickening chuckle, “to be studied. You are to be analyzed, interviewed, examined and observed.” he said these things like they gave him wet dreams. “We are going to find out everything about you, and make sure nothing like you ever happens again.” 
The smug little smile made Franky want to rip it off. Oh yeah. He thought. This guy is going to die. Dr. Phelps prattled on about something or other, incarceration for life blah blah blah. Franky, meanwhile, contemplated his situation. Well, I can’t kill him now. This goddamned strait jacket! But, even if I could, I suppose I should wait a few days. If I tried right now, the guards would just shoot me. The fat lips on the doctors face bobbed up and down, dancing a perverted little dance. Containment and prisoner treatment policies yada yada yada. Ok. That’s one problem I definitely need to solve. How do I convince him to take off this  jacket? Franky waited until Phelps took a breath and then asked, “Hey, could you take off this jacket?”
The Doctor blinked in surprise, then whipped out his patronizing little clam of a smile. “Why would I do that? How do I know that you wouldn’t try to kill me?”
Franky tilted his head towards the guards. “They would pump me full of lead before I even cleared the table. And besides, I have no reason to kill you.” Bullshit.
The doctor shook his head, and chuckled a chuckle that almost made Franky pop a blood vessel. “You attempted suicide by turning yourself into the police. You even pleaded guilty to all charges trying to get the death sentence. You might try to kill me, and then welcome the bullets.”

A decision was made then, in the depths of the prisoners mind. He would wait. Oh, he would wait years if he had to. But in the end, this man would die by his hands. “I promise,” Franky said slowly, “not to kill you today.”
The doctor tilted his head to the other side. “Not today?”
Franky nodded. “That’s the best you’re going to get.” The fat man thought for a moment, then he, too, nodded, and stood, approaching the other end of the table.
“Wait! What are you doing?” one of the guards reached out to stop Phelps.
The fat man slapped his hand away. “Calm down. He promised.” The guard looked at him like he was fucking stupid. Before he say just how fucking stupid, the doctor continued. “This man,” He said, “never breaks a promise, no matter how big or small. Even if it inconveniences him greatly, it will be kept.” Franky nodded along to this. Phelps kept talking. “Once, he promised the police of Phoenix, Arizona, that he would be at a specific place, at a specific time. The police had time to prepare an ambush, snipers,entire squadrons of armed officers, and  he,” the doctor pointed, “knew it. And still he came.”
“I also escaped.” Franky chimed in. The fat man turned to him, and produced a small key ring from his coat pocket. Right then, Franky forgot all about his hatred for the small doctor. right then, the doctor possessed something that meant everything to Franky. Those keys. All he could think about was how sore his arms were, and how ready he was to be able to move them again. He was a very active person, and being restrained at all was aggravating. The jacket was torture.

The doctor flipped through the keys with an agonizing slowness.By the time he had the  correct key in his hand, and approached the bound prisoner, Franky was practically bouncing with excitement. Now, standing up, the doctor would have had to crane his neck to meet Franky’s eyes, but sitting down they were at eye level. Like a hyena watching a bone being waved in it’s face, the black haired killer almost hurt his neck following the short psychologist around to the back of his chair. He felt a key slip into the clasp at the back of his neck, and the resounding click was the most beautiful sound he had heard in days. Now the doctor was undoing all kinds of straps and buckles, unwrapping Franky like a mummy. Unable to contain his excitement any longer, the prisoner began to laugh. It started as a low, menacing chuckle, and evolved into a loud, maniacal laughter that caused the guards to level their guns at him with uneasy expressions. As the last strap was undone, the oppressive jacket fell off, and the doctor stepped away. Franky stood, slowly, his arms still crossed over his chest. Suddenly, one arm shot out, making both guards jump, and almost fire at him. The cracks and pops emanating from his limbs (both now), sounded like someone was breaking dry branches for firewood. His joints were stiff and sore, but it felt so good to be free. He cracked every knuckle he had, and wiggled his fingers in a spidery motion. 
“Hey! What are you doing?” The guards were on high alert, and any movement of Franky's was tracked by two gun barrels. He had ducked beneath the table, but they relaxed slightly when they saw he was only doing pushups. The doctor, who had been scribbling on his notepad, gave them a look that said they were being paranoid. The guards were, however, each fully aware that Phelps had been promised safety, while they had no such thing. 

A buzzing sound filled the room, and Dr. Phelps took a pager from his pocket. Tucking away his pencil and notepad, he said, “Mr. Cordova, as enlightening as this has been, I have matters to attend to.”
Franky’s head popped up from beneath the table. “Leaving so soon? Doctor, I’m hurt.” So I’m not his only patient. Good to know. The short, fat, annoying, brain doctor reached for the door, then turned and regarded Franky. And as excited as he was, staring into the doctors eyes brought an angry coldness to his heart.
“These men will escort you back to your cell.” Phelps said. “We will meet again tomorrow.” The guards shared a despairing glance, and Dr. Phelps exited the room. Franky flashed his sharper than normal teeth, and stood. “Well, gentlemen. Let us vacate the premises, hmm?” He tried to walk out after the doctor, but the guards stopped him. One held out a pair of handcuffs. Franky sighed. “I don’t suppose those are for him.” This was accompanied by a glance towards the other guard. 

Well, this isn’t quite as bad. Franky thought. The guard behind him had a hand on his shoulder, and the one in front kept looking back at him. Probably just to check if I’m ok. The prisoner was about to do what he did best, and break the silence, when the trio rounded a corner in the hallway. It seemed as if news of Franky’s exit from his cell had spread, and now a rather large group of nurses, security, and other miscellaneous personnel  had gathered in front of his cell door. When they spotted the killer and his escorts, they silently parted, creating a straight path to the door. Every eye was on franky. Which was perfect. He loved attention. He deliberately slowed his pace, meeting each gaze as he passed. About half of the gathering looked down when he passed them, averting their eyes from his piercing black diamonds. And of the other half, most of their faces only had a mild distaste, a morbid curiosity. And a little fear. But there were others still. These met his eyes with a fierce determined hate. He felt their fire deep in his gut, as if they were trying to burn holes in him. One lady eyed the guards’ guns, as if contemplating jumping out and killing Franky herself. Family members. He rationalized. They lost someone.

One man stood out beyond the others. He was unassuming, with forgettable brown hair, and a stern yet unimposing face.He was dressed in the black uniform of the asylum’s security. As Franky passed, they stared at one another, and he saw no anger in that stare. No hate. Instead, he saw respect, like that a soldier would give his commanding officer. He puzzled over this, and when his guards had opened the door, he turned back to look at the small crowd. One guard removed his handcuffs, and once they were off, started to shut the door. Right before the door swung shut, so subtly that Franky almost didn’t catch it, he made made an “X” over his chest. And then he was gone. There was a soft boom, and the prisoner was alone in his cell.

He didn’t move for a long time, simply staring at the wall in front of him. Cross my heart. The mans face flashed in his head. Hope to die. Images of a cheering crowd, Franky laughing on stage. Cross my heart. The man was a brother. A Child of Chaos. Franky knew his supporters would come for him, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon!The killer shook his black mane, and walked to his inadequately small cot. They had moved so fast! Or, maybe, the security guard had always worked here, and it was a coincidence that he was sent to this particular asylum. His eyes widened. Maybe he wasn’t a brother at all, and the police had simply planted someone for Franky to trust! He sighed. I can’t figure this out on my own. Reggie, Crash? What do you guys think? No response came, so he tried again. Hey. Reg, Crash. You guys there? What about Empathy? What’s going on with the little dickpickle? Still, no response came. He shrugged. It wasn’t unusual for his mental companions to stop monitoring his actions. At one point, Reggie had asked Franky to flip through every page of a book. He didn’t have to read it, just see it. After that, Reggie could access it at any time. Many long hours had been spent in libraries, flipping through books a page at a time so that Reggie could read. Crash, on the other hand, was less of an intellectual. One puzzle piece of the emotions that created Crash was Franky’s frustration. His anger, his rage. All of it cumulated and swelled in Crash, and without some sort of outlet, he exploded. Or, other people did. So, whenever Franky was dreaming, Crash made himself an arsenal of weapons, and and went balls-out crazy on the monsters of Franky’s subconscious. Or he just beat the ever living shit out of a punching bag hanging from the ceiling at their house. So, the absence of the prisoners friends wasn’t unusual, just… Lonely.

Franky sighed again. He closed his eyes and leaned against the padded wall. There was no way he could fall asleep, but  he could at least relax. Without looking up, he said, “Intercom Guy, is there a way I could get some food or something?” After waiting a moment, he realized there would be no reply. He must be on break or something. A groan escaped the prisoners lips. Today was going to be boring. He opened his eyes and sat up, intent on exercising his arms some more. A strange cry left his mouth, and it sounded a little like, “Ogodwatthefuk!” This outburst was due to the fact that, alone in his cell, steel on one side, pads on the other, he had come face to face with a big pair of purple eyes.