V M Most Prized Asset

[Mad Maggie]

"Oh, oh, yes. It's quite fortunate that Officer Maldera had captured him alive. Usually people of his caliber go out in a blaze of glory. What? Oh yes, lucky to be alive as well! Our healers say that his lungs are riddled with tumors, but his vital signs are strong as ever. He's in the ICU, you see. Don't worry. We'll be looking forward to your visit, doctor."

_______

On the highest mountain in a classified corner of the Hinterlands, there was a large prison built in the sheer ice and rock. Rura Penthe, they called it, and it was said to be inescapable. The flat plateau of the mountain peak was an impassable, frozen wasteland littered with the frozen bodies of prisoners deemed too disruptive and exiled. There was no way down the peak by scaling the face, and indeed, no way into the prison except by flying under a large ice sheet that obscured a small eyrie and landing pad. This is how prisoners arrived, and how Caustic had arrived, stuffed full of tubes and breathing through a machine as they wheeled him into the prison's ICU. Several days had passed since then, and he'd had yet to gain consciousness, but the tubes had been removed and his recovery had proceeded at an alarming rate. At this pace he was almost ready to be assigned to general population.

The prison, being on Arcadia, prioritized magic-users as the most dangerous and capable of the convict class, and such, in what would turn out to be an act of foolishness, Caustic was NOT assigned to maximum security. Once he was out of the ICU, he was free to peruse, control, and sway the other inmates to whatever foul purpose he had in mind next.

And there was only one person who could stop that.

 

[Dr. McNinja]

“We’ll be looking forward to your visit, doctor!”

Dr. McNinja jerked his head back at that sentence. He was talking to a secretary for the Arcadia Police Department, who had been surprisingly casual about a man who was dying. Doc’s black leather office chair squeaked as he leaned back in his study.

“I- oh, I see, this is a medical call. Um… don’t you have medics? I don’t really treat wounds like that- I mean, I know how to, don’t get me wrong, I just- I mean, first of all, I didn’t even agree to the- I don’t even know how qualified I am, actually, I’m about as qualified as anyone can be but-”

Peter pointed at Doc’s phone. “He hung up.”

Doc looked at his receiver as if that would give him any answers. He gave it an offended look and hung up.

“Well, I guess I’ve been called.”

Peter snickered. “You can say no.”

“Well, not anymore I can’t!” Doc snapped, “He hung up on me!”

“You gonna go?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna go!” Doc snapped again, grabbing his katana and reaching into his drawer. “Bring the crap! You’re coming too!”

Peter frowned and raised a hand in displeasure. “I never agreed to that!”

“Now you know how it feels,” Doc said as he thrust a duffel bag into Peter’s arms. “I want you in the car in ten minutes.”

“But-”

“Ten minutes!”

Doc stormed out of his office, muttering something unsavory. Peter scowled after him, knowing full well Doc was intentionally avoiding his gaze.

“I need twenty minutes. I haven’t fed yet.”

“TEN!”

Peter rolled his eyes and slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and grabbed a blood bag. He took a quick sip from it before rushing to get ready.

***

Officer Portnoy, a stout cop with a mop of a mustache, ushered Doc and Peter into his police car. He got in the driver’s seat shortly after, slamming the door shut.

“The reason you’re here, Doc.” Portnoy handed McNinja a file through the car barrier.

The physician opened the file and started reading. Meanwhile, Portnoy started the car. Peter leaned in and started reading as well. Doc looked at him, pulling the manila folder back a little.

“Classified. Do you mind?”

“Nah,” Peter said as he continued to read.

Doc rolled his eyes and kept reading. “So what’s the perp’s deal? He used to be a cop and went psycho?”

“What? No.”

“Then why’d you hand me a detective’s file?”

“Because…” Portnoy frowned. “That’s the patient?”

Doc and Peter gave Portnoy a blank look. Peter looked at Doc incredulously, then back at Portnoy.

“I’m sorry,” Peter chuckled, “You actually needed us to treat a patient?”

“Yes. Like we said.”

Dr. McNinja and Peter groaned. Peter dropped his duffel bag on the floor of the car irritably.

“Is there a problem?”

Dr. McNinja sighed. “We thought you wanted us to go kick someone’s ass.”

Peter shook his head. “Sorry, it’s just… whenever someone wants us to make a house call, it’s usually because there’s a criminal somewhere we need to catch.”

“No, we’ve already caught the guy.”

“Ugh, then what are we even doing here!” Doc groaned again.

“What’s in that bag, then?” Portnoy asked.

“It’s like, guns and chainsaws in here,” Peter sighed.

“It’s what?!”

“And some candy,” Doc said, “Did you want some?”

Portnoy rolled his eyes. “Like I said, you’re here to treat Detective Maldera. He’s sustained grave injuries during a bank robbery.”

“And ICU really doesn’t have any doctors on-call?” Doc scoffed, “God, those guys need better funding.”

Portnoy shrugged defeatedly. “We all do. But that’s not the problem this time. Whatever’s going on is… well, they don’t know what’s going on with him.”

“What’s the exact nature of his injuries?” Peter said. His eyes twinkled with interest.

“Well, he inhaled some gas while apprehending a perp,” Officer Portnoy explained, “The perp was using toxic gas grenades or something. Threw the grenade into a crowd to try and make a getaway.”

Doc flipped another page, revealing a photo of one of the civilians who had been affected by the gas. Blisters crawled up the dwarf’s torso, several of them oozing with blood and pus. There was a bootprint in the dwarf’s face, which had melted away, as if someone had stepped in wet concrete.

“Jesus,” Doc hissed under his breath.

“Only three of twelve civilians survived, with extensive magical healing and surgery,” Portnoy said with a dead expression, “And Detective Maldera’s inhaled quite a bit of the gas himself.”

Peter winced at the sight. Doc looked up from the file.

“Those three patients,” Doc said, “How are their conditions?”

“They’re still in intensive care,” Portnoy said with a grim expression, “Including that dwarf there.”

Dr. McNinja and Peter shared an intense stare before Doc turned to Portnoy with uncharacteristic seriousness.

“Bring them all in the same room.”

 

[Mad Maggie]

I wasn't sure how long I'd been unconscious, but as I opened ny eyelids, the world slowly faded back into view. Immediately I coughed, bringing up gobs from my lungs and clearing my throat. "Hgggfffkk...Ah...Water." I croaked, vision still pixellated into a foggy spray of an atrocious mint green color. Institutional paint. Then I felt my wrist jerk to a halt, a pain biting into my bare skin as the clink of metal cut through the cotton in my ears. The first distinct sound I'd heard had restarted my audio neurons just in time to hear a woman's voice rather close. "Oh! Water....water. Here." A wet sponge was stuck into my lips and I sucked at it greedily. Four more sponges and I moved my head to indicate I'd finished, looking up at a young lady dressed in a black business suit and holding a notepad on a clipboard.

"What do you want?" I asked, feeling much more clear headed. Enough to lift my lower body and sit up straight. I was in a medical bed, handcuffed to it. Around me were other beds, some containing patients some empty. There was a substantial amount of medical equipment hooked up to me, a heartrate monitor beginning to beep more frantically as I fully awoke. I was in a hospital....no. A prison. The other patients were all wearing the same green uniforms, with block numbers on the back. Lifting the blanket, I could see I was wearing the same.

"Doctor....Caustic? Interesting pseudonym." The woman spoke. I didn't bother answering her, instead looking at the various bits of medical equipment and starting to disconnect the most extraneous. I felt better than I had in a while, although my face felt bare without my mask. I also was much lighter, having gotten used to the weight of my gas tanks and systems. "You're Inmate Nox here, though. Prisoner #N489." Still, I ignored her, reaching over to shut down the medical equipment that was now in alert mode, detecting no signal since I'd disconnected the sticky electrodes. Reaching under the blanket, I felt a catheter bulb and used a fingernail to slowly puncture it, aiming it off to the side of the bed as it drained. "What do you want?" I rasped again. "I'm going to be transferred shortly, I surmise. Regaining consciousness in near perfect health precludes my being in the ICU. Although I am rather sore....from the beating Detective Maldera gave me."

I allowed myself a small chuckle, even though it hurt to laugh. "Koffkoff...Don't you backwards magical hill people have laws against police brutality? No? I imagine not." I fixed the woman with a stare, my unmasked appearance just as intimidating as with my entire outfit. "That's probably why they sent you for initial interviews." She was young, and I could see from the crispness of her suit she'd just purchased it. The small crystal earrings hanging from her ears confirmed it. "You recently made Detective, and they sent you to interview the monster because you're new. Primitive hazing rituals." I scoffed, barely allowing her to get a word in edgewise as I slowly dragged my legs off the side of the bed and began to lower my feet to the floor. The bedpan I'd fed the catheter tube to splashed, and I pulled the medical device out without flinching. "I'm not going to give them the satisfaction. You won't get the monster."

She stood stock still, apparently too shocked to do much than stare. Perhaps my rapid rise from the bed had ignited a spark of fear in her, visions of how I could hurt her whispering in her ear. "I won't cooperate with some wet behind the ears calf. Find a real interrogator, I know the Arcadian Police have long arms in that department." Putting weight on my feet and lifting myself off the bed was difficult, and made my ears pump with blood, but I remained standing. The handcuffs still attached to my wrist weren't tactical restraint, and I was able to slide them along the rail of the bed, reaching down to twist the latch out of it's housing.

"Until then....I'm going to prison."

 

[Dr. McNinja]

“Yyyeahp,” Doc mumbled, “I have no idea what this is.”

Dr. McNinja was standing in front of a stack of medical files, gripping his head in an obvious migraine. The room he was in wasn’t helping, either. The fluorescent lights flickered at a steady and unpleasant pace, lighting the ICU in unflattering shades of green-white. The tiled walls were cold and unapproachable, and lined with dozens of foreboding panels of steel. They stared at Dr. McNinja grimly. Well, what could be expected from an autopsy room?

In front of McNinja lay one of the corpses from the attack. It belonged to a small woman, who was chosen specifically because she was far from the grenade when it detonated. Even with minimal exposure, her corpse was riddled with pocks of flesh, like bubbles had crawled up inside her skin before popping. Her hair was basically disintegrated, and her lungs were absolutely devastated.

Dr. McNinja had examined the surviving patients, but was very displeased to find that even he didn’t exactly know what had happened to the victims. They were clearly gassed with some kind of toxic chemical, which was specifically engineered to cause as much damage as it could in a short time. Doc recognized some traces of mustard gas, various acids, various bases, and what Doc could only label as synthetic grape juice.

That… was about all the info Doc could muster, to his great shame. Every PhD in the world, and Doc could only gather about as much info as a high school student could. And from what he could find, there was no way this chemical could do as much damage as these victims had suffered. And yet, there were the corpses, mutilated and melted onto the operating tables they laid upon.

It reminded him of the chemical the Man in Red used in Nausicaa.

…Pretty exactly, actually.

“Hey, Peter, call up the Man in Red. Or a Death Games representative.”

Peter looked up from his latest round of autopsy notes. “Why?”

“I remember him using a very similar chemical in Nausicaa. Maybe I can pick his brain over what this might be.”

“Uh, alright, on it.”

Peter took his phone and exited the autopsy room. Doc continued to stare at the bodies, their stench continuing to violate his nostrils. They weren’t supposed to smell this bad anymore. This chemical weapon was really something else. Apparently, it even made the bodies stink harder than ammonia. This was, in the long term, unnecessary, and therefore a deliberate choice.

Roughly two hours of automated analysis passed. Doc flipped through a textbook detailing 25th century physics and a history book detailing chemical warfare. He figured he had a pretty good understanding of what future science looked like in various universes.

This guy was… way ahead of all of that.

“What kind of psycho genius is this?” Doc said with no small amount of excitement.

“The kind that needs to be stopped,” Peter said, entering the room.

Doc waved a hand at him. “Yeah, yeah, he’s in jail, or whatever. Point is, what he’s made here is technically impossible. At least, impossible with the level of tech I’m used to. Now, I’m smort enough to figure out most of what’s been done here - I actually learned some new science looking at this compound - but this gas weapon breaks conventional laws of physics. It… ENTIRELY exists to be corrosive, in every linguistic sense of the word. Honestly, it’s probably just simpler to think of it as Poison Juice or something.”

Peter looked curiously at the doctor. “You’re a little too into this.”

“I need to pull some really complicated bullshit to cure these patients,” Doc giddily remarked, “I’ve never needed to work this hard before. I’ve even got some mechanical bodies here! This dude asphyxiated a robot! I’m allowed a little excitement, aren’t I?”

“Dozens of people are dead.”

Dr. McNinja sighed. “Way to take the fun out of this, Pete. What’d you find out?”

“I had to cut through a lot of bureaucracy, even with the credentials you had,” Peter said, “But I managed to get some answers. Apparently, the Man in Red just used the gas that one of the Death Game contestants had. As far as I can tell, it was invented by the perp we got. None of their staff knows the formula.”

“So the only person who knows the formula is the perp…”

“Stop giggling.”

“This is just so exciting!” Doc said, clapping rapidly, “I get to meet another GENIUS. An evil one, at that!”

Peter crossed his arms pensively. “That is, if the APD even let you interrogate one of their-“

The door swung open again. Officer Portnoy entered the room, holding a phone against his ear.

“Dr. McNinja?” the plump cop said, “You’re needed at the station.”

Doc raised both hands and rapidly said, “I invoke my right to not say anything without an attorney present!”

“What? No.” Officer Portnoy rolled his eyes. “They want you to interrogate the perp.”

Doc clapped his hands in delight. “They do?”

“Yeah,” Portnoy sighed, “Psycho doctor to psycho doctor. They don’t pay me enough for this.”

 

[Mad Maggie]

They'd taken his green medical uniform and given him the standard orange of the prison's general population. Even though the stunt with the handcuff had earned him a few nasty looks and extra shoves along the path towards the main prison, away from the ICU. My escorts and I passed through several checkpoints, each of which was another pat down and ushering deeper into the facility. Finally, I arrived at what was to be my cell; a small bolt hole hewn into the deep rock of the mountain. A chill pervaded the very air, and the guard who led me to the cell had only given me a thin blanket and pillow for the empty cot inside.

The bars slamming shut behind me, I observed the sparse accommodations. A hole cut into the floor to serve as a latrine, a bucket of water fed from a constant drip in the ceiling, and the aforementioned cot. "Get a good night's sleep, buddy. Big guy like you, you're going into the Deep Mines tomorrow. No nightlights allowed!" The guard laughed as he walked away as I posed a final question. "When does the library cart come by? I wish to read about your backwards planet." The man sneered and called back down behind him. "After your shift. You'll be too tired to turn a page by then, though." I sat on the edge of the cot and made my bed, such as it were. This cold prison was to be my domicile until such time as I was deemed ready for execution, which could take years. Bureaucracy was much the same across time and space.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, actually enjoying the opportunity to contemplate the stillness around me. No sound drifted from other cells, and I surmised the prison must have made use of the enchantments that were prevalent on this world. Tasting the water confirmed it, the liquid dripping from the ceiling not flavored with minerals and dirt but tasting as fresh as if I'd bent over a spring. "Hrrrmm..."

A figure in ornate purple and gold robes walked by, a dark skinned man with the strangest eyebrows and facial hair I'd ever seen. Pure white and cut into straight angles and lines, he paused by my cell to observe me. I paid him no mind, although the air inside the cell began to grow strangely humid, like the jungles of Kraw. Eventually he passed, and I saw him disappear around the corner. He'd dropped something though, a thick book that was half inside the bars.

I crouched down to pick it up, the cover bearing the words "Collected Histories of Arcadia and the Old Empire." Apparently he'd heard me and decided to take pity on the new fish. I chuckled to myself, anticipating the types of personalities I'd encounter the next day on the work detail. Breaking bread and having congress with hardened mercenaries and soulless assassins made me fear very little of the types of hormonal mutants I'd face in a prison like this. Equipment gone, I still had my physique and endurance. I was more than sure of my chances of survival until Anders had stopped spouting rhetoric long enough to notice I'd gone. Still, for a demagogue he had proven an effective leader, even if it had required my personal sacrifice. Still. I would not have done it if I didn't think they would make every effort to jail break me in return.

Then I thought of my lab, and how if even a single specimen jar was out of place I would take slow and subtle revenge on the culprit. I settled in to read the book in the dim light, deciding to finally become a bit more learned on the figures Anders Nazret was always prattling on about. True Heir this and such. I'd been lucky enough to avoid any real tests of my faith thus far, although serving as a decoy target was one in and of itself.

 

[Mad Maggie]

I was awakened the next morning by a pleasant chiming that sounded inside my cell from nowhere in particular. In fact, I couldn't be sure it wasn't in my head, the silencing magic used in the cell making my time alone rather peaceful. I suppose it was supposed to make prisoners docile and compliant if they couldn't hear screaming or threats during the night, but all it did was allow me to clear my mind and be ready for my first encounter with the rest of the prison.

"Inspection! Then breakfast!"

This was nothing new to me. It served me better to appear to be a model prisoner, so as the cell bars slowly faded from reality I cautiously poked my hand through the now open aperture. When I encountered no resistance I shrugged and stepped forward, standing casually outside of the cell as a team of guards strode down the hallway. This was the first look I got at the other prisoners, and what an assortment of freaks they were. One looked positively demonic, but sported a bored look as they nodded a greeting towards one of the guards. "Morning, Sam." The guard nodded back and stuck his head inside the cell for a cursory glance before responding. "Morning, Ralph."

"Hey, hey. Inmate....Nox. Where'd you get that? You haven't been here long enough for book privileges!" The guard called Sam waited for my response, one hand ready to call for backup if I became threatening. I gathered that the guards had been briefed on my "crimes" and as such were rather skittish. Disarming them with a polite demeanor was possibly the most unsettling thing I could do. "Someone walked by my cell last night and dropped it through the bars. They wore purple robes and had white hair."

The guard blinked and shuddered. "Ah. Yeah. Prison Chaplain. You'll be allowed to meet with him later. In any case, history book isn't contraband and if you didn't leave your cell....Father Pucci takes an interest in certain inmates. You're clear." The rest of the guards seemed skittish, and I could tell from their young faces and general fitfulness that they were trainees. Staring one down with a cool expression, I filed into line and followed the procession out of the cell block and into a large cafeteria after passing through several identical hallways. The prison used magic extensively to contain it's inmates, and I found myself at a loss to puzzle through it. Anders and Aquarius were far more equipped to neutralize such charms, and the best thing I could do was wait for them. However, if they were lackadaisical in their rescue and I tired of my vacation....I would have to use what resources I could gather from the inside to plan my escape.

Rura Penthe was situated at the top of one of the Hinterlands' most remote peaks, and attempting to traverse the mountain on foot would leave anyone foolish enough to do so frozen stiff. The mountain would be the hardest route to take, but hardly any less difficult than hijacking one of the few and far between transport or supply ships. I had no idea where the hangar bay actually was (no doubt due to the charms meant to confuse our sense of direction), but there was time enough to learn the ins and outs of the prison. Speaking of which, I was lining up for breakfast, which was startlingly NOT a disgusting pile of flavorless mush.

Apparently, the Arcadians fancied themselves civilized and modern, and with the advent of magic mistreating prisoners would be a conscious choice of cruelty. My tray was filled with a slice of golden bread, a cup of thick, oily stew, a piece of fresh fruit, and a mug of steaming, almost pure black coffee. The aroma coming off of it was...unique. I am by no means a gourmet, but I could feel my salivary glands activating at the first non-ration packed meal I'd had in months. "Don't get too excited." A voice next to me murmured. "They feed us like this on heavy work days. The Deep Mines are really...draining, ya know-know." I looked to my left to see a void of space, and then adjusted my gaze downwards to see a skinny ratfolk grinning and nodding. "Yeah. Yeah. You got the look alright, the surprise. Never been in a prison as nice-nice as this, yah?" I turned and ignored him, before feeling a skinny claw poking me in the side.

"I advise you against that, unless you wish to know how painful a broken proximal phalanx feels." I said tersely, moving to the end of the food counter and looking for a free table. The cafeteria was sparsely populated at this time, although the increasingly line behind us gave me a tidbit of information. My cell block was fairly close to the cafeteria, and thus we were served sooner. Good to know. "Ah, come on, I'm just trying to be friendly, yes-yes? You needs a guide, big guy like you staring all sheepy at everything?" The ratfolk was back at my side, almost hanging on to my hip. He wasn't wrong.

"Betray me and you'll die choking on your own blood." I stated calmly, before choosing a table that allowed me to sit with my back to a wall. "The ratfolk let out a wheezy laugh and sat across from me. "Okay-okay, you're a big scary guy and you've killed tons of people, I get that. But that ain't gonna help you when the Burnt Roses or the Teef Gang catch you alone in the rec room, right-right?" I raised my eyebrow at him and began to eat, taking a bite of bread before dunking it in the coffee. It was...surprisingly good. "Prisoner factions, I assume. And I'm meant to join one...which gang are you recruiting me for?"

The ratman held up his hands and shook his head. "None, none, I swears! I...I'm kinda like...untouchable. They don't wants me in their gangs..." His eyes glittered mischievously, and quick as a flash, he produced a sharp, pointed sliver of metal wrapped in cloth and slid it across the table to me. I palmed it just as quickly and narrowed my eyes. "But they'll buys from me! I can get things...that's one of the perks of being ignored by everyones."

"Very well. And what do you want for this...favor?" I said, stowing the shiv in my waistband.

"Nothings, nothings....just the rest of your bread? And, and....maybe you keeps an eye out for poor ole Picklin?" I considered my options. There was no way I would serve my entire sentence, and being able to entreat with multiple factions would highly increase my chances of being able to get out on my own. "Fine. If there is trouble, I will...lend a fist." The ratfolk squealed quietly and ducked under the table. "Good! Cuz I stole that from Gurzog, and here he comes!"

The breakfast line had turned very musclebound and green, the largest one snorting and scanning his piggly little eyes across the seated, eating inmates. no doubt looking for my new friend. "I told you...." I began to threaten, before calming myself and occupying myself with breakfast. "I hope you're just as good at disappearing as you are at stealing, vermin." Speaking under my breath as Gurzog the Orc and three of his cronies got their breakfast and spied the conspicuously empty seat across from me. Orcs weren't know for their intelligence....but apparently these could put two and two together....and started coming towards me.

 

[Mad Maggie]

I stirred my stew and dunked a scrap of bread into it, eating it slowly and savoring the thick, rich gravy. For all of their ignorance, the Arcadians could cook a delicious meal. A shadow fell over my face as I looked up to see a wall of green. Three hulking orcs stood opposite me, the largest one sitting down with a heavy thump as he laid a meaty fist on the table. "New meat. You see a scurry rat come through here?" His voice was thick with mucus and bass, tusks jutting from his lower lips. Picklin the Rat had disappeared from under the table, no doubt shoving himself down a drain pipe and leaving me to dry. I pretended not to hear him, instead dunking another chunk of bread into the stew and eating it slowly, before bringing my eyes up to meet the orc in a steady gaze. "It's Caustic."

The orc tilted his head, as if he hadn't heard me. "No. You meat. New meat. You come here in night, Gurzog not met you yet, you new meat. Got it?" His cronies snickered behind him, stopping just as suddenly as they had started as the ringleader made a slicing motion with his hand. "That rat steal something from Gurzog, and..." His wide, pig-like nostrils flared as he sniffed the air like an animal, lips peeling back as he scented something familiar. "...you smelling lots like rat., new meat." Well. Here was the situation I'd been waiting for. A chance to display some dominance and head off any other whelps who thought that I might be easy prey. True, I was human, my frame giving the appearance of someone gone to seed, lines in my skin. They must have thought age had softened me up. I narrowed my gaze and leaned in closer. "Fine. I do have something to tell you."

Gurzog widened his eyes and looked back at his cronies, clapping his meaty hands together. "Oh! You smart guy, new meat. Gurzog hears you smart guy and now you prove it." He leaned in over my tray and I casually slid my hand over to my coffee cup. A shame I had only had a sip or two, but I assumed this was a regular occurrence. I would get another cup before long. The orc's eyes were focused on my face, my fingers curling around the cup. "...You don't know who you're talking to. Beast!" I flung the steaming coffee into his face, a roar of pain rising from his massive throat.

His guards immediately started and began to move as if to jump the table and crush me. I'd already had my knee braced against the bottom of the surface, heaving with my thighs and flipping the entire table forward to use as a bludgeon. I heard three simultaneous crunches as wood met bone and flesh, all three orcs getting their noses broken at the same time like some comical farce. That was all it took, the proverbial powder keg of subdued, violent offenders easily sparked by the scent of blood and the merest hint of motion towards chaos. A roar went up from a multitude of voices, the two guards posted at either entrance stepping out of the cafeteria and shutting the heavy doors as violence erupted in a red flash.

Vendettas and grudges were all well and good in a normal prison, but in this place, where inmates were locked in a well of silence and shuffled from space to space like animals....they took any chance to work out their frustrations. Today, it was my actions that had kicked off a breakfast riot. My back was to the wall, and a hulking bovine threw another inmate towards my corner of the cafeteria. Gurzog was still recovering, and I took the opportunity to step over the now broken table and stamp on his face. A green hand reached for my throat and found purchase, squeezing as tight as it could, one of his lieutenants having recovered quicker than their boss. I grabbed at the hand as a forearm slid forward, putting pressure on my hyoid as I held my breath and tensed my neck muscles to avoid getting my windpipe crushed immediately.

Kicking out with my boot, I managed to catch an as-yet unseen assailant, a small goblin creeping towards my kidneys with another crude shiv. The Teef Gang must not have been exclusive to orcs, although I was fairly sure that kick had reduced their numbers by one diminutive goblin. Opening my lips, I bit down hard on the green flesh obstructing my breathing. Coughing, I staggered forward, murder on my mind as I turned and threw a hard elbow into the jaw of the orc that had been choking me. "MEEEEEAAAATT!!!!"

Gurzog roared, and as I turned I ducked low, using my position to launch off the ground and throw a heavy uppercut straight into his solar plexus. I felt something crack in my shoulder, Gurzog's eyeballs bulging outwards as I tried to follow through and send him flying, but every muscle in my body felt paralyzed. I then realized I couldn't move my head either, my sight locked on the orc's frozen expression as I heard voices coming from the entrances. Straining, I managed to focus my gaze on the entrance by which we'd come in, two guards adorned with more elaborate uniforms pointing black batons at the rioting inmates. Everyone was frozen, and I realized that this was more damned magic at work. Well well. They were smarter than I thought. "Alright, fight's over. You have been immobilized with a paralysis charm, which will be released momentarily."

It took them ten more minutes to finish their unsorcelling and get to Gurzog and myself. I was not frozen in the most innocent pose, and from the unfocused state of my opponent's eyes I'd managed to put a significant amount of damage on him. Perhaps he would take my place in the infirmary. "Inmate Nox...already picking fights." One of the higher ranking guards waved his wand and released me, my muscles feeling like I'd just run down several flights of stairs. I sagged, coughing hard and spitting onto the floor before leaning against the wall with my hands raised. "You should keep a closer eye on your problem inmates." I advised, still breathing fairly hard. The guard narrowed his eyes and produced a set of silver manacles. "We are. You're just lucky the Chaplain wants to see you, or you'd be in solitary already. We have three people who say they saw you glass him with the coffee, Nox. Gurzog's known for this; that's the only reason you aren't getting meal privileges stripped."

I was marched out of the cafeteria after catching my breath, and ushered into a shabby office that was only a few hallways away from the cafeteria. The guards stood on either side of the door, which opened slightly, a smooth voice coming from inside. "Enter, please." As I pushed the door closed behind me, I watched as the same mysterious man from my first night in the prison leaned across his desk. Purple robes with golden trim, white hair, and abstractly shaven facial hair that formed a lattice of intricacy across his sideburns. Somehow, I felt humbled by his presence as he gestured to the chair across from the desk. "Please, sit." I did so, finding it incredibly hard to disobey his orders. This was...disconcerting, especially when he took a full half-minute to do nothing but stare at me. "Are you a man of God, Alexander Nox?"

He could hear the contempt in my voice before I even answered, frowning slightly. "I am a man of science. And the future. Not your archaic mysticism and false magic." Folding my arms, I stared at him right back. "Why do you care? You don't know who I am. You don't know the things I've done. I could kill you with any number of objects within my grasp." But...he wasn't afraid. The opposite, in fact. He seemed....intrigued. Excited. The thin lips cracked into a welcoming smile. "Even the faithless have their part to play in God's plans, Doctor Nox."

He continued, the words even and almost hypnotizing. "My name....is Father Pucci. And you are what I have been waiting for."

 

[Dr. McNinja]

Doc was told that Rura Penthe was at a secret location, which was a three-hour-drive from his clinic. As it turned out, that’s where a liaison was coming to meet Doc, who would then take him and Peter to a secondary location, where they would then go to Rura Penthe proper.

“I have to leave my car?” Doc groaned as the pair were escorted to a police hovercraft.

“This is dumb,” Peter said as a bag was put over his head.

“Tell me about it,” Doc snickered, raising his cuffed hands, “You guys know I’m a ninja, right?”

Officer Portnoy sat in the seat facing backwards, and as he settled in, he noticed that Doc and Peter no longer had their handcuffs or the bags on their heads.

Portnoy sighed. “Come on, fellas, work with us here.”

“The bag-over-the-eyes trick isn’t necessary for a number of reasons that should be obvious to you,” Doc pointed out, “And it’s uncomfortable and stuffy. I’m already wearing a mask here.”

“You guys need to get bigger handcuffs,” Peter said, noting the marks on his wrist where the restraints used to be.

Portnoy looked at the pale teenager incredulously. “Yeah, I’ll talk to my captain about that.”

“Given the number of people I’ve put in jail recently,” Doc said, “And the fact that I did MOST OF YOUR JOB busting the Lollipop Guild, I feel like I’ve earned at least a small amount of trust here.”

Officer Portnoy rolled his eyes. “Ugh, I hate vigilante types… Fine. Welcome to Rura Penthe. This is where we keep the dangerous criminals. Your murderers, your terrorists, the like. Your perp is in there.”

“Seems a little extreme,” Doc noted as he looked out the window of the hovercraft.

The hovercraft was starting to fly under a gigantic outcrop made of ice and rock. Under the outcrop was tumultuous seas absolutely riddled with jagged rocks that shot upwards like hungry teeth. The frozen rocks crackled under their own weight, sending frost flying like foggy exhalations.

Doc sniffed at the sight. “This place sucks.”

“Supposed to,” Portnoy replied, “It’s a prison.”

“What happens if the cliff melts and falls off?” Peter asked, looking up in awe.

“It’s magically reinforced, so I don’t see that happening any time soon.”

Doc looked at Portnoy apprehensively. “...but it could.”

Portnoy didn’t respond. Doc and Peter leaned back in their seats as the hovercraft started docking into the prison’s hangar.

***

“I hope you don’t mind waiting a little, Doctor,” Portnoy said, “Your prisoner is talking to a priest right now.”

“He’s a religious man?”

“The priest?” Portnoy asked.

“Wha- Of course the PRIEST is religious,” Dr. McNinja snapped, “I meant the prisoner.”

Portnoy chuckled and shrugged. “Who knows? Father Pucci has a right to meet with prisoners occasionally, to save their souls or something.”

The portly officer left the room, leaving Doc and Peter waiting in the lobby. It was a quiet room, where a receptionist typed aggressively behind the desk. Four prison guards in full anti-magic riot gear stood on either side of a heavily reinforced door.

“This place is so comfortable,” Peter sighed.

Doc chuckled. “Well, I guess it’s not designed with comfort in mind. It’s a secret prison, after all.”

“Doesn’t explain why I feel like the prisoner here.”

Doc looked at Peter earnestly. “I’m gonna need you to talk to some of the personnel here. Ask about Dr. Caustic’s behavior.”

Peter nodded. “You think this will help?”

“I dunno. I just get the feeling this is gonna turn out to be more than medical work.”

About ten minutes later, Officer Portnoy emerged from the heavily guarded door. He nodded at Dr. McNinja.

"McNinja? The doctor will see you now,” the police officer said with a grin.

Dr. McNinja groaned as he stood up. “That’s usually my line.”

 

[Mad Maggie]

I blinked, and suddenly I was standing outside of the priest's office. The two guards standing on either side of it both did a double-take, as if they hadn't noticed the door open either. This was troubling. What had happened between the priest introducing himself and my sudden return to...awareness? In any case, I was too lost in thought to waste any words on them as they handcuffed me and started leading me away from the small office. I felt...very strange, disconnected. For one usually in impeccable control of themselves, I could feel my mind wandering in useless speculation.

And then I noticed that we were moving towards unfamiliar territory. "This isn't the way to my cell." I spoke, the guard on my right acknowledging me with a yank on my manacles. "You have another special guest who wants to talk to you. Popular guy, huh." The look of hatred on his face...his unfamiliar face...was unmistakable. This was a different guard. So was the other one. When had I been handed off to another pair of buffoons? Again, losing myself in thought as he yanked again, sliding a baton into his hand and striking me on the back on the knee. "Ahhhgg!" I bit my lip and shuddered from the pain. "Shut up. You killed my fucking brother, terrorist."

They did not allow me any rest, dragging me further down the hallway. I looked again at the grim countenance and recognized a few family features. "Ah, yes. Arcadian Special Forces? If it's any consolation, he died quickly. A crushed esophagus usually results in asphyxiation in- Grrrrhnnn!" He struck me again, and loudly exclaimed "Stop resisting!" for the benefit of the checkpoint we were slowly making our way towards. I kept my mouth shut, dulling myself to the pain in my leg.

As we slowly moved past a gate that opened magically for the two guards, I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. A horrifying, lanky figure that looked severely malnourished and exposed, brown skin stretched tight over a horse-like skull, dull pinpricks of light in the eyesockets betraying it's nature as something alive rather than a corpse. It wasn't being escorted, it wasn't a member of the prison staff...it just stood there. Menacingly...before winking out of sight. What in the name of science was it? Seeing it only made further questions threaten to overwhelm me. And if I was being brought somewhere for an interrogation, this was the worst possible time to be unsure of myself.

Finally, we reached an area of the prison that looked less guarded. "Visitor rooms". The nonhostile guard grunted to me. "Don't get used to them." The brother of the special forces soldier I'd killed hung back, thumping his baton against his palm before sliding it back into his holster, as if to threaten me with more pain. Simple thugs, as with every strata of law enforcement. I was led into a small chamber, stone lining the walls, with a magical flame burning in a brazier that swung above the wooden table. Metal rings inscribed with tiny script were set into the table on one side, and the guard fastened my restraints to them. I was finally able to relax my posture and slumped backward into the seat, taking a deep breath before coughing into my sleeve and sitting up again. I waiting, unsure of who would walk through the door.

I did not have long to wait before a man in a white doctor's coat stepped through the door and shut it behind him. Then he turned towards me, and I saw that he had a black balaclava covering his face. I couldn't help but chuckle. "Is...is this a joke? Are you some sort of clown?" I scoffed, waiting for him to sit down before fixing him with a passive stare. He returned the stare, blue eyes the only thing visible through the mask. His eyes were hard as well, and I recognized the specter of death floating within them. I'm sure he saw the same in my own eyes.

After about a minute, he finally spoke up. "I gotta warn you, my record is like, thirty minutes. I don't think you're going to win a staring contest." Ugh....it was like Mirage himself was dressed in another of his inane costumes, purely to annoy. "What are you here for? Unless....the whelp actually told them what I said? Are you the interrogator I requested?"

The stranger tilted his head and shrugged. "I mean....no? I'm Dr. McNinja, and I'm a doctor, not an interrogator. I'm also a ninja!" I felt a vein pulse in my temple. They would drive me insane with all this pageantry before Anders even managed to find out where I was. "Well then...I give you one question to ask me. Depending on the question, I will either answer more, or refuse to speak to yet another clown."

There we go. The eyes narrowed, a hard edge coming to the voice as he asked his question. "Your toxin. How...how did you make it? Why?"

I smirked, peeling back my lips. "Ah. The right question. I assume you at least have some familiarity with it's effects....and how..." I trailed off, blinking as the gangly dead thing appeared to be leaning over this McNinja's back, his....interested? expression not betraying if he'd noticed it or not...and then it disappeared again. He seemed to notice my hesitance, leaning back and steepling his fingers. "Come on, dude. I had to take like three different buses to get here, and I'm actually kinda excited to be talking to you. It's not every day I run into another genius, even if he is a murdery, evil one."

I focused on him again, the explanations and intricacies of my work coming to me much easier than the strangeness of the last twenty minutes. "I made it in a lab, to begin with. It was originally designed for colonial use, as a pesticide. Of course, to be truly sure of it's effects on the alien life of our agricultural planets, I needed to test it on living beings. If you want the rest of that story, I'm sure the Arcadian Police have provided you with the file Detective Maldera has on me, the obsessed thug." The chains clinked as I adjusted my seat leaning back to relax on the chairback.

"How did this latest formula perform? I assume you've seen the aftermath, and I deeply regret not being able to record it's effects. For posterity, of course. This particular formula incorporated venom from several creatures on Kraw, and it's the first I was able to newly create since coming to the Crossroads. My "original" blend, as it were."

 

[Dr. McNinja]

Doc slammed his hands hard on the table. Dr. Caustic didn’t flinch, but his eyes flickered down for a moment. Probably a subconscious habit from years on the battlefield. Doc noted this with a grin. So he was a fighter.

Dr. McNinja found himself in another staring competition, before breaking into an even bigger grin.

“You have NO idea, dude,” Doc chattered, “I dunno how your previous formula worked, but the damage you did is unlike anything I’ve seen. And I’m the local expert on curing weird shit!”

Excitedly, Doc pulled out his chair and sat in it giddily. His legs started swinging back and forth as his eyes glimmered.

“You made a mixture that contains both acidic and caustic chemicals in high dosages… that somehow don’t neutralize. Remarkable. Absolutely remarkable.”

“I don’t care what you think is remarkable.”

Doc rolled his eyes. “Just take a compliment, man. I mean, you’re making some crazy stuff here. Lookie!”

Dr. McNinja reached into a briefcase Nox hadn’t noticed was present. The physician slammed a photo on the table. It was of the dwarven patient with the melted bootprint in his face, oozing pus and blood. Doc tapped it excitedly with a finger.

“Pesticide don’t do THAT.”

Dr. Caustic showed his first sign of humanity since Doc arrived upon seeing the photo. He picked it up, his dead eyes suddenly aflame as he scanned the photo.

“Now, that is unprecedented,” Dr. Caustic said.

“You mean the bootprint? I thought so, too. Hell, I can probably tell what size shoe you wear-“

“Your enthusiasm,” Nox responded, his bloodshot eyes flashing up to meet McNinja’s. “I’m supposed to believe that you’re, what, a fan?”

“Sorta!” Dr. McNinja chirped, “I mean, I’m objectively disgusted that you would do such horrible things to innocent people. If you weren’t in prison, I’d gut you where you stand. But! The way you did those horrible things is brilliant. Hell, I’d call you a genius!”

Dr. Caustic’s eyes flickered up this time. Doc noticed this with great interest.

“Hope you aren’t rolling your eyes. I don’t often call people geniuses.”

“I believe I’ve already answered your one question, Doctor…”

“McNinja. And I’ve read your file. What you said isn’t anything new. I want some insight. Not just into how your toxin works, but how your brilliant, murderous brain works.”

“Stop trying to flatter me. It won’t work.”

Doc grinned. “Hey, I’m just saying what I think. I figured out a lot of it, actually. Blood thinners five hundred times more powerful than I’ve ever seen. Caustic and acidic chemicals that don’t neutralize. Synthetic viruses that seek out specific proteins and then turn them into tumors. Any idiot can cook up some mustard gas, but you’ve made a cocktail of goddamn death. You’re not just any mad scientist, you’re an artist.”

“I’ve warned you about your sycophancy.”

“Then let me get to the point. Forgive me my last act of brown-nosing, but I brought you a present.”

Dr. McNinja reached into his briefcase, then drew a giant folder filled with papers. He slammed the heavy folder on the desk, making the heavy metal desk echo. Before Caustic could comment, Doc drew another folder and slammed it down as well. Doc grinned knowingly as Nox eyed them hungrily. McNinja leaned back. Dr. Caustic reached out with his hand towards one of the folders-

A dagger thudded into the table, millimeters away from the charred tips of Nox’s fingertips. Dr. Caustic looked up, unphased.

McNinja grinned. “Not so fast.”

“You’re quick.”

“Well, I’m a ninja.”

“You’re not worried about leaving a weapon here for me to use?”

“Again, I’m a ninja.”

Dr. Caustic interlocked his fingers, eyeing Dr. McNinja warily. The ninja looked back with giddiness.

“I assume I have your attention. Like you might have guessed, these are files upon files of your victims from that incident. All fourteen bodies, with at least five completely unique reactions to your chemical. Autopsies, cellular analysis, interactions with experimental treatment made by yours truly. Photos upon photos upon photos.”

Nox raised an eyebrow. His eyes twitched upward once more.

“And you think I’d care?”

“Let’s not play games, Nox. You’re practically salivating. And I’m willing to let you see what you’ve done. I’ll give you a folder for every two questions you answer.”

Dr. Caustic gave McNinja a whimsical snarl-smile. “You would violate patient confidentiality for your fascination?”

Dr. McNinja eyed him. All the joviality in his expression faded away, and his blue eyes flashed angrily.

“We’re natural enemies, Nox. Our ideologies are diametrically opposed. You disgust me, and I have to assume I disgust you right back. But I have my patients, and you have your research. So?”

Dr. Caustic leaned on his elbows, hiding his own excited smile behind his hands.

“I believe you have one more question before I earn my first folder.”

 

[Mad Maggie]

McNinja's eyes focused on my face as his next question came entirely unmuffled from that ridiculous balaclava. "I'm not even getting to the chemical, yet. No, this is an opportunity I haven't had in a long time. It's like meeting Dracula all over again."

Dracula? Well...I'd met stranger in the Crossroads, perhaps my next adventure would pair me with Frankenstein. Even with his inanity, I could recognize a fellow killer. The way he carried himself, the automatic choice of violence over more meek or cowardly options. His voice was cool and casual. "Why don't you use that clearly advanced mind to like, help people? Instead of turning people into dude smoothies from the inside out. I know it's not something stupid like wanting to hurt people because your life sucked, boo hoo, no. Your killing is like watching a building be demolished. It's methodical."

"You may not believe this, Doctor.....but I am helping people. Maybe not on a personal level. Not like you, bandaging a broken limb or patching up a skinned knee. But..." I gestured as wide as the manacles would allow me too. "The entirety of humanity! From the beginnings of consciousness we have always feared the cessation of existence. The threat of the unknown claws at men's minds, riddling them with weakness and fear. My aim is simple; I wish to cure Death. To master it. And only by exhaustively exploring every single way a body can die and be damaged...data will be gathered..hackk....koff, koff...." I spat blood onto the table, neglecting to wipe as I finished, my speech sounding melodramatic to the unenlightened. "All suffering is in service of knowledge...I have seen to it, I assure you."

The ninja doctor paused, leaning forward and squinting at me. “Bro. You have to know how insane you sound, right? Because if not, then this was a wasted trip.” I only smirked.

“Have you never been called mad? Insane? Not in control of your faculties? I would assume a ‘ninja’ masquerading as a doctor strains disbelief in most situations.” I had him there. No mundane medical professional would carry themselves like this or gallivant around saving worlds if they weren’t a little bit crazy. “You of all people must understand the line between genius and insanity. There is no twisted cruelty here. Only the reality of science and experimentation. It requires many sacrifices to uncover the secrets of the universes.”

I looked over to my side, seeing the brown withered apparition once again. This time it was leaning against the wall, one wide foot placed flat against the concrete as it clutched its equine head, the thin fingers gripping it’s broken snout and twitching in an otherworldly manner, as if dancing to some unheard beat. Except…I could feel the beat, my blood pumping in my ears in a constant rushing tick that sounded like some sort of experimental music. Ugh. This was becoming more than a problem. I turned my attention back to McNinja before he noticed my distraction once more, but he had been following my attention intensely.

His cool eyes never broke from mine as he lifted the folders up and slowly peeled through them. I did my best to mask my anticipation, but already I was trying to extrapolate how my gas would have affected such a large sample size. Before, I had only had humans and synths to experiment on…now…all creatures great and small, from every fiction that had ever been written. My experiment had only grown grander in scope since arriving in the Crossroads, and with the powers I had found here I would see it to its end.

He slid one across towards me, but I knew what was coming. The dagger stabbed the folder closed, embedding into the table once more. “You can’t read them until we’re done, of course.” McNinja chided, placing the stack back down. “That was one folder, two questions. Second question: what do you keep staring at?”

I froze, as he’d asked me something I wasn’t entirely sure of myself. Instead, I leaned into the appearance of the sick old man, coughing into my palm and rubbing my eyes. “Ah…I’ve suffered head trauma from my arrest, and this prison utilizes several types of magical forces to control it’s population. I can only assume they are taunting me with phantom apparitions.” Just as I finish saying it, the room around us flickers. Thick concrete becomes crumbling stone, darkness pervading the little cell as holes in the wall open, the prison appearing to have been….aged? Or something else….it was back to normal in another blink, the shudder passing over my shoulders causing another coughing fit. “Hkkk, haaghk….mmm, koff koff…”

 

[Mad Maggie]

The ninja doctor snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Hey! You can stop playing that up, by the way. Yeah, sure, you have cancer, but it's not...killing you? That something you did to yourself? No....with you, it's more likely it was a happy accident. All that mad science seeping into your DNA and adapting it to the malignant cells?" His ice blue eyes were still piercing through me, the man having practically answered a question I had been obsessing over. Why HADN'T I died yet? Was the answer as simple as that?

"You've read my medical file." I grunted, coughing into my sleeve. "In any case, I'm not play-acting. My lungs are scarred, and I regularly purge dead tissue. I don't feel the fatigue typical of most cases." I allowed myself a rueful chuckle, clinking the bracelet on my wrists. "That should be obvious. I'm a wanted terrorist." If I had made myself immune to the worst effects of the cancer with my experiments, then perhaps I was further along than I thought. I could eventually cure it, return to peak physical condition. All the powers of the Crossroads made it seem more than possible.

"That didn't count, by the way. Just one medical opinion to another." McNinja had somehow acquired a beverage, raising a straw to the balaclava covering his mouth. An almost comical sucking sound emanated from the drink cup as he sipped the fluid through his mask. "You called me insane. You're breaking the laws of physics right now." I pointed as well as I could. "Your lips would be incapable of generating suction through your mask. So be more careful about your aspersions on my mental health....doctor." Petulant, yes, but he was beginning to annoy me. The constant apparition hadn't helped either, and I was sure he'd noticed my breathing getting faster.

"Well, you're clearly sick, yeah, I get it....One more. Then you can go back to whatever wacky magical prison cell they're keeping you in." The doctor produced a notepad, a pen marking the top of the paper. "This is actually why I'm here...someone those people are still alive, and in agony. So I'm here to figure out how to cure them."

I snorted. "Ha. Typical. Playing the hero to save someone's dear sweet granny. Very well. I will....koff...enlighten you as to the nature of my toxins. Ask your question."

The walls of the cell were beginning to age again, stone starting to dry out and lighten, then crumble to dust. Something was happening, but the opportunity to tell someone what exactly I had accomplished...and have them comprehend for once was too unique an opportunity. McNinja spoke, his voice sounding far away and fuzzy. "I analyzed your gas. It's absolutely incomprehensible to a normal chemist, and it also breaks the laws of physics. You can't have a caustic, acidic substance that stays stable long enough to do the type of cellular damage you're doing to people." His voice hardened, sounding as though he was attempting to disguise how much he needed to know this answer. "There's one commonality. Tell me....what is the nature of 'variable n'? The stabilizing molecule that binds the absoroption protein."

I let a smile spread my lips. "You're referring to my greatest achievement so far. I call it the 'Nox Enzyme'." Spreading my fingers on the table. I begin sketching the particle formula of the enzyme. "It's purpose is to enable maximum cellular absorption potential and trigger collapse when a sufficient dosage is achieved. An integral part of my toxins, yes, but..." I stare McNinja in the eyes with a dead look. "I'm always working on new formula. Just when you've cured one...here comes another. Perhaps you might get it if you devote your life to stopping me...but I'm...koff, koff...hkkk....small potatoes...as it were." My vision had tunneled, McNinja's worried visage fading into grey and then dissipating. I felt light and intoxicated, my skin tightening against humid, low quality air.

"「 DISCO CLOSURE 」!!!"

The brown mummified demon was floating behind me, arms outstretched, thin flailing tendrils making a writhing shadow on the wall with the entrance. Words came to my mind, and I spoke them in a thunderous echo without consciously deciding to do so. A roar filled the tiny cell, followed by a sharp, high pitched snap as I stood, the manacles breaking into rust and falling to a cracked and debris strewn floor, McNinja disappearing as the room aged into ruin around me, a still silence echoing with my shouted threat.