//------------------------------//
// The Hallucination 
// Story: We're all a little crazy 
// by Draconaquis 
//------------------------------//

	If Intercom Guy had decided, at that moment, to return to the monitor, he would have seen Franky, standing on his cot, apparently trying to climb his wall backwards. Also, he appeared to be talking to himself. “You’re not real! Not real! You’re a hallucination!’
Celestia shook her head. “What are you talking about? I told you last night-”
“In a dream! In my head! You’re a manifestation of my subconscious!” Franky was now circling around her, edging towards the door. He knew they wouldn’t let him out, but he might be able to get someones attention. If someone saw that Franky was alone in his cell, then his subconscious would have to give up on playing real. Celestia shook her head again. So this is why he had let his guard down around her last night. But how to convince him she was real? She was only visible to those she selected, and she wanted to make as little an impact on this world as possible. She watched the human pound on the door, but then realize it made no sound and turn back to her. Suddenly, she had an epiphany. He would probably trust her more if he thought she was his subconscious. This was a rather large misunderstanding on her part. 
“You’re right.” She said. Franky stopped waving frantically at the camera, and turned to stare at the princess.
“You’re right.” She repeated. “I wasn’t going to tell you, and it would have been easier if I hadn’t, but you would have figured it out anyway.”
The prisoners eyes narrowed. “What do you want?” He growled. On the inside however, he wasn’t angry. He was frantic. Why isn’t she gone? He thought. How can she tell me this? If she… They… It can manipulate my sight, can it control my other senses? Will it take over my body? Franky reasoned that if Empathy could, his subconscious probably could as well.

Celestia smiled what she thought was a calming smile. “I just want to talk. To find some answers.” 
His head was buzzing. How had the whiteness created a thinking being? His subconscious had always been wild, more animal than human. All those personalities. He thought. The ones that couldn’t hold themselves together. Is this where they went? “Answers about what?” He replied. Also, why the fuck is she a pony? And a girl!
Celestia’s smile faded into a cold face of mildly concealed disgust. Finally, She thought, To business. “Answers about why.” She took a step towards him. “Answers about why you did what you did, and how it could have been prevented.”
Franky glared suspiciously. “You live in my head. You have all of these answers. Why do you need me?” Are they trying to force me into some kind of self reflection? Trying to make me feel guilty?
        The princess cursed internally. Her facade was slipping, and she hadn’t learned anything yet. But she would maintain the mask of being a hallucination for as long as she could, because once it fell, the human would have no choice but to believe she was real. “Subconscious,” She said , “means that there is little or no communication between you and us when you think or act.” She thought the ‘Us’ was a nice touch. “We,” She continued, “receive memories of events as you perceived them. Of course they’re justified in your eyes.” Celestia hoped she wasn’t coming across too strong. If she made too good a case for being his subconscious, he would never believe her when she said she actually was a princess from a far off magical land.
        “Is that so?” Franky advanced towards her now. “Justified is an interesting choice of wording. What about every time you seized me in a dream?. Held me down and tortured me with a memory. So that was justified?”
        It occurred to Celestia now that she had misjudged the relationship between the killer and his mind. To her credit, however, she did not back down. She had faced a few intimidating creatures in her day, and this two legged weaponless monster had nothing on, say, an enraged dragon. But still, she  was terrified, and for good reason. When she had arrived on this world, she was seeking the most horrible, mindlessly evil human in existence. She searched for months, and saw many horrifying acts committed by horrible people. But there was nothing that didn’t have it’s parallel in her world. Until one day, she found Franky.



…



Celestia sighed wearily. Her search had taken her all over this dreadful world. Back in Equestria, ponies were beginning to wonder where she went at night, and why she seemed more and more exhausted. That’s what this is. She thought. Exhausting, depressing… And endless. So far, her conclusion was that humans were evil by nature, and only civilized by accident. Give a human any amount of power or  freedom, and they will abuse it for their own benefit. Of course, she remembered when her own world had been the same. Fearful. Wild. Corrupted. Only through millennia of hard work had she been able to create the perfect kingdom of Equestria. Her ponies, her children, hardly knew the meaning of words like spite, hate or greed. And yet, she knew that even one evil influence, one corrupted leader, could destroy everything she had worked for. And that was what she was here to prevent.

The princess ruffled her wings and looked around. She remembered from a world map that she was on the outskirts of a city called Shaoyang, in a country called China. But, it wasn’t what one would expect from a densely populated city in a world superpower. Only a few miles from the last skyscraper, here she was, in a small, rural wetland, where farmers tended their rice paddies to provide for their families. The fields were a vibrant green that stretched all the way to the sky, and while the sky was overcast, it was a soothing grey, one that promised alight shower, not a storm. There were few buildings, and of the few, none were larger than a shack. The people made due with what they had, so the houses were made of sheet metal, fishing net and bamboo. Even so, poverty did not dampen the spirits of the poor. Instead, it freed them, allowing them to live simpler, happier lives. It surprised Celestia to find such peaceful communities, ones that reminded her of her homeland, amidst such a violent species. 

She followed a small creek into the center of the town. There, patched together and put on stilts to keep it out of the water, was a tavern, that served as the local bar. If there was to be any gossip in this area, it would be here. She climbed up the three boards that were steps, and entered the tavern. For being so small, it was bustling with activity. It consisted of one room, that was about twenty five feet long, and with a roof barely seven feet high. While most humans would have found this uncomfortable, it didn’t bother Celestia at all, and the Chinese were almost as short as her. Workers and farmers milled around her, oblivious to her presence. Some even walked directly through her. She selected one unoccupied corner of the room, slowly trotted over to it, and lay down. Against the back wall, the one that faced the door, there was a counter, from behind which a little old man served two drinks; water and rice wine. He looked like a harsh word would knock him over, but his eyes were kindly and strong. On his counter sat an old, grimy version of the device called a television, playing the local news from Shaoyang. Celestia nestled closer to the bar, yawned, and waited.

She heard every word that passed between the old bartender and each customer that came in for a drink. Fortunately, the dialect of the area was close enough to Mandarin(which she had taught herself) that she could understand it. Unfortunately, not a single word was said about an evil human. The princess had lain there for almost two hours, and all that had been talked about was how well the paddies were coming along, or whose son was moving to the city, or whose daughter had run away with who. Celestia yawned again. If she wanted to get any sleep at all, she would need to depart for Equestria soon. The sun was almost setting in China, which meant in her world, it would almost be rising.  Sluggishly, she stood, and was about to leave when something caught her eye. On the small television screen, there stood a tall man. He was on a stage, in the center of a large crowd of people, shouting gleefully in a language she did not know. He had wild, shoulder length black hair, and fiery eyes that seemed to… awaken, like a particularly strong alcohol. In front of the man, another human in a suit was on the stage, tied to a chair with a sack over his head. The black haired man raised a fist into the air, and let loose a roar. The crowd joined in, but instead of overlapping his voice, they only made it louder. Celestia knew that feeling, to an extent, thanks to subjects that revered her as a god. But this was something different. The crowd had a fire in it, but not one that was cozy or warm. They had a fire like his eyes. 

He tore the sack off the captives head, revealing a man with brown hair. He looked terrified, but had a gag  in his mouth. That black haired man said something else in a low, menacing voice, then threw his head back and laughed, and the crowd with him. Now, Celestia didn’t notice, but almost all of the patrons of the bar were watching the broadcast. But when a Chinese news anchor interrupted to say in Mandarin, “Sensitive viewers are warned to turn away”, every single person in the tavern turned to stare at the small T.V.  With a flourish, the black haired man produced a knife from behind his back, and gently traced the other man’s cheek with it. Then, he  bent down, and whispered something into the prisoners ear that the camera didn’t pick up. And he plunged the knife into his neck. The tall one began to saw, and the crowd erupted into a frenzy of elated screams and laughter. 
They’re monsters. The princess thought. Still she watched. But she did not watch what the killers hands did, as he worked to sever the neck. No, she was watching his face. His blood splattered face, excitedly grinning as he cut through skin, muscle and bone. Finally, he raised his hand, bearing a gruesome trophy. With another laugh, he made an “X” over his chest, and the screen cut to a somber looking Chinese women, who  identified the man as the leader of The Children of Chaos. The name struck a chord in Celestia’s heart, one that made her shiver. She knew that if a colossal evil were ever to manifest itself in her world, this would be it. Now fully awake, she strode out of the tavern. Glancing around to make sure there were no wandering farmers, she stopped next to the creek. Closing her eyes, the princess cast a spell. Her horn began to glow, and a warmth enveloped her body. It soon turned into an uncomfortable heat, and with a flash of light, it was over.

The bartender took a cloth from a barrel of water from behind the counter. After ringing it out, he began to wash the bar, pushing aside drinks and moving customers elbows. He did not glance at the television. News of the Dark One had ceased to shock him at all. Why should it concern him? A great evil had risen, yes, but not in Shaoyang. Not even in China. He tossed the cloth back into the bucket, and went about collecting empty glasses. Soon, he would close the bar, shoo everyone out, and return home, where his wife would have dinner prepared. And his mind would have been untroubled by anything, completely at peace, had not a flash of white caught his eye. The bartender watched as a figure in a flowing dress clumsily made it’s way up the steps of his tavern. A hush fell over the bar as a beautiful woman with a regal presence entered. She stood out in bright contrast to the dirty workers; white clothing to brown and black, pale skin to tan and yellow. Her hair flowed well past her shoulders, and river of deep, deep black. She almost stumbled, and the bartender saw that she was completely barefoot. Once she regained her posture, she made her way to the bar with a childish gracefulness, almost as if she was unsure how to use her legs. 

The white lady sat at a stool, and smiled at the old man. He bowed, then smiled back. 
“Can you help me?” She asked in Mandarin, her voice dripping with a hypnotic charm that made the bartender feel… safe. 
“Of course.” he said, bowing again. “I will do anything in my power to aid you.” Anyone close enough to hear her voice was enchanted by it, and due to the size of the tavern, that meant everyone. If anyone hadn’t been under her spell (for that is what it was), they might have noticed the golden clasp around her neck, or the small circlet, also gold, that sat upon her head. As it was, only one patron of the bar was even able to speak, and he was the bartender. 
The white lady gestured towards the T.V., where the news report was still playing. “That man.” She said. “Who is he?”
The old chinese workers eyes widened a little. “He is the Dark One.” He said, not fearfully, but respectfully.
The longhaired newcomer chuckled. “The Dark One. Why is he called that?”
The bartender responded slowly. “His name is from the-” He struggled for the correct word in Mandarin. “The growing.” He pointed at his stomach, then spread his hands outward, to show that whatever was in his gut was spreading. “The dark growing.” He said. “From his eyes.”
The white lady nodded. She understood. “I have one more question,” She said, leaning in close, “and this one is very important.” The bartender nodded frantically, and also leaned in to hear her words. “Where can I find him?”
The old man blinked. “In America.” He said immediately. 
She raised her eyebrows. “America. I’ve heard of it.” She stood, and bowed to the bartender. “Thank you.” She said, and clumsily turned around. And although she nearly stumbled several times on her way out, everyone in the bar would later agree that she was the most graceful creature they had ever seen. Unbeknownst to her, she had already become something of a legend. Many provincial towns in the poorest parts of China had already been visited by the White Lady, who simply appeared, then disappeared. So of course, this would be monumental news. The White Lady, traveling to America to defeat the Dark one.
“Would she kill him?” Some speculated.
“No.” Said the bartender, who had gazed into her eyes, and believed he saw kindness there. “She will change him. Suddenly, he will stop leading his Children, and he will be reformed.”

While talk like this was ensuing, a small boy, named Mingao, snuck out of the bar. He had decided to follow the White Lady, to see where she went next. Honestly, this was nothing more than a childish curiosity on his part, with no more thought given to it than if he was chasing a cat.  Silently. In the middle of the night. At first, it seemed as if she was walking towards the city, as she followed the creek out of the small town. But suddenly, the White Lady and her young shadow turned away from the stream, and into a field. Mingao was confused. Where was she going? This led nowhere. The lady looked around, and the boy flattened his body to the ground. She seemed satisfied that there was no one around and… vanished. Mingao blinked his eyes. He scrambled to the spot where she had been standing seconds before. Other than a faint scent of smoke, there was no sign that the lady had ever existed in the first place. The boy stood, and turned slowly in a circle. As the moon shone down on him in the middle of a rice paddy field, he realized; nobody would ever believe him.

Celestia appeared in an elegantly furnished room, and collapsed onto the massive bed in it’s center. Her human guise melted away, leaving a regal white pony. Exhausted to the point of passing out, she held onto consciousness long enough to see shadows moving under her door. She almost sobbed. In an hour or so, she would be required to perform the sun raising ceremony, and that would give way to a long day of local politics. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but it was accompanied by a grimly satisfied smile. As Celestia drifted into a grateful sleep, her last thought was, Finally. I’ve found him.



…



Franky glared at the horse in front of him. She seemed to have shut down, and her eyes gazed, unfocused, at a corner of his cell. Suddenly, he rushed forward, and seized her by the throat. “Well?” He hissed into her ear. She gasped, and kicked Franky with a front hoof. He hopped back, rubbing his knee. “Welcome back, princess.” He muttered.
Celestia seemed to be in shock. I must need sleep worse than I thought! I let my guard down around a murderer! And a human, no less! She shook herself from her thoughts. “I need to leave.” She splurted, the iron in her voice not quite as commanding as she had meant it to be. Franky, taking her sudden departure as a victory on his part, replied mockingly.
“Why’s that darling? Life outside my head a little too real for you?” Not his best material, but he normally had Crash to help with such things, and at the moment, the red head wasn’t taking any calls. 
Celestia scowled. “This isn’t over. I will be back.”
The killer winked. “I’m not going anywhere.” He said jauntily. Her scowl deepened, but instead of responding, she vanished. 

The prisoner stood still for a moment, thinking vulgar messages at his subconscious, hoping they reached the annoying white horse. Then, he slumped onto the cot, his back against the padded wall. 
“Intercom Guy?” He asked.
“Yes Franky?”
The man in the cell sighed. Now he shows up. “You been on break?”
“Yes. Do you need anything?
Franky thought for a moment. “Two things. Firstly, what time is it?”
“Ten o’clock. Or, 10:02.”
Franky nodded. So his break ends at ten. Good to know.
“And the other thing?”
“Yeah, that.” The prisoner said. “Does this camera record what it monitors? Can you watch it over again?”
Intercom Guy sounded suspicious. “I don’t know if I can give you that information.” He said slowly. 
Franky held up a hand. “Look, you don’t have to tell me. I just want you to rewind about… three minutes ago, and tell me if you see anything… weird.”
There was a long silence, during which Intercom Guy apparently decided the prisoners motives were innocent, becauses eventually he spoke. “Ok.” He said. “There is something weird.”
Franky, who had been looking rather downcast, perked up instantly. “Really? What is it?”
“At about 9:50, you started yelling at yourself.”
Franky’s face went blank. “Ok. Thanks.” He leaned against the wall again, and sighed dejectedly. So it was a hallucination. Which meant she was from his subconscious. What scared him the most about that was that she was able to appear at all. Franky knew from his adventures in the white that his subconscious was a malicious, clever, and decidedly hostile creature. If it was able to manipulate his sight, it was probably able to control his other senses as well, and that could be… disastrous, to say the least. He called in his thoughts for Reginald, who was definitely the superior intellect. Reggie? I’m at a loss here buddy. Honestly, the prisoner was floundering to keep his sanity. Between the horse-bitch, his possibly newfound ally in the hospital guard, and fact that he was trapped in a padded cell for the rest of  his foreseeable life, Franky was considerably stressed. So, when his friend and advisor did not answer, he slipped into a momentary lapse of control. 

Later, the prisoner would say that he was releasing pent up frustration, one hundred percent voluntarily. What actually was happening was Franky screaming at the top of his lungs in a long, continuous howl. Speaking in front of crowds had given him amazing volume, and a stint as a soul singer meant that he could maintain a note for a long, long time. Finally, his breath ran out, and Intercom Guy could be heard over the speaker.
“-having a stroke? I’m sending in medical orderlies!”
Franky blinked a few times and gasped. When he got his breath, he said, “No! No. That won’t be necessary.”
There was a pause, and Intercom Guy was reminded that his charge was clinically insane. “Are you alright?” He asked cautiously.
“I’m fine. Just… venting.” And technically, that was true. Thanks to his outburst, Franky was able to approach his thoughts rationally, one at  time. 
Alright. He stood, and began to pace his cell. Let’s start with the easy one. The prisoner arrived at a wall and turned around. The question, really, is simple. Whether or not to trust him. “Well,” He thought, “If he is a Child of Chaos, then I can contact him and make a plan.” A plan for what? He interjected. Escape? “Yes, to escape. I’m only here because my suicide attempt… failed. Badly.” Franky spun on his heel, and began another trip across the cell. “And besides,” He continued. “The urge to die via death sentence has passed. I Kind of want to live now.” He waved a hand. “And I can’t do that in here.” The tall man stopped in the middle of his cell, got on his stomach, and started doing pushups. So, He thought, I’ll maintain contact with the guard. If he is trustworthy, I’ll make a plan. If he’s not… Well, I’ll probably make a plan anyway, to throw him off. Franky rolled onto his back and pumped a fist into the air. Ha! I can figure things out on my own! Score one for thinking for myself! He realized that he was probably going to run the plan by Reginald later on, but he didn’t let that thought rain on his parade.  He pushed himself onto his feet. 

“Intercom Guy?”
“Yes Franky?”
“Can I get some food?”
The intercom crackled, and let out a garbled noise like someone speaking underwater.
The prisoner blinked. “I missed that, could you say it again?”
The intercom responded normally. “Yeah, I said that you will have food delivered to your cell at three different intervals.”
Franky thought for a moment. “This morning you just ordered food for me.”
Presumably, Intercom Guy nodded. “Yes, but that was before your schedule had been finalized. While you were meeting with Dr. Phelps it was delivered to my office.”
The prisoner looked up. “You have an office? That’s cool, describe it to me!”
The other man sounded uncomfortable. “I cannot divulge any information about the structure of this building.”
A black head of hair nodded. “Nothing on names or buildings. Got it. Can you tell me anything about my schedule?”
“Actually, I can”
“Awesome. What do I have planned for today?”
“Well, nothing really. At 12:00 you will receive a lunch, and at 7:00 a dinner. That’s about it.”
Franky was skeptical. “As fit as I am, sitting in a cell doing nothing but eating doesn’t sound healthy. Especially not for the rest of my life.”
“Well, that’s just until you’ve undergone psychoanalysis. Once it’s determined that you are in a nonthreatening mental state, you will have access to things like the cafeteria and the gym.”
The cells denizen seemed considerably more interested. “What, do you mean with other inmates?”
“The preferred term is ‘patients’.” Said Intercom Guy.
The prisoner rolled his eyes. “This is a place criminals go to be punished or rehabilitated, right?”
“Some of them, yes.” The other man replied cautiously.
“It’s a prison. They’re inmates. The only difference between you and a this place is that you have more funding.” Franky flopped onto his cot, intending for the conversation to be over, but Intercom Guy was having none of that. 
“It’s an asylum! It’s specifically for criminals who are too mentally unstable to rejoin society. AACI rehabilitates them, and then they can serve their prison sentence, or go home.”
“Really?” The prisoner rolled over to face the camera. “Then why, pray tell me, am I not being rehabilitated? As a matter of fact, why am I here at all?”
“First of all,” Said the(Franky assumed) younger man, “You are either imprisoned or incarcerated for life. Why would resources be wasted on you if no one had any intentions of letting you go?” The man in the cot nodded to this, as it was a good point. “Second of all,” Said the asylum employee, “you are obviously insane, and the Judge presiding over your case declared that you were to be held in a private, non-state owned institution, be it a prison or whatever else.”
Franky was puzzled. “So?”
“So, no privately owned prisons take legally insane inmates. Therefore you were sent to an asylum. Why this particular asylum, I have no idea.”
So, the prisoner thought. The judge really did ruin everything. “Wait a minute!” He said. “I was never legally declared insane. How can that be acted on and applied if it was never official?”
Intercom Guy paused. “Hmm. You have a point there. Any good lawyer should have been on that in seconds.” For a moment, he was stumped. 

Honestly, neither of them had ever studied law, and they had a very minimal understanding of what they were talking about, but it was fun to sound educated every once in a while. 
“Wait!” The younger man exclaimed. “You represented yourself in court, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s why a lawyer didn’t catch it. You were the lawyer.”
Franky groaned. He hated when blame was correctly traced back to his own mistakes. “But,” He said, rolling over, “I pleaded guilty to all charges, and explicitly said I was sane the whole time.”
“Well, I don’t think you can just claim to be sane. I’m pretty sure it requires proof.”
“In that case, shouldn’t the same rule apply to insanity?” Both were silent now. They were done talking, but not in a frustrated way. They had finished a discussion, not an argument, and there was nothing left to say.

The prisoner lay, contemplating one thing or another, most likely food, when a scream echoed through his mind.