To Watch the World Burn

[boo radley]

oh, I've got a story for you, KiddIes. it's aLL about thosE rules your daDdies and mommies make you follow. well, here's the TrutH: thEy're all Bullcrap. didn't cATch it the first time? i'm so very sorry. i'm sure you understand. HA hA haAHa. rules are for the weak.

I believe in Harvey Dent, too.

It's a funny world we live in. Funny. All kinds of silly jokes with horrible punch lines. Like the fact that the school bus driver, who ferries kids to get some kinda hA aHA hOPELesS education, didn't even graduate high school. Or the fact that they think that, just because I'm in a rape suit straightjacket, I don't have hands.

Peaches, I'm only looking at you because you've got a spare key and a nicely sculpted jaw (pERfect for a SmiLE haAHa). Oh, sure, I'm the freak behind bars (oh, I'm not nutty. That's just inappropriate.). But didn't your mommy ever teach you that it's impolite to stare?

Then again, most of you doctors need a good lesson in manners. hAhA AHAaha. When they dragged me into this place, I was getting probed in places I didn't even know existed. Talk about a harsh dose of reality. Your little doctor-y birthday suits didn't really help with the Arkham-style "welcome home" party, either. Where was the bomb padding cAKe?

Oh... it's hard to raise hells of MIND-BLOWING proportions when you've almost touched the grand prize. But it's never, ah... impossible.

Giggle me this, giggle me that. Y'know, it couldn't kill you people to get me something for my pie-hole throat. When life's this funny, you've gotta let a guy laugh. HAahAHAa...aha.

"Psst." Maybe the guard'll hear me. Maybe... he's one of those corrupt types. I love those corrupt types. They're so... predictable. Always scared of the littlest things. Think maybe I'll walk my way over.

OhHh no. They won't let me do that, either.

Well, let me put it this way, for ya. When they wanna keep you in close quarters, they like chaining you to the bedpost. oh thaT'S kINky. (my ankle's dyin' over here, Doc. Think you can unchAIN me? AHAAhahaA)

It just goes to show how poopy dirty this city really is.

.......................and I'm still thirSty.

[Nikki]

I have a very vivid memory of the day my mother took me to the Gotham City Zoo.
I was ten years old, and it was one of the hottest days on record. All of the animals were in hiding. Dozing in the shade, searching for some coolness in the gritty city heat.
The only animal I remember seeing that day was the panther. He paced unsettlingly behind the bars of his enclosure, the sun beating off of his sleek, dark body. Every so often he growled in seeming frustration and bared his knifelike teeth.
"Isn't he scary?" my mother said to me, in that condescending voice mothers reserve to amuse children.
I looked up at her, confused, and then back at the creature with his slanted eyes and lithe frame, speaking in a predator's voice of pure power and control as he wore trackmarks in the dust. I thought he was fascinating. I thought that it didn't matter a bit that, given the chance, he would sink his teeth into my jugular and gnaw my bones clean of their meat. I thought that creation had made him that way, and it was his right. He was the king of blood and destruction, and I...well, I was nothing more than a ragdoll.
Tonight I am twenty-four years old, and I feel as if I am looking at the same creature I observed so long ago.
I try to tear my gaze from his (and I think, is he really a he? Is he human at all? Or are he and that creature one and the same, the embodiment of a primordial idea?) but stand frozen on the spot. He is eating me with his eyes.
Isn't he scary? my mother asks, and this time the skin on the back of my neck begins to crawl.
A little, I want to admit now in a child's voice. But the thought has come too late.
Now I'm an adult in the big bad zoo of Gotham City, and it's my job to cure the panther of his instinct.

[boo radley]

Life's full of that strange little thing they call order. oRDeR in the COurts didn't save the Sasparilla (oh, who really cares WHAT the judge's name was? Surrillo isn't really all that flATTering.).

They'll pick an innocent guy off the streets and shove him in their pANtS little wars while they go play with their BARBIES. Oh, and that isn't all. Once they've figured out that their little toy dolls can't imitate life, they'll tear the poor little jerk off the battlefield and into lifelong slavery. (Sex selLs hAhAAhahahAHah)

That, or they'll put him down. Like a dog.

They've got an order to things hey dOLly, where's my saNDwiCh, hmm? - an order this society can't compete with because it's stuck in the continuous, boring rut that is moRality. Their stupid rULes. Rules were only made to be broken.

Take for example the little system Arkham Assylum has going for it.... fun and games fun and games (that's all the therapy "sessions" are, you know. Mindfucks and hoots.) and then you get boRED and it's time to make some fIReWorks.

Well, all right, then. If you people want to show me how your little "order" works, I'll show you just how I'll break it. AhEEhEhahAhA just like I'd breaK your liTtle spinEs

But they can't even follow their own basic courtesies.

"What's a guy gotta do for a little water around here?"

[Nikki]

His voice tears me back into the present, where I remember it's not about my memories now; it's about rearranging masks to remain employed. What I want out of this isn't a fat paycheck or an infallible cure for this creature's ills (it's quite obvious that, when it comes to him, the word "treatment" is interchangable with "containment"). What I want is a portrait of the monster. I want to probe the depths of his mind and learn just what exactly makes that curious bomb tick. For now I repress the reasons why and turn my attention to the question at hand.
"Bolton," I say calmly to the rather large guard standing at attention against the wall, "will you, please?"
His usually neutral expression becomes one of concern.
"It's fine," I say. It's actually better if you leave. That gives us time alone. "I can handle myself."
Bolton lets out a doubtful grunt and goes to retrieve a glass of water for the man who has been terrorizing Gotham for the majority of the summer. I figure this, if anything, will build character.
Once he's gone, I turn toward my patient. "Are there any other requests you would like met before we begin our first session?" I know I've fed him quite the opportunity; I just want to see what he says.

[boo radley]

Oh, this one's funny. "You must think I'm stupid enough to believe that, by making any...requests... Anyone here might follow through."

Obviously, though, my cONsTant constipATion feelings must matter, to a pinprick. The chalk was a nice gesture. Now I can scribble my riddles of pre-pubescent angst all over the once-white walls (they're only yellow because someone couldn't hold his BLADDER...). Fun fun funf ufn FUNn fUnfnufunf

"Though I wouldn't say no to a rape whistle. The things you hear about this place. Last time, there was a guy -- Floyd Lawton -- and did he like getting comfortable."

You've gotta feel bad for the little fuckers that got their asses probed with the plastic knife he stole from the cafeteria on his third day in. I guess the guy just got cURious.