Chapter 2: The Fine Line

The sun rose.1

Just like it did every other day.2

However, unlike all the other days, it chose to shine upon the Asylum. A building so evil, light got scared and ran away. But today, the sun was being bold. Today, something important was going to happen.3

“Mr. Samsa, please! Calm down, it’s only a little pain,” ? ? ? ? 1 chortled mockingly.4

Gregor Samsa lay pinned like a Cicada that would soon be a much less mobile part of an Entymologist’s collection, whimpering and shrieking on the glacial metal of the examination table. Unnamable instruments of horror were poised above every sensitive spot on his body like hungry Locusts, jostling each other and buzzing angrily for a better shot at the meal.5

“Feeling alone, Mr. Samsa?”, taunted ? ? ? ? .6

Gregor Samsa was an average, All American, Joe Everyman.7

His hair was dull brown, flecked with gray. His eyes were likewise. His face was plain and unmarked. He was barely noticeable and instantly forgettable.8

Most maniacs are stopped dead early on in their careers because they ring very deep alarm bells in the people they meet. The alarm bells state very clearly: Run! or Hit in mouth! Really hard! Thus they are easily caught. Gregor may only have been half as crazy as the other inmates of the Asylum, but he was kept in the maximum security wing for an entirely different reason. He was so normal, so average, so boring that he didn’t ring alarm bells in other people. Which made him the most dangerous person there.9

Growing up, he had had many friends and family who simply adored him for what he was: Nothing. He wasn’t particularly smart or athletic, and all who knew him praised him for it. Not knowing any other way of living, Gregor had taken the praise the way any other person would for some other thing like winning a medal.10

His friends and family were glad he was average. They knew what happened to people who were exciting; things happened to them.11

They fought wars, designed bombs, sold drugs, had sex, and listened to New Wave music.12

And so, in an attempt to spare the world from yet another Ted Kacinski or Elvis Presley, 2 Gregor had been conditioned from birth to be absolutely nothing, and for a time, all was well.13

However, unbeknownst to them all, something was happening to Gregor.14

Slowly but surely, Gregor’s unconscious feelings of distaste for his fellow man had begun to coalesce into a malevolent sub entity within himself.15

Late at night, Gregor could hear it talking to him. It was a talking voice, a mocking voice. A voice, that, had it had fingers, would have used them to point maliciously at every mistake, every fall. The voice preached the joys of achievement, ones that Gregor, the hopeless worm, could never hope to attain in a million life times. The words were faint and easy to ignore at first. But as more time and even more nothing and unachievement passed, the words grew stronger and more forceful. Until eventually, they pounded the inside of his skull like a thousand thousand rhinoceri taking tap dancing lessons. Gregor could no more stand this than a marshmallow could stand the inside of a microwave. He snapped.16

What happened that night was too horrible for words. But, his actions christened the entity within him, Gorger. 3 Unable to cope with what he had done, Gregor fled into the cold, cold mountains where he attempted to starve himself to death. A few weeks went by and nothing much happened.17

That is, until Gregor was discovered by the local authorities lying comatose in a cave. He was barely alive when they found him and half frozen to death. He had somehow managed to survive by drinking the water that dripped from the stalactites on the ceiling of the cave and feeding off of his excess body fat, all of which was gone. Despite his apparent listlessness, he fought like a wild animal, gravely injuring several of the officers. One of them thought, “what the hell.” and shot Gregor in the back of the head.18

It was not until they were all driving back with Gregor stowed in a body bag that they realized their fatal mistake, or rather, didn’t. Gregor spontaneously reanimated and slaughtered the officers. It was only through the use of an extremely heavy sedative that an end was put to that. Only one officer made it back alive, but by that point, he was rather insane himself and could not give credible proof as to what had really happened.19

When Gregor had been put on trial, the plead was insanity. Not surprisingly, everyone agreed. Thus he had been committed to Goldstein’s Memorial Hospital And Asylum.20

The G.M.H.A.A. was the most hated and feared establishment ever built. For similar results to being committed there, you could go to China’s Opium district and stand around taking deep breaths. At least there no one tried to stab you. As much.21

Attempts to build Gargoyles for the various pillars and battlements had produced nothing more than some very surprised sculptors and several stony specks accelerating into the distance.22

The people of Gregor’s town felt he deserved every minute there.23

The Asylum itself was owned and operated by a woman named24

? ? ? ?. Not much was known about her other than that she was part of a wealthy Italian family that had used to live in a massive mansion at the bottom of a valley a few miles to the West of the mountain village where the Asylum was situated. They had all purportedly died of mysterious causes. All of them, except ? ? ? ?.25

? ? ? ? was a beautiful woman, but she was beautiful the way a new gun is beautiful; cold, uncaring, and above all, deadly. Her hair was thick and wavy and fell past her shoulders in Rose and Mahogany waves. Her full, pouty lips were sumptuous and free of lip stick. Her nose was small and cute as a button, except that it in no way resembled a button, it resembled a nose. Her eyes were steely, blue and piercing. Like a pair of steely blue Teflon bullets. She never smiled. Or at least, she never smiled when other, normal people smiled.26

? ? ? ? was a Sadist. She did not however, derive any sexual pleasure from the pain she caused. She was above the carnal addictions that weaker humans suffered from. It was simply the only thing from which she drew self satisfaction and purpose.27

She was the most feared being in the whole area.28

The reason for this was, that, although she set off about a thousand alarm bells just by walking into a room, nobody could do anything about it. She had no visible weaknesses, no vices that could be exploited. In her spare time, she liked to have a bit of light reading and some plain toast. No one ever saw her anywhere but at The Asylum. You would have to get up pretty damn early in the morning to catch ? ? ? ? unawares. In fact, it might be better if you didn’t sleep at all.29

Unfortunately for Gregor, his problems did not end in a nice comfy padded room and a warm (albeit restrictive) jacket.30

Gorger continued to talk to Gregor.31

As before, he ridiculed Gregor for never doing anything with his life, for not even trying to escape again. He chuckled derisively at Gregor’s every failure. He laughed at every fall, and tripped him when he tried to get up.32

There would be no peace for Gregor, not even in death.33

For although it was Gorger who had done the talking that drove Gregor to his actions, he had taken no active part in it. Gregor’s subconscious (which was a good deal more clever than he was) had wisely repressed the memories of exactly what happened that horrible night in order to preserve his innocence and above all, his lucidity.34

The thing nobody (not even Gregor) realized was that although Gregor had been killed, Gorger had never died. To this day, only Gregor’s dark half can chuckle at the irony of it all. That, now it is Gregor occupying Gorger’s body, a parasitic motel inhabitant.35

The body was kept in the shape it had been in when Gregor ran away: perfect. Gorger had been a killing machine. With muscles like rock and reflexes like lightning, he had been the talk of the ethereal plane. It does make sense in a cosmic sort of way. How else would Gregor be able to survive ? ? ? ?’s special treatment, the mere hint of which sent lesser men into screaming hysterics?36

But recently, something new had been happening to Gorger; Deprived of his old physical body, a new one had began to grow in its place. He had started to become more real. More solid, more there. He was not yet visible, but he was as strong and as fast as ever. And as time passed, Gorger found that he could move farther and farther away from his original host body. It wouldn’t be long now…37

Where was Gorger? thought Gregor desperately.38

Gregor reached deep into his troubled psyche and felt for the location of his other half.39

Marco....ping....ping....ping....Polo!40

Ah.41

Gorger was in fact right outside…the second door to the left of the fourth branch of the master stairwell leading from the basement to the duct system fifteen floors and forty three corridors away.42

He was waiting for his favorite candy striper to walk by, the one who was always carrying a precarious stack of hypodermic needles on an unwieldy lead tray.43

She was trying to pay her way through Med school by working as an intern for Goldstein’s Memorial Hospital And Asylum. 444

In Gorger’s view, fools like that deserved to accidentally trip on nothing and die suddenly. He was practically doing them a favor.45

Just then, ? ? ? ? became bored with Gregor’s inability to scream properly while she was torturing him. So without looking, she reached behind her and picked up something sharp and toxin loaded from her tray and sunk it into Gregor’s left fore arm with excessive force, jerking him painfully out of the delirium that had allowed him a view of Gorger’s horrible antics.46

Gregor screamed a scream that would have rattled the bones of the hardiest Lich, a moan that would have shaken loose those water logged denizens of Davy Jones’ Locker that are too foul for the surface, a wail that would have a Banshee clawing its ears out, a howl that would have left Cerberus cringing like a toy chihuahua, and a trill that would have procured an early visit from the Great Old Ones. 5 It would have, if he could have made a noise at that moment. As it was, his larynx had suddenly grown ethereal claws, seized his voice box in a strangle hold and begun threatening its mother in a thick Germanic accent if it decide to squeal.47

? ? ? ? frowned, then got up and walked out, leaving Gregor for dead.48

Several stately bureaucratic floors away, Gorger shrieked and hollered somethin’ awful and toppled to the floor, fluxing violently and loudly cursing his unseen hurts.49

The unidentified explosion of sound was sufficient to pitch the candy striper (that had been marked for death only a few paragraphs ago) to the ground.50

Gorger looked up just in time to see the horrible spectacle that was the unpremeditated fruit of his sudden seizure.51

The fall was almost in slow motion. Her blonde curls bobbed in the cool breeze of the hospital A/C as her wide blue eyes seemed to stretch to twice their normal size. Her milk white skin pinked with the rush of emotions that accompanied the flash of life before her eyes. And after a delicate “oof”, there was the inevitable crescendo of tinkling glass and the unceremonious Rrrunnch as the heavy lead tray upon which the deadly needles were carried crushed the dainty skull of the candy striper.52

She didn’t feel a thing. By some bizarre Twist Of Mercyful Fate 6, every needle was pointed in the same direction, downward.53

The first syringe to hit was 20 C.c.s of Meth Amphetamine, the second, some Morphine, the third Cyanide, the fourth, Strychnine, the fifth Bufotoxin, the sixth Chloroform, and the seventh and final, an ounce of imported Cobra venom.54

Gorger stood up grudgingly and peered about for witnesses. Finding none, he assumed the ancient Shaolin calm of inner peace and soul searching. 755

Being the other half of Gregor’s psyche, he had no business knowing things that Gregor did not. Id est: the secrets of a Shaolin temple. It defied logic, and yet only confirmed his existence. A nothing can’t know secrets, but a person can.56

Unlike Gregor, Gorger did not need to search within his psyche for his other half’s location, because in doing so, he would be looking inside himself. Gorger supposed he was just lucky that Gregor had never figured onto that paradox. That Gregor saw himself as one whole person with Gorger as the tiny parasite, was quite frankly ridiculous.57

There. Gorger leapt. He leapt through plaster, through people, through the corpses that lined the inside of every wallway, hallway, hallways, always. He leapt through the clouds of Actinic Pink asbestos that served as coffin lining for those poor souls who would never see a proper burial, the victims of ? ? ? ?’s special treatment. He leapt, and leapt, and leapt until he landed right outside the door to Gregor’s pain.58

Spotting ? ? ? ?, striding quickly away down the other end of the corridor, he wondered if she had had anything to do with the pain they shared, and wondering this, he wondered whether he should tear her limb from limb.59

Hmmmm....Naahh...60

He opened the door.61

Gorger strode into ? ? ? ?’s “office” like a centipede with ninety-eight missing legs.62

He stopped short, making a noise in his throat akin to something between a African Bee and a Hissing Cockroach.63

He paced quickly over to where Gregor lay, gasping for breath like a fish whose Hercules Beetle had gone down the wrong pipe.64

Gorger unemotionally yanked the hypodermic needle out of Gregor's arm and tossed it away like a chocolate that you have just discovered can move and twiddle its feelers.65

Gorger sighed and unstrapped Gregor from his place on the nightmare operating table. He slung an arm over his shoulder and half carried him down the hall.66

“Come on old friend, lets get you back to your bed.”67

Professor Blueberry opened his eyes and took stock of the situation, mechanically ticking off items of personal safety on a sort of cerebral clip board. He was in his lab. He was wearing all his clothes. There were no strangers in bed with him. It was three of the clock in the afternoon.68

Blueberry sat up and looked around his lab now. The stucco ceiling was dotted with florescent lights like a pimply teenager with the chicken pox. The walls were unadorned of anything save the sheets of blueprints that were as numerous as they were massive and could now legally be considered wall paper.69

The floor was hardwood, it was fairly new and did not squeak. This was good. Professor Blueberry had killed a great many people over squeaky floors. (It is notable that those people who had been killed over the squeaky floor boards, now resided under the squeaky floor boards. This may be why the Professor’s floorboards no longer squeaked.)70

Over on, and entirely covering, one wall was The Machine. It was massive to the point of being . . . what? I actually don’t have analogy for this one. Bugger.71

The Machine was covered in tubes and spheres, Tesla coils and electrodes, funnels and jars, micro chips and transistors. Here and there, a Jacob’s Ladder stuck out of the mish mash, hair thin tongues of static electricity climbing the ion charged rungs to nowhere. And at the center of all the knotted wiring, all the tubes of trapped lightning, all the jars filled with unsavory shapes suspended in viscous goo, was the anti matter. Or rather, where the anti matter should have been. The transparent pod was currently empty.72

The principle of the apparatus was something like a gum ball machine. The process would start, and anti matter would form and then condense inside the detonation proof pod, which could then be “plugged in” to various devices which would then be powered at one hundred percent energy efficiency for a great number of years before the pod ran out of anti matter.73

Blueberry got up and stumbled light headed over to the subatomic nanoscope. This would allow him to see the anti matter when it formed in its first infinitesimal stages. He peered into it hopefully. Yes, there it was, just as small as when he had started the project, inexorably getting bigger quark by quark.74

Blueberry suppressed a few waves of anger. How could this have happened? Blueberry remembered seeing the anti matter. He remembered how big it was. He remembered, blazing blinding horrible destruction.75

Blueberry shook his head to clear away what, from a logical stand point, must have been a dream. Yes, that was it. A dream. Ha ha. What a funny dream. Ha ha.76

But wait, a terminally logical inner voice said. You, er, we don’t sleep, so how,- Shut up shut up shut up! Stop trying to realize things!77

The sudden ringing of the phone coupled with the opening and slamming of the dorm door that signified the return of Blueberry’s roommate, Dr. Faust, the demonologist and pottery sculptor, was sufficient to make Blueberry jump in fright and bang his head on a large overhanging metal box. Blueberry cursed under his breath. That was the one place on his body that wasn’t completely invulnerable to harm. But, despite the weakness, his body worked doubly hard to heal his damaged forehead and reinforce the weak spot.78

“I’b baaaaaaaack!” bellowed Dr. Faust through his stuffy nose.79

Eric Faust was jovial and constantly scarlet faced, a disposition that would have been more at home on someone who was morbidly obese and wore red. And had a beard.80

But no, against all possibility, Eric Faust was six foot two and had the width of a reed.81

His lab coat was indigo blue and he was quite clean shaven, except for his matted, greasy black hair, which had been allowed to run wild about his head. His watery red rimmed eyes were such a dark color of brown that they appeared to be black. His big cheese wedge nose was almost constantly stuffed, giving Faust a permanent sinus headache, which somewhat dented his jovial personality to a respectable level. His ears were large and nobbly, as if some small rodent had been nibbling at the edges.82

Ironically, it was the good doctor’s study of demons and their habits that was a stress reliever for the high pressures and extreme frustrations of being a pottery sculptor.83

Eric strode in, carrying a load of groceries.84

“There’s sub wudd odd the phode for you.”85

Blueberry grunted and picked up the receiver.86

“Yes?”87

A sharp voice, harsh and metallic, spoke to the professor, biting off each word as if it were chewing its sentences.88

“You Are Late. Get To The Asylum Now If You Wish To Keep Your Job. And Bring The Albrechts. I Require Them.”89

The line went dead. Professor Blueberry looked long and hard at the phone, and then snapped the receiver in two. Doctor Faust appeared not to have noticed.90

“Who was that?”91

Blueberry looked up.92

“? ? ? ?.”93

In the gloom of a heavily padded cell, Timothy waited. He waited for the ponderous footsteps of the sole security guard on the 54th floor.94

? ? ? ? had a very cruel sense of humor. When Timothy was 19 years old, ? ? ? ? had had him jailed on the 19th floor of Goldstein’s. As Timothy had aged, he had been moved upwards. Timothy wondered if they continuously built floors one on top of the other just for this purpose.95

Timothy was five foot eleven and of strong build. His crow black hair sported wool gray in two large wings at the sides of his head and looked as if they might flutter away at any moment. Gray also streaked through his locks in thin sporadic strands, the stray feathers of the wings twitching for freedom at his temples. The hair was pulled back tight and tied together with black twine in a short pony tail at the rear of his head. He had aged well and his skin was only just beginning to show signs of wrinkling.96

Timothy had strong roots in the native Alaskan tribe of the Tsimshian and it showed in more ways than one. His eyes were beady and piercing as if they knew more than they were letting on and intended to keep it that way from you younguns. Dad blast it. His skin was a deep and muddy brick red.97

He was called Timothy because none of the idiotic yokels from the states could be bothered to remember his real name, and had taken to calling him Timothy, after a brand of Cigar that was very popular in the local shops.98

His name in the language of the native Alaskan Tsimshian, Sm’algyax, had been Baa'làx Án'on, or “Ghost Hand”. There was a not a day of his present life where he did not chuckle bitterly at the dark irony of his name, but more on that later. The fools who dared to call themselves locals treated Timothy and his family like dirt, even though Timothy’s parents were very smart business minded people who had turned their locally lucrative fishing business into a world wide publicly traded company, the kind that is never mentioned by anyone, yet is making more money than the fools who pull publicity stunts and set baited traps for the Paparazzi. Forget Def Jam, forget Sony, forget everything. I’m talking about the guy who invented the smiley face here, the guy who put Oxygen on the periodic table and gets a quarter every time someone inhales.99

The thrice damned fools only saw Timothy and his local family and friends as stereotypical “Forners”. Not to be trusted, not to be dealt with, not to be liked. Main priority: Alienate, alienate, alienate. (A trial by ordeal would be nice too).100

Despite this, Timothy’s life had been good. Plenty of friends and brothers to go hunting and play games with. All the fish he could eat without dying of Mercury poisoning. And free heating. Suck on that, you forners.101

Timothy had been a smart boy. Not so much a young Einstein as a young Ben Stein. Minus the sarcasm and crappy franchises.102

But then a terrible accident had occurred, ending the life of one of his dear (if rather wooden headed) friends and checking Timothy out of the Wunderkind Hotel and into the metaphorically roach infested Today Is The First Day Of The Rest Of Your Life Bed And Breakfast.103

Permanently.104

As the years in the Asylum wore on, Timothy had sunk deeper and deeper in to the pits of despair.105

Between the mind numbing cold and the constant sedation, the years slipped by like a luge team of emperor penguin attourneys dipped in WD40. Timothy may have been fifty four, but he still retained the mentality of a nineteen year old. Still young on the inside, Timothy entertained defiant thoughtsof vengeance, escape and grandiose adventure.106

The few glimpses he had managed to catch of the world outside his cell were bleak at best. Everything looked the same. Apart from the security guard, one or two other doctors, the faceless inmates who were too doped to see anything themselves, and ? ? ? ?, Timothy had never seen a single person since his entrapment in the asylum. No one ever came to visit. Him or any of the other inmates. This worried him greatly.107

Timothy looked around. There wasn’t much to look at aside from the large double paned Plexiglas window, barred from the outside. It was snowing out there. But then, it seldom wasn’t in the area of Alaska where the Asylum was located. The sun was also shining. But then, it seldom was in the area of Alaska where the Asylum was located. Normally, the appearance of the sun signifies good times and all around fun for everyone. This is true of most cultures. It was not true of the superstitious villagers who peopled the miniature municipality.108

The sun was not a frequent visitor in the cold, cold Alaskas. And thus distrusted immensely. In the same way that someone who leaves some object of theirs at your abode for “a few days” and returns for it after so many years that the original owners have moved, is distrusted immensely. For the people of the village, the sun was a very bad thing, and its appearance while it was snowing could bode no good at all.109

It was a very remote region, with only the village and the Asylum connected by a dangerous and windy road.110

The village did not have much to its name aside from its yearly crop of snow peppers and the Northern Alaskan Institute Of Science which was also sited there. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much of a tourist attraction. All the tourists were too busy doing silly things at the more well known Bird’s Eye Village in scenic Sweden, where it wasn't Hypothermia Degrees Fahrenheit almost constantly.111

It was barely warmer inside the Asylum than out. Luckily, Timothy’s tranquilized state dulled the sharp stabbing pain that the frost would normally bring. Timothy’s breath misted in ivory plumes from his slack jawed mouth as his mind drifted in and out of focus. Through a haze of hot white fluff, memories coasted like ghost ships in a Sargasso Sea.112

He saw Merrick, another inmate of the asylum. She had been diagnosed with Catatonia and lived in a world of her own. Which was good for ? ? ? ?, who was spending enough on drugs as it was. Merrick came self medicated.113

She was short, skinny and plain, but Timothy thought she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. He could not stop thinking about her. She was the only thing that kept him going in the waking Hell that was his life.114

The dream changed then, twisting and blossoming into new shapes. Rather unpleasant shapes. Like if Salvador Dali had had the choice of inventing either Yoga or the Kaleidoscope and had chosen both simultaneously.115

Timothy saw ? ? ? ?, peering down at him with that mixture of condescending contempt and morbid curiosity that was never far from her face. He noticed that all his memories of her seemed to be from this prone perspective.116

The dream changed yet again. It became darker and bloodier. It grew as straight as an arrow flying through a worm hole during a David Bowie music video, which is to say not at all.117

He saw his least favorite doctor, grinning madly and…Timothy screamed. He was wide awake now. At least, his mind was. His eyes darted to and fro in terror. He was still paralyzed by the medicine given him by one of the hospital staff a few hours prior. All he could do now was wait.118

Somewhere, a clock sliced time into nice even little pieces.119

Bit by bit, Timothy’s blood circulation filtered the toxins from his veins. One by one, Timothy’s limbs came back to life. Last to join the party were his arms. Timothy looked down at his arms now. One looked normal, but the other was something else altogether.120

Its coloration was somewhere between charcoal and Jade. Here and there, bits of bone showed through. They gleamed like quicksilver in the half light of his cell.121

Futilely, he attempted to make it move. The attempt produced nothing more than a sad twitch.122

He grinned. More than enough to use like a club. He got up woozily and positioned himself behind where the door would be once it was opened.123

Not long after, Timothy’s hopes were confirmed and the sounds of the door being ponderously unlocked, rattled and jingled out a tune that Timothy would definitely have loved to dance to, were he not attempting to conceal himself.124

This was it. Timothy had spent thirty five years debating over whether or not to escape and if so, how.125

For three and a half decades, Timothy had been at odds with himself over whether or not he deserved to stay locked up for the rest of his days, as the supreme court had intended.126

His best friend Âawæ'aw Gyemgmaatk (Crow Moon), “Johnny” to the ignorant masses, had been found dead in a meadow on the outskirts of town. The wounds suggested either aliens, elves, or Timothy.127

Hmmm...tough one...Anyroad, Timmy had been through at least seven appeals before his rich and influential parents had run out of bribe money and Johnny’s parents had outbid them over the judge and then trumped them by taking it to supreme court. Timmy might have stood a chance had not his arm suddenly come alive and disemboweled the prosecuting attorney. 8128

Timothy was broken. The arm had a mind of its own and sought only to protect him from any harm that came his way, be it physical or psychological. The arm very well could have killed Johnny for all he knew. Timothy could readily imagine the horrible thing spidering across rooftops, dragging the dead weight of Timothy behind it like the mariner and his albatross, climbing into a certain window, and strangling Johnny. Timothy’s active imagination always seemed to leave out the facts that Johnny had been killed in broad daylight, miles away from his home, and that whenever Timothy fell unconscious, his arm ceased to function. It had taken Timothy quite a long time to gather these facts, and in reviewing them, had decided the hell with it and organized a plan of escape.129

But, back to the present.130

Timothy’s eyes widened in surprise and his pulse quickened by a few parsecs.131

This was not the usual nameless security guard who always looked the same age: ninety.132

It was Professor Blueberry. The one other person in Timothy’s life responsible for keeping it a living hell.133

Timothy had intended to lightly tap the guard on a pressure point, but there would be no such mercy now, oh no, not for this man.134

Timothy hated and feared ? ? ? ?, but there was only room in Timmy’s head for loathing for Blueberry.135

Professor Blueberry was not a full time worker at Goldstein’s Memorial Hospital and Asylum, he merely worked there part time to pay for his research materials.136

Timothy had no inkling as to exactly what it was that Mr. Blueberry was researching, but his dorm at The Institute Of Science was supposedly shared by a Demonologist and Pottery sculptor.137

In Timothy’s opinion, if you were in with that crowd, then you were too far gone for saving. 9138

Though Blueberry only worked at the asylum for three hours a day, he made every minute count. At no point in time did the merest prospect of mercy cross Timothy’s mind. Professor Blueberry sang while he worked.139

Timothy shuddered away the greasy cobwebs of memory lane and prepared to strike.140

Flex.141

He raised his hand, muscles flowing in and out of place like a water clock resetting itself. Timothy’s arm now resembled the leg of a grasshopper, impossibly thin and bent the wrong way around for maximum propulsion. His hand was now akin to a bottle of stale champagne: flat, deadly if swung, and powerful enough to knock you to the ground after a few tastes.142

However, like the mongoose to Timothy’s snake, Professor Blueberry sensed his attack and reacted with an unnatural speed that belied his white coated bulk.143

Twirling the syringe (that held Timothy’s daily routine breakfast, lunch, dinner, and heavy tranquilizer all in one) playfully in his sausage fingers, Professor Blueberry spun like a top and hurled it point first straight at Timothy.144

Flex.145

Timothy’s muscles reacted faster than his brain ever could have and realigned their strategy.146

Timothy brought both arms to bear in front of his abdomen, and put one hand on top of the other, palm to knuckles, with both palms facing the Professor. Timothy’s supernatural arm had changed once more. It bent forwards again and acquired a metallic turquoise tint that firmly communicated without a doubt that,147

Immovable Object has nothing on me,148

and Irresistible Force can just go and shove it.149

The syringe flew and was stopped dead when it penetrated Timothy’s make shift shield. The professor cocked his head to one side in puzzlement. His piggy eyes, deep set and sunken in his fat, pink head, glinted like Mercury marbles and darted left and right in confusion. Timothy grinned wolfishly and,150

Flex.151

There was the slightest disturbance in the air as Timothy’s hands moved forward almost imperceptibly and shot the syringe backwards at enormous speed.152

There was a faint Tonk as the flat end of the syringe collided with Professor Blueberry’s one weak spot: his forehead.153

He collapsed in a manner that, were it not for the grave circumstances, would have been called by many, hilarious.154

Timothy stared down at his hands and the holes that weren’t there. He swallowed nervously and then turned and made his escape.155

Timothy crept along the hallway on the fourth floor. His bare feet making ominous slapping noises against the linoleum tiles. The fluorescent lighting only made him look more slipshod and diabolical.156

This was not how he had planned to escape. For one thing, he had meant to bring Merrick with him. For another, he had wanted to wait until the tranquilizers in his arm had fully worn off. He had wanted to doff his gown and scrubs and slip on something more presentable and less conspicuous.157

But no, he could never have things the way he wanted them. It was as if fate had conspired against him.158

Slap, slap, slap.159

So what else is new? he mused.160

Determinedly, he ran down the hall to the master stairwell. The stairwell was master of its domain for a good reason. It was really just a bottomless pit with a spiral stair case hung from steel beams riveted to the pit’s sides all the way down. It was probably the best spot in history for an unsolved murder.161

In fact it had been.162

Several times.163

Timothy might have mucked up just about every inch of his escape plan, but he would at least have the pride to make of it what he could.164

He jumped and slid down the rail, and thus continued to slide for quite a long time until, one careless slip left him sliding much faster, sans rail, sans anything.165

During free fall, he managed to stop screaming and gather his wits.166

Flex.167

Using the centrifugal weight of his supernatural arm, he latched on to the wall adjacent him and allowed his full weight to bring him to a screeching halt, six inches away from the bottom floor.168

He stepped down and smiled up at the deep furrows that had been left in the stone wall. The trancs were beginning to wear off. Timothy flexed his claw experimentally and turned to a section of masonry. Drawing back, he swung the arm with all his might.169

The arm tore open a section of stucco and concrete to reveal a desiccated corpse wrapped in pink insulation.170

The body slumped forward, its jaw creaking like that rusty hinge you keep meaning to fix but never do so you go insane from the noise and than you’re captured and hospitalized but later escape to live a life of poverty in Guatemala, trying to make good things happen for you but you just dig yourself in deeper with the local mafia and end up selling fraudulent credit cards trying to make ends meet and then you commit suicide.171

Timothy pondered this awhile before walking away mutely. Eventually, he reached his intended destination; the main power core.172

Casting about, he pinpointed the circuit breaker for the main building. He couldn’t do anything about the branch offices or the backwoods “kennels”, much as he would have liked to set every one of173

? ? ? ?’s frankensteinian experiments on a rampage against their tyrannical creator, but as it was, he valued his freedom more than justice for the undead and down trodden. (And frankly, he wasn’t really sure whether they would be eternally grateful or just tear him limb from limb. As such, he really didn’t want to find out.)174

Reaching out, he tore the little door off its steel hinges. Whereupon, he found himself looking not at a board of wires and and switches, but at a dank hole leading away into oblivion.175

Timothy paled and stepped backward hesitantly. Suddenly, he tripped over something and fell backward. Hard.176

Sitting up after a few seconds, he discovered that someone had beaten him to the punch, so to speak. And from the looks of things, quite recently, as the circuit board was still spitting sparks.177

His eyes widened and his pulse beat out a tune that would have had Buddy Rich’s hands doing a little something called the Carpal Tunnel Jive. From the shadowy corners of the room, a disembodied voice chuckled thickly. And then, horror of horrors, it spoke.178

“You’ve got a half hour head start before I trip the alarms, and that’s because I like you, kid. Now scram,” slurred the disembodied voice in a bad mobster accent.179

At the behest of the melodramatic Poltergeist, Timothy hopped to his feet and set off at a gallop.180

After Timothy had gone, Gorger sat down and began to count the seconds. For him, this was the Asylum’s alternative to watching soap operas.181

A millennia of corridors later, Timothy began to wonder why no one had caught him yet. He looked up to see at every corner or so, that the surveillance cameras had all been deactivated.182

Fool! Timothy monologued.183

Of course the cameras were out, the power was gone.184

To the outside observer, Timothy appeared to run awkwardly. He flitted through the air hunched over, using only his one über arm for propulsion, like some sort of mono-limbed super gorilla.185

Screeching to a halt on the skin of his knuckles, he cocked his head and peered about for the source of his ominously growing discomfort.186

Timothy simultaneously suppressed a gasp of terror and a retch of repulsion. He had trod on the hand of the cadaver of the candy striper, which was already undergoing Rigor Mortis not an hour hence the time of her quietus.187

“Oh. Must’ve missed that one.”188

Timothy looked up for the source of the voice. His dread confirmed, there was ? ? ? ?, standing there like she owned the place.189

Because she did.190

She sauntered over, (utterly ignoring Timmy) heaved the carcass over her shoulder and strolled back to the spot she had been in.191

Reaching out, she wrenched open a section of wall (apparently hinged just for this purpose) and chucked the body inside. His paralysive shock notwithstanding, Timothy propelled himself forward at the speed of a man with a mutant arm propelling himself forward and rocketed past192

? ? ? ? around the corner.193

Charging down a familiar hallway, he tore open a door leading to a cushion lined cell. Within, he found just what he was looking for: Merrick. She sat, huddled in one corner, her nose on her knees and her arms around her calves. Her light brown hair came down past her ears in frayed and unkempt strands. Her bare feet tapped out a beat that would have been tuneless had it been hummed. Her soft green eyes vibrated at speeds unheard of by sensible and well to do humming birds, giving her the appearance of experiencing R.E.M. while awake. (For a more in depth look at Merrick’s condition, just sit down and listen to R.E.M. for any length of time. You’ll be comatose in minutes.)194

Surrounding her as usual, were the words.195

She had written J-O-E-L on every square inch of wall, ceiling, and floor so many times that Timothy had lost count. Every letter string was in a different color, and every last epistle appeared to be pointed at the corner where she sat, as if accusing her of some silent crime that bore no need for evidence.196

No matter how many times the janitor scrubbed those walls, the words always came back. It was as if some sort of invisible 10 child with an endless supply of crayons kept paying visits to the catatonic Merrick. Timothy didn’t know who Joel was, but he did know he’d like to nail the bastard to a wall for doing whatever it was he had done to make Merrick the way she was.197

Not stopping for pleasantries, he scooped her up in his normal arm and accelerated down the hallway to a point where he had mentally mapped a route to to an egress.198

Around every corner, doors were opening to reveal pale, blaunched faces, blinking bewilderedly in the noonlight. Out and onward they stumbled, the army of the walking dead.199

Timothy galloped past them, too busy to rejoice with his fellow Huddled Masses, Yearning For Freedom (not that they would notice), until he reached the source of his adulation, the exit.200

Then, like an Albatross to the neck, out stepped ? ? ? ? from around the next corner, right in front of the door.201

“I suppose I’m lucky,” she crooned maliciously, “that someone painstakingly reconnected the circuit breaker and tripped the alarm. You might have escaped otherwise. And we just couldn’t have that, now could we?”202

All thoughts of resistance fled from Timothy’s mind as two burly monstrosities stepped from around parallel corners to flank their mistress. “More of your pets, ? ? ? ?? 11 ” said Timothy.203

Timothy did not bother trying to fight them. Much of the research behind ? ? ? ?’s freaks of nature was based on his arm, he didn’t stand half a ghost’s shadow of a chance against them.204

“Actually no, they call themselves the Albrecht Brothers and they’re not pets...yet. Please don’t taunt them, they’re very sensitive,” she chortled as the first presumed brother wiped a tear from the other’s eye. The gathering thoughts of sudden violence fled once again, not out of fear, but of pity.205

? ? ? ? didn’t care a lick for these men. They were just magic arm fodder to slow him down until a real monstrosity arrived.206

The first brother spoke some small words of comfort in a thick German accent to his quietly sobbing brother.207

“Feeyar not Brudder Sebastian, she said dat she vould help us find our beloved meessing seester.”208

The other replied: “Aye know, Brudder Otis, no matter how abominable dees voman ees, Aye yam sure she’ll be true to her vord.”209

“I wouldn’t be too sure on that one buddy, knowing ? ? ? ?, she probably kidnapped your sister and ate her,” mocked a voice originating from yet another hallway.210

Gregor stepped into view followed by...Gregor?211

But that couldn’t be right, could it? reeled Timothy.212

Wait, that’s not Gregor...213

“The name’s Gorger,” sneered the Gregor that wasn’t Gregor.214

Gorger was identical to Gregor in every aspect with a few small, if noticeable exceptions. His eyes were dead and hollow and his outline was slightly blurred. His nose was constantly wrinkled and his lip constantly curled in disdain for the world in general, that is, whenever he wasn’t sneering or grinning maniacally.215

“Listen kiddies, unless you want to be the victims of a sloppy back alley operation and mysteriously disappear like so many of the other lucky people here, then you’ll blow this popsicle stand like the rest of us.”216

“You’re being used!” piped in Gregor from his parrot position at Gorger’s left shoulder.217

“SILENCE!” thundered ? ? ? ?.218

“I am in control! Me! I’ve killed a holocaust’s worth of people to get to this spot, and I don’t intend to lose it over you insignificant invalids! Otis, Sebastian! Destroy them!”219

Her left eye twitched and a bit of spittle leaked from the side of her mouth.220

Otis looked at Sebastian. Sebastian looked at Otis. They then spoke in unison; “Der ends do not justify der means, Candy vould not veesh to conteenue to be our sister eef she knew how ve had come to find her.”221

They turned their heads to their mistress.222

“Ve veell not fight, ve veell find our seester on our own. Ve do not rekvire you.”223

They then folded their hands together in front ot their stomachs and stood there like statues.224

“Fine!” yelled ? ? ? ?. “I’ll kill you myself!”225

The world appeared to slow down to the speed of a trial that causes jurors to actually get up and walk out of court 12.226

? ? ? ? reached into her white lab coat with a look in her eye consistent with the one attributed to Snidely Whiplash as he unsheathes a dagger to finally dispatch Dudley DoRight in his smug sleep.227

Suddenly, with a loud crack, she crumpled to the floor, the tranquilizer gun loaded with something a bit more potent than tranquilizer clattering out of her hand. She lay there motionless.228

Towering over her like C’thulhu over the tiny Innsmouth, Gorger wiped the blood from his fingers with a kerchief, dropping it coolly into the pool of plasma rapidly expanding from ? ? ? ?’s head when he had finished. He looked up and cracked a convivial tomato grin that split his face nearly in two.229

“She’ll be fine in an hour or two, tripping the alarms wasn’t the only thing I did. I sent a certain surveillance video to the local authorities depicting a certain someone stuffing a body into the wall. They’ll probably bring an ambulance. Or maybe they won’t,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly as he did so. Gorger eyed Timothy and winked. Timothy shuddered.230

Merrick disengaged herself from the cradle that Timothy’s arm made and walked over to ? ? ? ?. “You dirty rat, you killed my brother,” she said quietly, making a gun out of her fingers and clicking the imaginary trigger.231

Having said her peace she walked back over to Timothy and together they strolled outside.232

The sunlight burst from every pore of the earth and refracted itself through the piles upon piles of now incandescent snow crystals. The Au Naturale laser light show only made victory sweeter.233

Gorger stared out at the distant mountain range that was now turning a wonderful shade of Aurora with a few Borealis undertones. When he spoke, it was almost wistfully.234

“Well, I’d like to say that it’s been fun, but frankly, it hasn’t. Me and Gregor here are thinking of taking a little looky-loo round the Tibetan area.” Turning to face Timothy and Merrick he said his goodbyes. “Rotsa ruck, keeds. We won’t be seeing each other again.”235

And so they all disappeared in their respective directions, but no matter which way they went, they would be arm in arm with good friends.236

Perfectly normal friends.237

It was there that the dream ended. From behind the group, a great clamor arose. The Albrechts raced out, yelling and waving their hands.238

Then the monster emerged, taking the door frame and a good portion of the wall with it. It was massive and built like a tank. Its skin was black as night and appeared to flow and shift constantly over its humongous frame. It bellowed and sent the Albrechts flying over the lip of a nearby ravine with a swipe of its bulging arm.239

Gregor turned to Gorger, who was standing there wide eyed and mouthing something to the effect of: oh no no no. Gorger spoke first.240

“Oh man, let’s book!”241

“But we have to help them!”242

“And just how do you expect us to do that?”243

Gregor shook his head disdainfully and turned back towards Timothy and Merrick.244

“Don’t worry! We’re here to ummph.”245

Gorger had cold cocked Gregor on the back of the head. Wincing and rubbing his self inflicted cranial injury, Gorger hefted the unconscious Gregor over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and began leaping away in fifty foot jumps, shouting something to the effect of:246

“Birds gotta swim, kid!”247

Or something.248

Silently cursing Gorger, Timothy picked Merrick back up in his normal arm and bolted away into the surrounding forest.249

Flex.250

Getting a running start through the Alaskan grade snow, Timothy lashed out with his arm and hooked a sturdy looking branch a hundred feet away. His arm had now split into countless tendrils, hooking branches higher and farther ahead while those behind snapped the branches they had been holding on to, in order to create some kind of obstacle course that might possibly deter the monstrosity.251

Crunch.252

It didn’t. The beast clenched itself into a new shape: a hovering orb covered in luminous pustules that would burst and spray a highly caustic and combustible liquid all over anything in its path. The makeshift obstacle course was only so much tinder to the fiend.253

The chill and damp that the eternal Winter of the Alaskas was infamous for did a bit to stop the whole forest going up in green flames and greasy smoke, but not much. Before long Timothy began to cough and gag on the horrible fumes.254

It seemed that no matter how high or fast he climbed, the behemoth was always right on his tail.255

Crunch.256

It had changed shape again. It was now a tangle of grasping arms, each with a single yellow blood shot eye on a seven fingered palm and upwards of eight leathery bat wings flapping at humming bird frequency and protruding seemingly at random from the misshapen bulk.257

It was getting colder. The monster was gaining bit by bit. This wasn’t working. Timothy needed a new strategy.258

Luckily, his arm seemed to have one in mind.259

Flex.260

The tendrils split and divided, split and divided again and again, until there were more tendrils than twigs in the forest.261

Abruptly, every tendril snapped to attention, straightening themselves out horizontally into long chopping blades.262

Well this is no good. Thought Timothy darkly as the new configuration got itself jammed between two large tree trunks and their respective branches.263

But the arm had a mind of its own and that mind had a plan. The blades began to rotate at light speed, dicing the trees and their branches to ribbons. Timothy shot high into the air like a rocket.264

A…helicopter rocket…yeah.265

Unfortunately, the beast followed. The higher altitude air was much thinner, and not much of an improvement on Timothy’s breathing over the greasy smoke.266

Timothy wheezed and gasped. He was blacking out. This was bad. If Timothy fell unconscious, his arm would cease to function. He needed to act now.267

His arm was happy to oblige.268

Flex.269

The tendril blades snapped back together and began to change again as Timothy slowly descended, riding the thermals. The monster did not have a mouth at present, but if it had, it would have grinned.270

Crunch.271

It shifted into something combining a catcher’s mitt with a giant squid.272

Done. Timothy’s arm pulsed with an otherworldly light. It appeared to be all one piece, almost two dimensional, with no marks to define texture or even existence. It was so black that light ricocheted off of it violently. It was outlined in a white haze that seemed to fade away into infinity.273

Timothy did not know what his arm had become, but it would have had Professor Blueberry jumping up and down in excitement. It was anti matter.274

The suddenly black hole-dense arm plunged like an A-bomb towards the monstrosity. Timothy did his best to shield Merrick with his body, holding her close and whispering that it would be okay.275

Too late the beast seemed to realize its situation and attempted to change shape, to get away. But it was too late. They met.276

There was a terrible ghastly silence.277

There was a terrible ghastly noise.278

There was a terrible ghastly silence.279

Professor Blueberry sat up in the empty cell and cast about. Timothy was gone. He looked out the barred window. He saw the flash of light.280

“No.”281

He spun in midair and made a mad dash for the door.282

He knew exactly what that flash meant, impossible as it seemed.283

The original anti matter was still back at his lab, safe in its newly constructed anti detonation pod in light of recent events that had never happened. It was important to remember that. Just taking completely random precautions, that’s all.284

But this turn of events would resonate along a string of frequencies that would home in on his anti matter like a shot.285

Suddenly, against his better judgement, it all came back to him, why the world had ended. What had happened before, when he had let things get out of hand.286

It was going to happen again. And if things kept going the way they were going, he would forget the whole thing and let it happen again. If he could just reach the car in time-287

Plib.288

The world exploded.289

1 For those of you who have not yet read Water Cycle, this footnote is here to end your confusion. ? ? ? ? is a being of many faces. Her attitude and name change constantly. Though they all have one thing in common They all belong to dead people. In each story she appears in, she has had a different name. You can discover which name it is by taking out your old dust ridden Ouija Board and mustering some Loa to spell out a four letter appellation from beyond the graaaaaaaaavve. Mine said A R I A .290

2 Or both! Run! Run from the horror!291

3 (1) G R E G O R (2) R O G E R G (3) E R R O G G (4) O R G G E R292

(5) G O R G E R293

4 No one really remembered old Mr. Goldstein. But those few who did had disappeared just as mysteriously as he had, the minute they started asking questions. These days, ? ? ? ?’s presence triggers sudden attacks of Acute Total Lack Of Curiosity Syndrome whenever she enters an occupied room. Their friends and family suggest seeing doctors about the syndrome, but the hospital staff respectfully declines for some strange reason.294

5 IÄ! IÄ! CTHULHU FHTAGN! Cthulhu noster qui es in maribus, sanctificetur nomen tuum; aveniat regnum tuum; fiat voluntas tua sicut in R’lyeh et in Y'hanthlei. Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn...Magna Mater! Magna Mater!...Atys...Dia ad aghaidh’s ad aodann...agus bas dunach ort! Dhonas’s dholas ort, agus leat-sa! . . . Ungl. . .ungl. . .rrrlh. . .chchch. . .295

6 I speld that wun rong on perpuss.296

7 That’s soul searching like soul sonar, not soul searching like soul Xrays.297

ANYone can do that. Just go up to the top of any large building, wait for someone to come and stand on the ledge, and then ask them to give you a recap of the events leading up to this moment.298

8 Upon reading The Characteristics Of Life, you would find that Timmy’s arm was mutated in an unfortunate accident concerning a plunger, thus his arm could do just about anything, from stretching to a fantastic distance to withstanding just about any harm that came Timothy’s way. Unfortunately, he was blamed for the murder of his former friend Johnny (who in fact was felled by an evil death bee, spawned from the same radioactive protoplasm that created Timothy’s new arm) and was encapsulated at Goldstein’s hospital, his masterful arm pumped daily full of the only thing able to cripple him: stone fish venom.299

9 Not so much because of the sinister implications of being one of the former, but more because of the doubly sinister implications of the latter.300

10 If I’m invisible, how do I sleep? Spooky! I can see through my eyelids!301

11 ARRRRRRGGGHHH!!!! IT’S LIKE DRILLING A PUNCTUATIONAL ROOT CANAL!!!302

12 reeeeaallly…reeeeeaaaaalllllllyyyy…ssssllllloooooowwwwwww…303