Evan's samples

Doctor Destiny


Mind Over Matter
When you overcome the mind, matter becomes intangible.

In a fruitless world, dreams are of little consequence. Fantasies and delusions of grandeur, bubbling and boiling in a brain gone rogue. Maddening desires which torment and tantalize the imaginative with implausible realms. An unyielding cry for something better, something beautiful, something which is just out of your reach. It’s a euphoric experience, to want. A feeling of which all sentient creatures can relate. Yet, this desire for something more, this drive to achieve, it is systematically weeded out of every human child post a mere thirteen years of age. University and dull and meaningless careers become the status quo, hammered into the human psyche through schoolings and the pressure of peers. At a young age, it's a wish upon a star. Upon maturity, it’s psychosis. When you dare to dream, express desire,

One man. This man, this… Creature. It dared to dream. Dream of something bigger. Something better. Something grandiose and guttural! But it was condemned. Damned and deemed insane. They didn't understand. No one understands! The madness! The beauty and the madness!! By the power of Morpheous. Hypnos. Epiales the children of Nyx!! Cast your gaze upon undiluted horror and chaos of D o c t o r D e s t i n y

But where is he?
Is he dreaming?
Is he dead?
Does it even matter?

Does anything matter?
I don't think so.
I don't think anything matters.
Why should it?

This is all a dream.
An endless void of nothingness.
Would you believe me?
Could you believe me?
No one ever does...

You have crossed over into the the Twilight Zone. But you are not you, and I am not me. You are in a dream. A daze. A haze. Delightful. A maddening tale, with whispers in the dark and a holocaust of... Well, nothing. The word holocaust is just big and fancy. Is this the mind of John Dee? Are these the deranged and damaged thoughts of an Arkham Inmate? These words? This twinkling nothingness? No... It is a tale. A tale, course and rough like sand. The sandman's sand. What are these words!? Get them out of my head!! Get them out I say!!! Get them out!! Get them out!! "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!"

GET OUT!!

Of my...

My...

My dreams...

But I can't dream...

Can I?

In my dreams,

I could be anything

I could be....

Day 1

The dry and crusty sand felt coarse and crispy as it rustled through his toes. It was perhaps the only vaguely comfortable sensation the creature felt, trudging through that scorching heat as he was. A vaguely humanoid form huddled itself within a decrepit and dull looking old trench coat. It had partaken in an almost inexplicable trek across the country. A statewide odyssey spanning an almost inhuman voyage on foot. At least this was what it appeared to be at first glance. In reality, there was some vague method to it’s madness. Some end goal which drove this creature to traverse these hellish dunes, and suffer through blistering heat. Some faint desire, cryptic and downright insane. Images and fuzzy inclinations invaded his thoughts, and his prayers. An intense and maddening urge to trek a nigh nineteen hundred miles to some backwater wasteland at the center nowhere on earth. Yet, here he was, with whatever obscene force driving him forward. Some unknowable power influencing his very primal instincts. It left with him an intense and empty desire to wander, almost aimlessly, in search of some unknown goal. Was he mad? Undoubtedly. But, that did not mean there was no supernatural force at work here. No man, sane or otherwise, would dare trek through this ungodly heat. The sun boiling his blood, and blinding gusts of sand whisked through the wind. At the very least, the aforementioned unbearable sun was slowly beginning to subside. A glistening white orb seized it's reign from that point on. It was almost magical, stars sparkling and dancing around a heavenly white ball in the sky. One final gust of wind rustled sand particles across his coat, and then… Nothing.

A haunting stillness wafted about the air. The sudden foul stench of disparity cursed the oxygen around him, lingering and burning in his nostrils. A foul taste was cursed upon his tongue, that of the very same disparity which persisted for what felt like eternity. Struggling up one final dune, the creature spotted it… The sight brought a tingle down his spine, the ruby lenses of his eyes adjusted themselves to keep focus. A decrepit little village from off in the distance, rustic and… A tad hideous, truthfully. Fields of sand and bits of dry grass swarmed menacingly around it, a hazy miasma of dull fog blanketed the entire town. At the core of it all was a dilapidated circle of rickety and rotting old buildings, few of which housed only a handful of townsfolk. This handful was all the population could even muster up.

The cold embrace of fog met the creature almost immediately. An unwelcoming gesture which cradled him under an uneasy chill. The only thing more unwelcoming were the townsfolk themselves. As an outsider, very little trust was granted to him by this droll little civilization. Not a single “Hello” was granted to him that evening, in part attributed to the simple fact, that not a single soul dared to leave their dwelling. Fear and suspicion clouded the atmosphere, dim and frantic eyes peered at him through foggy glass. A palpable sense of dread and angst blanketed him upon arrival. Not fear on his part, rather; an entire hamlet of frightened and tortured souls. It, the shrouded figure, gazed back at them with expressionless yet luminous red eyes. Murky and dull red eyes with an almost primitive curiosity. Yet there was something beautiful to them, as if gazing upon a sea of crimson water rippling against the shore with lackadaisical intensity. Losing interest in the unfortunate souls amongst him, the creature instead shifted his fiery gaze elsewhere. A battered and mildewy old sign which read simply as “Welcome to Destiny Rock”. The creature’s eyes glew brighter than before. As if it were experiencing some, tingling... Acutely sexual and malign pleasure from that droll name. His red eyes shimmered intently. A fiery ire, intense and almost happy.

The sign was baffling to the creature. Beautiful, yet baffling. After an eternity of silence, the shrouded figure gave some guttural hiss "Dee... Onlookers from afar gazed on in horror. Jolted by that raspy whispering echo. "Dee." It hissed a second time. This one, just as cold and just as peculiar as the last. Those ravishing ruby eyes flashed and glittered tones of dark maroon. Then ruby, and raspberry, and then vermilion. All different hues and colors of glinting golden red, crackling in it's eyes like an open flame. "Dee?" That same single phrase has been reiterated thrive now. This one, less harsh and foul. More quiet, and innocent. Like the query of a curious child. Sparkles of shimmering purple, blue, and red twinkled in an inexplicable purple aura. The crackling colors came with light and delicate flutter of his trench coat, whisking the tail end in one nonexistent breeze. "Dee is for Destiny...."

Day 2

The townsfolk were... Most displeased. This unwanted unknown creature spent the night. It remained at that rickety village from dusk until dawn. Like some alleyway tabby or disregarded pup, it blissfully toiled on with whatever ambiguous business it went about doing; aimlessly adrift through the sandy cobbled roads. Once dawn had finally arose, the creature’s meandering found itself stumbling upon a curious little establishment: “Bea’s General Goods”. With blank expressionless eyes the creature ogled at the shop's rickety old. It creaked in the wind, swaying too a fro with not a care in the world. It's eyes, void of any thought. Void of any reason outside of empty madness... Merely stated. This vacuous empty stare seemed to be all that dense little figure was even mentally capable of. The townsfolk all quietly agreed: whatever light flickered in the mind of all sane men was eternally dim in this creature’s case. Two luminous glared of red ogled the bits of wood and iron. Mother Nature continued to sway it's rusty chain too and fro. But the creature did not see a sign. It conjured up some other tale. A daydream. That if a mother lovingly cradling her newborn child. Loving sways, left to right. Right to left. Left to right. Tender, motherly motions which wrought about a warm feeling in his chest, and an even warmer reddish glow. "Dee......"

The creature stepped in with the ding'a'ling of a bell, wandering into the quaint little shoppe and immediately analyzing only minute and inconspicuous little details. It hardly even noticed the shrewd ire of one, Beatrice LaBlanche. An ever demanding presence, the mere aura about her wafted a sense of authority and sovereignty. She was an elderly dear, hovering around the mid sixties. Wisened and astute from experience, she analyzed the creature before her, matching him with a similarly curious (though far more cautious) intensity. With puckered lips accentuating no small amount of painted gloss, and narrowed eyes similarly accentuating a thin layer of mascara, she was often described by her fellow townsfolk (whether maliciously or otherwise) as a hawk with clown makeup. She wore an old pantsuit, obviously battered with age, with a hue of grey which fittingly matched the curls of her silvery mane. Visibly exhausted, the elderly owner was just wiping down her counter as the creature ambled in. The mere sight of this grotesque form caused her to jerk a smaller, frailer figure close to her side. It was a gaunt little boy, equally as exhausted, twas her often astute grandson, Will laBlanche; often considered to take after his grandmother. He quietly and intently peered over the counter, Beatrice looming over him with her own grey pupils piercing at the hideous figure as it ambled in.

“That was quite the light show you put on out there, wasn't it?” The beast was verbally confronted, though it gave no response. Not a nod, nor grunt. Not a single acknowledgement of Beatrice or Will. Was it deaf? Was it dumb? Or was it just rude? She could not tell. She could not discern any emotions, nor any physical attributes. Cloaked under a tattered old blue hood, there was a face. A face that she could not make out. A face which was veiled my shadows, with no visible moth nor nose not chin, only vibrant and glowing red eyes. Eyes like she'd never before seen. There was a foul equilibrium to those bulbous red orbs. An equilibrium of beauty and horror. Splendor and terror. Magic and mystery. They were like stars. Gorgeous shimmering stars with an almost supernatural presence. A pulsating presence which wrought about an intense feeling of hope and joy.... And yet…. They were so unnatural. So unnerving. So strange and unfathomable. Yes, an unnerving beauty. God would not bestow man with such remarkable orbs. But, would Satan? Was it even a man? Was it an angel? Only the most hideous of angels? Was it even real? It seemed so very real as it meandered around her establishment. Rustling through fruits and sniffling the air like some rabid dog. She wondered if perhaps someone had dreamt this odd figure up. If some unfortunate fool had fallen asleep and conjured up this perturbing beast. It lurked and wandered with no vocalization. Not a single sound emanated nor gurgled from it’s throat. There was only the slight creak of wood as it lurched about.

Taking a defensive position, Beatrice struggled to remain at ease. It wafted about with such janky and inhuman motions. Like a ghost, hovering through the air. Glitching and twitching across the floorboards with all the bravado of a sneaking mouse. Her questions unanswered. Her presence unacknowledged. She pressed on with mild irritation. “You don't talk much do you?” a The creature's face very suddenly and unexpectedly darted up upon that last remark. Her grey pupils were now locked with the ruby shimmer of it's glowing magnanimous orbs. Strong and proud, Beatrice stood her ground as goosebumps trickled down her spine. She stood her ground, narrowing her eyes as his only widened. The creature, and the unblinking gaze of it's inhumanly massive eyes pierced through her confidence. Significantly more than her foul gaze pierced it.

Seconds trickled by for what felt like hours, and what ended that stare down standoff was a small, frail, and entirely mangled hand reaching out from the confines of the creature's ragged cloak. A thin and gnarled finger pointed even farther than that frail little hand had stretched. The finger was spindly and thin like a twig, with a craggy skin texture which somehow appeared both moist and shriveled up at the same time. An almost charred looking stalk of dry yet slimy flesh, with cracked and chiseled nails that were so long and mangled that it had curled and contorted upon itself. “Apple.” The creature whimpered out with a pathetic and disheveled almost whispery voice. That spindly withered digit guided Bea's attention to a mound of fruit resting in a barrel behind her counter. She looked to the apples, then to the creature with an apathetic ire. “That'll be two dollars.” She demanded, and the creature complied. It pulled a small purse of change from it's coat, and plopped it on to the counter with an unchanged and unfeeling expression in it's eyes. Only wishing for this exchange to be over, and hesitant to see what unsightly creatures were ambling about within that purse, Beatrice simply complied to the creature's demands, and planted one juicy red apple to her mahogany counter.

With almost inhuman reflexes, the creature snatched up the fruit immediately. Delicately, it groped that juicy fruity meal with all ten of his spindly fingers. The apple’s reflection glistened and gleamed off both ruby eyes. Large beady and unblinking orbs glaring intently at the smaller sphere of a similar color. Bea and Will ogled on in relative amusement as the alien creature gazed at the succulent produce with an entirely infatuated inspection. Amusement very soon faded into horror as the creature’s mouth fell agape. There was not one, not two, not even three rows of teeth, but four. It’s entire mouth was lined with an inhuman and an insurmountable amount of dentition. Jagged, flat, sharp and everything in between lining the entirety of its gaping maw. All varying colors of yellow, white and even charred black. With countless barred fangs the creature ripped through the apple’s skin, ripping out bits of the apple’s pulp and chewing with large rigid motions. Beatrice winced in disgust as it tore through the apple with an unexpected amount of savagery and truculence. The beast sunk a second toothy bite into the fruit, splattering a mucousy concoction of saliva and juices across the oak floors. There was a ravenous aura to this creature. As if civility were an unfathomable concept outside of its own grim and grimy reality. Once more, the creature bore it’s jagged jawline, shredding through it’s produce prey until the Apple had at long last reached a point of no more succulence. All that remained, a battered and beaten core, haphazardly fallen to the moldy wood floor of Beatrice’s shoppe. The creature belched, sloppily wiping away saliva and apple juices with a handkerchief, and hobbled away with a reserved "Thank you.”

Day 3

Word spread like wildfire. Gossip and rumors of this twisted little alien guest in their rickety dessert village ran rampant. His repulsive tendencies, his incivility, his lurching trance like nature, and most of all… Those, beautiful, beautiful, illustrious eyes. Two foreboding flashlights of red, they glittered and glistened in the moonlight. How could something so grotesque be so beautiful at the same time? Why was it even here? When will it leave? And perhaps most prevalent, how was it still alive? There were… Things, which roamed the village at night. Horrible, unnatural things… The town grimly remembers what happened to poor old Paul… They came. They came at night. Shadowy, grotesque, globules of darkness. They were ravenous. Horrible. Fanged and misshapen. Inhuman. Limb from limb. Publicly. They ripped him apart, feasted on his corpse. Ripping off tender fleshy muscle, shredding through skin, ravenous, angry, and foul. They ate him. By God, have you ever seen someone eaten alive? That shrill ear damning scream Paul hacked out. It haunts them all. Poor old Beatrice was still grieving to this day...

But this creature... This hideous ungodly creature... Has survived! At least thus far. Survived out in the streets and out in chaos. There were so many questions, and so few answers. In these uncertain times, life was hell for the village. No reprieve. No hope. No dreams. It was as it should be. Everything was as it should be. This land of piss and degradation. A nightmare. A nightmare that needed a nightmare king. The Nightmare King. Hopelessness. Fear. Angst and horror. This was his realm damnit! This was HIS dream God damnit!! He'd build it up, then destroy it again! Then he'd piss on the ashes and build it once more!! Such was the ceaseless wheel of life and death. To create then destroy. That was his lot in life. His dreams. His aspirations. His destiny. "Dee"

This dirt was his. This village was his. These people were his. This world was his, and he'd toy with it, and twist it, and turn it as much as he damn well pleased. This creature... He wasn't just any old perverse nightmare monster! Shambling into the local tavern, bursting unto the seams with all the bravado of an angry tyrant... It was Doctor Destiny's world. For the first time in three miserable days, the creature's face was exposed. In a of it's vivid grotesquery, this was John Dee. A shriveled up corpse of a man, it was not the face of a man... But of a dried husk. Dry and rugged skin with the texture of burlap, ripped and shredded like an old tarp. It limply hung from his face, dangling like string or curtains, and thinly veiling exposed muscle and tissue. Slimey and pus slathered muscle, which oozed a mucousy concoction of some unknown green sludge and blood over his teeth and dribbling down his shredded up lips. And then... Those eyes... There were no eyelids to speak of, only surgical stitches lacing all around his brow and under his cheeks (those stitches may have been the only think keeping that flakey grey sheet of skin on his face). The stitches all traces back to a single origin. Massive, shimmering ruby eyes, luminous and red as though it were both the light of heaven and fires of hell clashing inside two crystalline orbs inside of a human skull. They were... Exactly like crystals. Crystals bulging out of an open eye socket.

The taverns patrons (what few there were) gazed on in horror, disgust, and dread as the creature waltzed in. The thing reeked of death (and looked an awful lot like it as well). It strolled in casually. Disinterested in the perturbed stares and the disturbed glares of the other patrons. John didn't care. Putrid horrible smelly people were merely an inconvenience. A mild annoyance. Irritating gnats and nothing more. Defeating silence blanketed the premises. A palpable aura of fear and paranoia radiating across every iota of the building. None dared step forward. The cowards. That is, none but one man. His name was Herbert Howards. An elected official, of sorts. He was the closest thing that ramshackle town had to a mayor. Or a leader. He owned that tavern, and folks seemed to flock to him for guidance. An elder fellow, he and his wife, Shelley were attempting to remove the local drunkard. "Don't know how you've survived out there these past few nights... But you'd best take shelter somewhere, we've been havin' some.... Disturbances lately" Herbert. The bravest of the bunch. Brave brave brave Herbert.

Herbert was brave. Far braver than most. But he didn't care for conversation. His wife, Shelley on the other hand? She was perturbed, and disgusted, but she cared for pleasantries. When Herbert offered up no other niceties, she was forced to fabricate a conversation where there was none. "Say, what brings you to our little corner of the west anyway?" John didn't answer. They weren't even sure he'd heard them. All it did was heave in heavy and disjointed breaths of oxygen, as if he were having some miniature asthma attack. "Well, at got any reason to stay?"

"I'm gonna parasitically leech off your hopes and dreams."

The entire room befell into a deafening silence. Was this a confession? A plead of guilt? What's this... Thing behind all this!? Neither Herbert not Shelley knew how to respond. All the drunkards and the damned in the room gazed on in astonishment and horror at the creature, and it's cruel and malicious response. Anxiety clouded the atmosphere. No one was quite sure what to do. Should they kill him? Demand this madness to end? "But I can't..." It at long last elaborated "My... Beautiful... Gorgeous... Mat-er-i-op-ti-kon won't work on you"

"Your... What?"

"My Materioptikon! My, beautiful, beautiful, dreamstone...." John's talon like claws scratched at his crystalline eyeballs, causing an ear damning screech to rupture the air. His nails scratching against the stones like a chalkboard. The entire room cringed in discomfort, but Herbert pressed on. "Your.... Eyes?" John chuckled like an innocent child, with a gleeful little grin on his twisted and malformed lips. "Oh, these aren't my eyes!" The twisted Doctor Destiny cupped his hands. His glimmering eyes suddenly bagan to crack and crinkle. Slowly, chiseling itself away. Red suddenly began streaming from his eyes like tears. Blood red. Dribbling down his cheeks and around his mouth and dripping into his cupped hands. Both massive red eyes oozing away into a slimey, smelly, water. "I gouged them out!!" John declared cheerfully, the red ooze water forming a pool in his hands. A watery, wavy pool of red. "See, I wanted to always wanted to look at my lovely, lovely, rock, so I stabbed my eyes with them." The last of the red slush slithered down his cheeks, and finally dribbled into the pool with small serene ripples. It solidified. Morphing into a massive red gems of indescribable splendor. Destiny's fingers cupped it lovingly. Tenderly. Groping it. Rubbing it. Massaging it. But he frowned. "Now it's always here... But I can't see them....." John Dee finally looked up from that magnanimous ruby orb. Staring directly into Herbert's eyes. Herbert saw... Everything. There was nothing, but there was e writhing. He saw his family. His friends. He saw ceaseless worlds and nameless monsters. The earth. The cosmos. Everything in between. All of the horror. All of the beauty. Everything. "I can't see anything anymore............"

Horrified, Herbert could barely stammer out "Wha... What are you!?" There were so many things John could respond with..... Your worst nightmare... The Dagon of Dreams... The ceaseless killer of worlds... Master of illusions.... The Nightmare King... Boring old John Dee... But he chose... "A doctor."

"I know you've been having trouble sleeping, Herbert."

"I know you all have."

"But don't worry."

"Doctor Destiny is in."

"And he's accepting new patients."

"N-No.... No!!" What Herbert saw in those eyes... I cannot say. But it wasn't nice. He couldn't understand it, but it was horrible. Mind numbing and maddening. He screamed bloody murder. A haunting ghostly shriek which echoed out into the void. Doctor Destiny shifted his demanding gaze towards Hervert's wife with a twisted grin. "You want my prescription, Shelley?" She back away out of fear and disgust. Sweat trickling down her forehead, and angst gripping every soul in the room. "Your husband could use a nap!" Without a moment's hesitation, Doctor Destiny firmly gripped the sides of a neighboring chair, and, wielding it like a hammer, he smashed Herbert's skull in. The old man went limp, and fell to the ground....

Let's see what he dreams up...

Shelley shrieked out in horror, and the men of the bar took an offensive stance. "What?" Destiny shrugged. "He couldn't sleep before... Now he's asleep!" You can't deny the results. But... Everyone knew what came next... Everyone knew what happened Paul... In a horrified frenzy, Shelley sprinted off to bar the door. This was going to get interesting. Most folks coward. Others heaved whatever weapon they could. Shoppe's and houses across town suddenly locked up and slammed their windows shut. This was it..... Here we go!

Anticipation was rising, it was all about to crescendo. Doctor Destiny could not bare the wait... Silence blanketed the bar, angst and an unspeakable level of dread and terror. It was quiet. Too quiet. For a moment, John figured that might have killed the poor old bastard. But then... From above, there was some deranged chitter. Like a squirrel, or a bird, except evil. Very evil. There was creaking on the wood above, like a step. A very large and very heavy step. Then another. Then another. Then. With the thunderous roar of God himself, it collapsed through the ceiling. A massive pulsating bestial form. It was coated in a thick layer of black tar. Oozing and gurgling in a daze. It lurched, haunches over yet incredibly massive. A thin torso lined with jagged fangs. A ballon like head, oozing on a slithery black tar dripping and dribbling its grotesque juices across the floor. The entire thing wreaked of curdled milk and cheap perfume. "Wooooow!!" Doctor Destiny gawked aloud like an astonished child. The monster shrieked this horrible and ungodly alter, then stampeded towards the bar patrons. It was bigger than they'd ever seen... Far bigger than any of the ones before... It ripped them to shreds... Not eating them, but... "Why!? Why have you been doing this to us!?" Doctor Destiny gave a twisted and psychotic grin. That husk. That corpse, it looked so evil. It looked so foul and ugly.

"Because I can."

"Because I want to."

Arkham Asylum

In not deserts of nowhere on earth. In not the empty vacuum of space, nor the chaos of a battered old bar. But rather, in Arkham Institute for the criminally insane. The guttural and grotesque walls of screaming, flailing inmates. Whining, crying, and moaning crazies echoing the empty grimy walls. There was the cell of John Dee, and in it, a shriveled up husk. An old man. Limp, and drooling. Wheelchair bound and practically dead. His hair, thin and practically bald. His skin, quaggy yet also dry. "Mother, is that you?" He spoke, but his lips did not move. "Mother... Please!" He pleaded with a pathetic little voice.

"I just want to dream again..."

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OOC: So, Doctor Destiny is probably my all time favorite DC comics character. He's usually tied with the Scarecrow and the Trickster. I dunno, I just love, ol' John. He's absolutely bonkers, and his dream manipulation powers are super cool. This was originally going to be a set up for a mystery thread. The culprit may or may not have been Doctor Destiny, but he was gonna be one of the investigators. I fixed it up though for a one-off format, and simplified it such that he was the villain. As a showcase of everything that is him imo I guess. Hope ya'll like it

Inertia

Wanted: Dead or Alive
Better run, better run, better run, cause I’m coming after you. When you’re sleeping at night, and there’s nothing you can do.

Time. It was so.... Homogenous. The fluid sequence of hours and days and seconds... They all blended together like coffee, swirling and twisting into an unfathomable meaninglessness. Time was well and truly irrelevant. It could have been seconds, days, years even. He had no idea. No idea where or when, it just sort of happened. An inexplicable happening. From an endless unknowable blackness. Was that death? Was that what being dead felt like? That brief flash of light, an explosion of sparks and heat and cold, and then... Nothing. Not the feeling of heat, nor cool, nor the pitter patter of rain drops. Just an undiluted nothingness. Not even existence, just a sort of, unfathomable, unknowable, and unexplainable nothing.

Again, time to him was an irrelevance. It could have been an eternity, he truly didn’t know, but he awoke... It was horrifying. Not the sleep, but the awake... The awake was so horrible. He could see his smile, his twisted and evil and psychotic smile, yet it was not on his face. It was almost his face, some vague familiarity, but most certainly not his. Then the eyes... Glowing sparking red eyes. The devil’s eyes. Gnarled swirling red eyes with arching streams of random static. That twisted grin and those glowing evil eyes, they shimmered amidst a blinding flash of yellow. Yellow and red. The omnipotent snarling glow of God. It sputtered and shook with the ear damning howl of a helicopter rudder. A ceaseless sputter of sputputputputputputputputputputputput The hand of God extended, it reached out, reached to him. He screamed. Crawled away like a cornered rat, a blood curdling shriek howled into the night, and... He ran.

He ran like he’d never ran before. That’s right... Ran? The speed, he could feel it. It was back! Coursing through his veins, pulsating in his arms, like pumping blood through the arteries. It was so natural, yet it was lost... How? It was “God”. It must have been! What fortune! A second chance. Through blurry vision and clouded thoughts, there was but one absolute. The grand and glorious mission. His purpose. ”Kill.”

It all made sense, it was the only thing that made sense. His only reason for existence, there was nothing without the mission. He had no friends, he had no family, he had no weakness. Only the mission. Encoded and enveloped into the very fabric of his DNA. It was all he had, all he needed. He was a weapon, a mindless killing machine, he was... Hungry... Yeah, very hungry.

This was Thaddeus Thawne II. He wasn’t human, that’s what the President told him. Yeah, the President. And not just any stupid old President... President Thaddeus Thawne I. The wisest, most humble and caring creature to ever grace this island earth. The memories slowly meandered back, like a stream twisting and curling thoughts and regrets and angers back into his mind. That anger swelled into envy, and hatred. Bart. Bart and his stupid inferior genetics. Bart and his stupid worthless friends. Bart and his stupid worthless family. Bart and his stupid worthless clone.

Sprinting through nowhere and everywhere, Thaddeus surged forwards with a seething hatred for everything and everyone. A zooming bolt of anger and angst, scuttling away from an unknown adversary. Sick, and angry, and scared, he ran. Time, homogenous endless time. It felt like an eternity. It could have been an eternity. Perhaps it was? Or perhaps it was a few seconds? Perhaps he was going backwards. It matter naught. Time, life, love, worthless and bizarre meaninglessness. Run. That is all he could do. Not faltering, not fumbling. His legs felt as though were moments from giving out. Anguished fatigue scrambling his lower body and legs. Winds howling and fluttering against flowing locks of blonde. Tattered boots battering against some blurred pavement. Blinded by an anger he didn’t quite understand, Thaddeus was not able to catch the imminent collision with a speeding car.

In one painful instant, everything stopped. Ears ringing, body aching. He could hear nothing. Not the concerned driver, nor the sudden gawking crowd. Just one painful ear damning ring. Everything was so cloudy, yet, oh so clear. Kill The whispers of some internal programming reassured him. Failure. Failure. Worthless. Sweet nothings from his father, his master, his creator, his god. Thaddeus. A whirlwind of hatred and sorrow, swirling into every iota of his being. Kill. Kill. Too slow. Faker. It all felt so right, the universe aligning and informing him the truths of President Thawne. Thaddeus. The voice, oh so familiar. Some his, some another. Weak. Pitiful. Useless. Murder. Murder. Scum. Worse. The trance went on, everything made so much sense. So much sense that it hurt. Perhaps he was delirious? No, of course not. He was perfect. He was a Thawne, of course he was perf-

”Thaddeus!”

“Cr-...Cradyl?”

”No. It’s Wally West. Idiot.” This was the mechanical monotone of Thaddeus’s wristwatch, Cradyl. Every word from the device oozed in some cruel sarcasm. Thaddeus was less then impressed. ”A pleasure as always, Cradyl.” The device was cracked and war torn, with an almost distorted voice. Beneath it, the Kid Zook costume limply held together, shredded and torn on his wrist. ”This is not possible. The probability of your survival was four point six trillion to one. I took your vital signs, personally. You are dead. You are a failure. I affirmed this report to President Thawne months ago.” The machines time was dull and disinterested, as if the mere act of speaking to the young Zoom was an inconvenience. But, it’s insults fell upon deaf ears. There was but one thing on the young Thawne’s mind. Hunger. ”Cradyl, I am an desperate need of provisions. You must point me in the direction of nourishment so I can complete my mission.” He was so hungry. It felt like an eternity since he’d ate. ”Of course.” Cradyl’s invisible eye roll was downright palpable. It had an obvious disinterest in Kid Zoom’s well being, but followed orders nonetheless. ”There appears to be a gas station fourteen kilometers, East of your location.” Too far. Too long. Food. ”Affirmative.”

Thawne zoomed off, leaving only a confused and clamoring crowd in his wake. The blessed sight of that gas station and convenient store came almost immediately. It was hideous. A gaudy brick exterior, and some grotesque and slummy looking humans bespeckled around the pavement. It was terrible, but it would have to do. He needed food. Quite desperately. There was some reluctance at first (to stoop so low), but his intestines were screaming at him to carry on.

Thaddeus entered, equally displeased with the interior. Two unassuming and irrelevant workers, and an insurmountable amount of manufactured garbage foodstuffs of a bygone era. But... It was still food. He zipped past the first aisle, candies and chips rattling from the sudden swoosh. Those two workers exchanged uncomfortable glances. This teenager, wearing some costume that looked as though it went through a paper shredder, appearing out of nowhere. He wore some red and yellow unitard, with what little remained of a lightning bolt on his chest and some cracked orange goggles. Shreds, cuts, and burn marks riddled his chest and costume, as if he had just risen from the grace. His hair was greasy, and looked as though at one point it was gelled and well kempt, but now was erratic and wild.

The boy ran in blurred speeds between various shelves and junk foods. There were certainly many options, but few very appealing. Currently, it was between some alien form of spicy corn fry or this... Grotesque Lovecraftian creation of deep fried cheap sausage. It was all so... Strange, and kind of gross. Instead, he opted for a lime slushee. Zipping over towards some colorful cardboard cups, he plopped a straw in and zipped towards the slushee machine. Both employees eyed the boy cautiously, flabbergasted by his ability to blink in and out of one place, then suddenly appear in another.

Thaddeus fiddled with the slushee machine for a moment, then grimaced at the sight of some slimey glittery gloop oozing and oscillating from the machine and into his cheap cup. At first hesitant and disgusted, he finally decided to take a sip. -Slrrp- A sudden wave of pleasant shock riddled his features. He took another slurp. -Slrrp-
Then another -Slrrrrp- Then one more -Slrp- Until finally Slrrp Slrrrrrrp- The cup was empty.

Pleasantly surprised by that mucous sour concoction, Thaddeus went in for another shot. ”Woah! Woah! Hey-” One employee protested as Kid Zoom zipped towards the chip isle with his second drink. He began shredding through small bags at inconceivable speeds, munching and chomping on massive amounts of potato chips, and slurping his drink between every other crunch. -Slrrrrp- It didn’t take long before a massive pile of crumbs and bags and garbage began piling up right there. Once more, that bossy employee stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. ”You’re going to pay for those, right?”

Bold of such a fat oaf to approach a speedster. Especially if armed with nothing but a broom. Thaddeus sneered a simple ”No.” before continuing his junk food rampage. ”Very funny, kid. Now, either cough up the cash or get out of my store!”

”Did you not just notice that he moves faster than you blink?” The second employee seemed to have more sense then the first. Far more, considering the sarcastic caution fell to deaf ears. ”Are you deaf??? Beat it!” The employee tightened his grip on that broom armament, staring down the costumer child with antagonistic intentioned. Thaddeus grinned. Facing his adversary, eye to eye. It was the Thawne grin. A despicable and downright evil slasher smile shared by all in the Thawne lineage. A psychotic smile which rivaled even that of the Clown Prince of Crime.All it took was a single yellow blur, and Thaddeus had the fat bastard in a choke hold, slamming the tool’s face down into the cash register. ”Woah.” the sardonic female blurred out nonchalantly as she blew a bubble with her gum. "I'll accept your rather charitable donation of processed garbage and liquid syrup." Thaddeus quipped in a droll and dead tone. "Okay, sure-sure, whatever you want... Just take it...."

"This is Central City, isn’t it? I can see now what ‘good’ your pompous, overzealous and outright stupid Scarlet Speedster does for this ramshackle corner of hell.... Honestly, of you selfish dunces can’t even spare a few rations for a starving adolescent, then what is the point in that lazy nitwit defending you all?” His words oozed nothing but foul venom. The evil little bully slammed his victim’s head down a second time, now through pencil displays, candies and chips, all of which scattered and splattered about all over the floor. The employee broke away from Thaddeus, falling to his rump. ”Heh! I'm doing you a favor by doing this. A lesson in humility." Inertia hissed cruelly, looming over his target like a mad dog. "Who the hell do you think you are!? Preaching humility when you're the one stealing food!!" The victims desperately claymores to back away, Thawne only stepping forwards. ”Me?” Thawne’s hideous grin curled wider. ”Who am I!?” Inertia lurched forwards, slouching a towering shadow over his victim like a maniac. "Ever heard of Impulse? Short, obnoxious, and stupid little sidekick to the Flash?" Thawne limped forwards, corpse like and cruel. The employee shuffled backwards. ”Well... Some might say, I'm his reverse." Oh God... It was a Reverse Flash....! Both of them were downright evil, the most vicious monsters in the whole city! But there’s a third one!? "The antithesis to Impulse is Inertia." The Kid Zoom proudly and exaggeratedly proclaimed. "Now, I've got a great deal pent up anger right nor, buddy." Inertia at long last reached out, grabbing the victim by the collar of his shirt, just barely holding his back above the floor as the Kid Zoom hovered over him. A manic and evil smile like none other. Sweat poured down victims cheeks, and a shrill shiver tingled down his spine.

”Let's see how much of that anger it'll take to make you bleed...."

Captain Cold

Frigid Fairytale: Like a Never Ending Story
Trickster likes to call me the Chad of Chill..... I dig it.

"Turn around.
Look at you seeeeeeee~"

The euphoric realm of the rich and fancy, it was alien, it was magical. There was a certain glamor and glitz to these metropolitan charity events. Glittering lights, gourmet cuisines of the highest caliber, and glowing magnanimous elites of the fabulous ruling class. Silken tuxedos and elaborate garments danced through a ritzy hotel plaza, gliding eloquently across velvety carpet. A congress of socialites and celebrities of the premium and pristine variety. Lively and wonderful, even the elderly of this exclusive social caste and clique (some fat over seventy, mind you) looked not a day over forty. Their skin glimmered and glistened as if blessed by Aphrodite herself, their hair, beautiful silken locks that, when touched, felt like the sweet and sultry kisses of Athena. Everything was so perfect. Everything was so wonderful. Magical. A fairytale. They all strode about with the elegance and wonder of Cinderella twirling around a ballroom suite. Though, there was a taint to this wonder. A blight which began to creep in from behind. This impudent creature, it was neither amidst or amongst their ilk. A darkly peasant trailing in far behind that magical one percent, the last of those lucky few to enter the halls of this elitist castle. One eye, dull and disinterested yet bulbous and bloodshot scanned the perimeter. Peering through some rectangular slit, sluggish blue eyes tracing the land from left to right. ”In her face.”

”The mirror of your dreeeeeeaaaams~"

High heels glinting and shimmering in hues of red and blue and black galloped across some pristine and perfect red carpet. Gliding across the halls magically, with a twirl and a dance, a fantastical scene of magnanimous beauty. All these gallant and gleeful souls, anxious and hopeful to spread peace and hope and twinkling horrific niceness. A march of princes and princesses, eager to promote two faced acts of charity and niceness. Money and swagger all spent upon some nameless irrelevant sharing foundation for the poor sickly and homeless. Or so they say. With a waltz and a twirl, the night was danced away in a wonderful gala of light and amore. But then came the ogre. The antagonist. The evil witch and the blight upon this unyielding perfection. Grotesque and foul. Horrible and different. Shambling in were a shabby pair of combat boots caked in mud and sludge and dismal grey particles of snow. A stomp and trudge forwards, muck, filth and snow trickling and trailing behind every step. Splattering grunge, ick, and imperfection smudging that once pristine and perfect ruby red carpet.

”Make believe I'm everywhere!
I'm given in the light!
Written on the pages!
Is the answer to a never ending stooooryyyy~!"

There was but one defender to dissway the riff raff. One gallant knight in staunch protection of the kingdom of flint and glimmer. A bellhop greeter. He was stationed outside of the hotel’s ballroom. The clamoring of his kings and queens echoed behind a foggy white glass to his rear. He was a young fellow, pompous looking but polite and well spoken. His hair was curly and long, and his features were quite handsome. In fact, he could charm just about any girl in the room with but a mere wink. The boy’s uniform consisted of a red tightly collared button up and velvet slacks. Golden buttons lined up his chest with glint and glimmer in the light, with a single gold button on both of his cuffs. The lad’s bellboy cap was a crimson flat circle with some embroidered golden trim ornamenting and accenting where a normal hat’s brim would and should be. His brown eyes took a disgruntled note of the sludge which slathered with every villainous step, brown soon locking with blue as a direct confrontation came into being. ”I'm terribly sorry, sir. But this is an exclusive event! I'm afraid that I have to insist that you remove yourself from the premises immed-" There was a slight rumbling as the Bellhop spoke. Like a chainsaw or lawn mower sputtering up with a rib rumbling mechanical strum. His once eloquent and well spoken voice was intervened by a shimmering blue flame colliding with his sternum. He stammered for a moment, pausing as if his thoughts had suddenly become scrambled and incoherent. A crystalline blue form took shape at the point of collision between the erratic turquoise beam and his sternum. It grew in an almost pulsating and living nature, like a small flat bubble suddenly expanding outward. The fiery glow suddenly ceased, and the bellhop could only glare incoherently at the monster before him. He gave one faintly anguished breadth, a visible miasma of chilling white coughed out almost immediately. His panicked though bewildered eyes slowly scrolled down to his chest. The jagged crystalline mass on his pecs, without warning, grew a pair of glittery turquoise tendrils. The stretched and creeped across his body, writhing and wriggling about his pelvis and abdomen. They curled out like the legs of a starfish, slithering around appendages like tentacles. His face went an eery pale, as if all vibrancy and life had suddenly ceased to be. His eyelids no longer blinked, and the once beautiful chestnut glimmer of his eyes suddenly went a slimy and mucousy shade of hideous grey. The entirety of his human mass became a stasis crystalline form, and life seemingly ceased to be. The boots... Those evil vile boots... With a simple and casual motion turned away and stepped off into the void. "Reach the stars."

”Fly a fantasyyyyy~"

The gala was pure unbridled extravagance beyond the fathomable understanding of the impoverished and impecunious. An existential wonder, the likes of which the trivial peasants of this decrepit world could not even begin to comprehend. The ballroom of this lavish and luxurious hotel plaza was massive, housing hundreds of the fantastical and mystical of Central City's wealthy upper class. Circular white clothed tables dotted all around the room, the finest of silverware and platers accompanied the set ups with hand crafted oak seats. At the very center of the room was the longest table, a buffet table lined with garish overtly expensive dishes and meals. Five guilded chandeliers glittered and glistened from key points of the room, with the largest and most extravagant of these stationed at the very center of the room. It branched and twirled out like tree branches, small bits and baubles of false diamonds hanging here and there from these intricate patterns. At the northern wall facing all the tables of the room was a large wooden stage. It's only decoration were two large embroidered velvet curtains which draped to the side and but a single microphone. Moonlight and artificial sunlight glittered and glistened within from several large windows placed intrinsically and symmetrically across the walls. Similarly colored drapes as the rug and stage were placed above the glass panes. The room was a fairy tale incarnate. Fake. Childish. Cruel. Fake people with their fake lives and their insurmountable wealth which not a single soul in that room earned themselves. Wealth inhereted to them via there piggish gutteral parents. These were pups of the insidious curs of this filthy and feeble world of ours. Gaudy people of hoity and selfish culture, half of which deserved nothing more than to be put down like mad dogs. The foulest of degenerates. Human filth of an incomprehensibly vile and disgusting variety. They dance and they squawk and they lie and they gossip. All under false pretense of charity. Mongerals. All of them. Hell is lined with only the worst humanity's excretions, and these horrid devils take up half the population. He despised every last one of them. "Dream a dream."

”’An what you will see will beeeeeeee~"

A small orb rolled in amidst the gala. It was small, roughly the size of the baseball and metallic with light blue glow. It cruised under chairs and tables and scuttled across the floor with purpose. Few noticed the miniscule trinket, and fewer which did gave it any mind. The machine's trek brought it through shuffling feet, and moving seats. Under table clothes and narrowly missing the legs of tables. It eventually settled at the very center of room, just under one of several buffet tables. A crowd clammored and giggled lackadaisically. With not a care in their miserable wretched lives, they gossiped and guffawed. Pretentious and obnoxious, they deserved this. They deserved something far worse than this. Without warning, the crowd was quite literally blown away. An explosion rocked the room’s very core, from just under that center buffet. It launched charity goers to the air, though they did not get flung very far. A crystalline formation had molded from ground zero. It arched into the shape of a mushroom. A fountain of ice which spred and proliferated out into the air in logical motions. Those launched by the explosion became attached to this artistic statement, held almost hovering at the very ends of the mushroom esque formation. Their faces all chiseled and earthy with a chilled hue of turquoise. At first, the air was naught but shrill cries screaming out into the air of nothingness. The immediate reaction were terrified shrieks of horror, no rhythm, no rhyme, no order. Just random and chaotic. Their loved ones enclosed in ice, an unknown assailant lurking amongst them. Then there was but one unified gasp as those boots finally lurched forwards. Those same boots from before, with a dull and tattered pair of dark blue cargo paints striding in with no small amount of authority.

”Cold. Isn't it?

The toothy smirk of Leonard Snart was unmistakable. There was always certain level of smugness to his grin, the likes of which rivaled even that of Eobard Thawne. He chuckled slyly as he stepped forwards. A leather long coat which fell just below his knees draped behind him like a cape as he swaggered forwards. With cold and visible breaths the rajah of the rogues strolled in with audacious levels of authority. His clunky mechanical cold gun was held high within his right hand, a large grey sack draped over his shoulder rested cozily in his left. His long coat parka was a shade of dark blue, not unlike half of the other million parkas he'd worn across the years. A dark yellow belt held hugged his waste tightly. His dark grey gloves had a similarly tinted fur trim which accented their brims. The buttons nearest to his neck had a similarly grey fur trim, and the hood which comfortably hugged his skull held a matching trim. He glanced left to right with a sneer etched into his lips. Casually strolling just past his handiwork at the center of the room, Snart stepped up to the room's stage and glared condescendingly down at his captives. "Alright, you all know the deal. Goods. Cash. Valuables. Pass 'em forwards. 'An maybe I'll consider not makin' human snow cones. Dat sound good? Sweet. Let's get started, shall we?" His cruel jest was (as you can imagine) met only with scorn and fear. But Snart didn't care. Impressing these snobby rich bastards was the least of his concerns. He threateningly took aim with his Cold Gun and held the small sack out. Without a moments hesitation, watches and wallets and pearls and rings all suddenly started getting passed down. A trail of valuables meandering through the crowd all the way up the stage and into Cold's handy dandy sack. Overjoyed and amused, Snart quietly sung to himself once more. Though the deafened fear and anguish of the crowd made it echo like a yell.

”Rhymes that keep their secrets
Will unfold behind the clouds
And there upon a rainbow
Is the answer to a never ending stoooooooryyyyyy~!"

Things were going swimmingly at first. Cash and jewels and other expensive nicknacks and baubles all flowed through the crowds like the waters of the Nile. Money... Money... Money.... Money... A stream of wallets and jewelry glittered down, slithering and meandering from person to person until finally reaching the rather homely nest of Leonard Snart's large sack. Yes, things were going swimmingly, much to old Len's surprise. Jobs never went this well. Usually the bleeping Flash would've already ran up and kicked the king of cool off to the curb. Just one more "#%$& you" to Leonard Snart right? That's what would usually happen. The tales of Leonard Snart very rarely had happy endings. Unlike these chumps. The grotesque and gutteral upper epsilon of this miserable earth. They had everything. Money, friends, the best frickin hot rods you could possibly imagine. These sniveling rich folk live in a damn fantasy, with their perfect hair and their perfect skin and their perfect money. It was disgusting. It was disgusting and Leonard Snart wanted it. Maybe he didn't want the unlimited riches and penultimate perfection, but just enough to be comfortable. A cozy living, his own form of perfection. Not this snobby socialite crap. He knew they looked down at him. Him and his imperfections.

There was a sudden flash of lightning and... What do you think came next?! Of course. Of #%$&ing course. You can't sneeze in this god forsaken city without a god-damn speedster breathing down your neck. Forever an obnoxious nuisance, forever the proverbial thorn in Leonard Snart's side, forever the vengeful hand of God shoving two fingers up Captain Cold's tookus. Snart never understood what the big man upstairs had against him. He went to church on Christmas, said a prayer once, maybe twice a year. Hell, he followed those freaking commandments down to the "T"! All but "Thou Shalt Not Steal". But... Come on, really? Snart was a good guy, swell really, a bit shady, but otherwise a stand up fellow. What sort of fickle lord would throw the big hammer down for one teeny tiny little offense!? Admittedly an offense committed on many multiple occasions, but hey? Who's perfect? Leonard half considered waltzing over to garish cardinal in attendance of this garbage event and demand to know what's up, but he settled for a dissatisfied grunt. He grimaced at... Wait... That wasn't the Flash. It was his miserable little runt. The Kid Flash, even worse. As said before, the big guy upstairs likes to shove two fingers up his tookus. The Flash was annoying, sure... But at least he wasn't quippy. Captain Cold despised quips. A miserable rotten old man is desperately attempting to make ends meet, and this you what you do? Joke? Poke and pry at the working class stooge for what? Sh!ts and giggles? The runt did just that, pacing around then snatching away his bag of valuables. Something didn’t feel right here. The runt seemed different, shorter, weirder, jittery’er. Whatever. Len could only offer a furious grimace, and a short vicious hiss at the vexatious yellow klutz. ".......You. Little. Sh!t." The sniveling little squirt dashed here, dashed there, and dashed everywhere. It gave Snart a headache honestly. First their eyes locked face to face, next the runt sprinted behind him, then next he knew, the bastard boy of the speed force had zipped on over to the buffet table. All the while quipping, quipping, quipping. Ugh. God. Why?

Finally came the first punch. Kind Flash launches himself towards the chad of chill, the boy’s fist collided with Snart’s nose and glasses. The right lens cracked immediately, and a small trickling of blood trailed from his nostrils. Len never expected much from the runt, but that wasn’t bad. Packed quite and lunch for a pest, actually. Captain Cold’s Ivey lips curled into a toothy sneer. ”Nice.” Snart chuckles out slyly, impressed by the speedster’s gumption. Combat was initiated, and it was his turn to act. Snart wasn't in the business of roughing up dumb kids, but neither was he interested in this whole song and dance either. This little twerp needed to be taught a lesson. Mess with the bull, you get the horns. Screw with Snart... Well... Frostbite doesn't even begin to describe what comes next. "Got a cold one headed your way...." Snart sneered towards his little rival. His large gloved fingers began one by one clipping away at his parka's buttons. His left pointer finger and thumb then delicately pinched the zipper beneath and unzipped his dark blue coat. ”You ready for this hotshot?" Underneath his parka was a scruffy black turtleneck and a yellow combat vest strapped over it. Attached to said combat vest were five large metallic orbs. They glowed a dull and chilly blue hue. Once Snart unzipped, the orbs blinked violently, flashing dull shades of blue and red. With that, a sudden blinding flash of light exploded from Cold's chest. One massive and explosive whirlwind of subzero freeze blasting away and utterly immobilizing those around him.

*FLOOOOOOMmmmmmmmmm*

Leonard Snart grinned deviously, a whirlwind of shivering white air swirled around him. A quarter of the room suddenly, within an instant, befell into a cryogenic deep freeze. An army of frigid and jagged humanoid statues posed either in a position of shielding themselves or in a state of utter terror. A gust of snowy wind suddenly bellowed and blew nosebiting and teeth chattering mists of air around Cold. Slightly feeling the frigid effects of his weaponry, Snart began to bundle himself back up. He slouched his Cold gun cozily within his firm grasp and stepped down from his little stadium. Those outside of or otherwise unaffected by this swirling globe of snow cautiously eyed the pharaoh of frigid cold with horrified ires. Kid Flash wasn’t one of the lucky ones... Snart grinned cruelly. Inspecting the living statue with a cock of his head. "Like that? Heh. I designed this crap myself." His boots quietly stepped out, crunching snow with each stomp as he circled random ice sculptures and then finally trailed back towards the Flashcicle. ”Who the #%$& are you s'posta be anyway?" The criminal king of chill demanded as he lightly tapped on the nose of a neighboring sculpture with the joint of this forefinger. "You ain't Kid Flash.” Snart confessed with his signature sneer. ”No, no. The hair, the age, this ain't-" A sudden inexplicable and indescribable look of realization riddled his features... Yeah... The Flash wasn't right... And now, so too wasn't Kid Flash. Different hair. Different mannerisms. Different subtle nuisances. Subtle nuisances were a speciality of the frigid Captain Cold, and these little gestures. The giddyness, the jittery boyish attitude... "Aaaah......" Despite how it may seem, Leonard Snart was always quite the smart cookie. A perceptive one, really. He grinned tauntingly and rather smugly with that "Aaaah......" Everything, all those little puzzle pieces suddenly came together; and Snart loved that he had figured it out. "The old man went AWOL, so junior got a promotion..." Two and two finally went together. Len knew, just from the television and pictures of this new scarlet speedster, that something didn't fit right. Now, that something had a name, and it had a face. All thanks to this brat in tights. His Flash. The O.G., must have died or retired. He quietly hoped for the latter. Kid Flash thusly must’ve gotten a promotion, and this other runt was just a rando he’d never met. What shame, but that is risk of their line of work... Hero and villain, death was bound to happen. What a shame. "And you're just the lucky little runt that could keep up." Captain Cold taunted cruelly.

”So you're just a nobody d'en? Heh. Welcome to the club, kid." Snart froze up with those words. The hollow feeling of not being somebody. But a mere nobody. Some dumb crook. It was a feeling Snart knew all too well. Snart almost pitied the boy. But that pity soon faded, for that title of Kid Flash came with no small amount of fans and adoration. An adoration which Leonard Snart would never know. Supervillain thug wasn't a very appealing career choice, you see. ”You're new at this, so how's about a pop quiz?" This was just a boy. Though the flamboyant unitard and inhuman powers and capabilities may make one conveniently forget that fact; Leonard Snart was not a forgetful man. This was just a kid. Captain Cold had no ambitions of ever harming kids. But... This little pest was still and obstacle, and an obstacle with super powers at that. This fight was inevitable, but... Len promised himself that he'd go easy on him. "What is a speedster?" Snart's dull blue eyes scanned around the Kid Flash statue with interest and intrigue. Analyzing all the small things. The jitteriness. The lack of long range offense. That sort of thing. "A miserable little pile of trash talk and bad quips" The reference to some semi-popular konami game from the nineties was deliberate. He was a dork at heart, with a love of retro games, specifically of a day and age when the graphics were of very large and clunky pixels. "But enough talk." Len continued on with his little reference. his fingers tapping delicately across the cold gun's surface area. He lowered it at a snail's pace, a quadruple tap against it every other second. The statue gave no response, much to Captain Cold’s delight. "Next question, runt." Snart cracked his neck to the left and immediately followed up by cracking his neck to the right. "Do ya know why they call me Captain Cold?" The statue began to rattle and shake as Captain Cold took aim, his fingers dancing along the trigger and pump. Cool air shimmered at the gun’s nuzzle. Sparks of lightning arcing from the statue’s interior. The gun powered up, seconds away from a nasty blast. Snart’s truculent little grin curkedvever wider.

”Cause I'm the cold hearted son of b!tch dat's about t' cap your ass!”
(OOC: This is from a thread I did with another Kid Flash on another site. Bits and pieces i cobbled together for a single superior post. I know I already play Mirror Master, but... The temptation is real.....)

Victor Zsasz
The Mark of a Man
Score: 312

They call him a monster. They say he’s sick. They think they can cure him. They are cattle, the truly sick ones. Why? Why didn’t they understand? They were the sick ones, and he was the cure. His blade caressing the jugular like warm butter. Death is the only cure, and Victor was the doctor. Why couldn’t these poor people see it? These agonizing wretched souls, they aren’t living, they’re worms writhing about in the endless smudge muck and dirt of an uncaring universe. But still, they think he is the sick one. ”Can we talk about that week?” They had him strung up like an animal in the dingy confines of this grimy Arkham wing. It was truly revolting, these sheeple... They keep what they consider “sick”, in a pit which could only make them sicker. The dirt and the grime on the walls. The rusty iron doors, and the dingy carpets which reeked of p!$$ and s#!t. Victor honestly wanted to vomit. "But there’s nothing of consequence to talk about, Doctor." His eyes were sullen and dead, and his body was ensnared in dirty hand-me-down straight jacket. It always gave the sheep some false sense of security, seeing Victor swaddled up like a homicidal newborn. ”Victor... I don’t think you believe that. I think you honestly felt something, and I’m here to help you with that. I want you to feel again Victor... There’s compassion deep down, the ability to stop this madness, I know it. Talk to me, Victor, please.” Zsasz’s eyes went cold, and his body went numb. Waves of memories crashed into his psyche like a tsunami. The tides waded out, and Victor was left in another day, at another time.

Monday

He was awake. In every sense of the word, he was awake. Awake to coldness and cruelty which was reality. This reality, as he and everyone else knew it. Was it reality? Was any of this real? No. Not a single damn moment was real. An abhorrent illusion of death and degradation. He was awake to this, he knew it like he knew the back of his hand.... The back of his hand... A tiny burn mark nestled cozily over the synovial joint of his thumb. Dirt and dirge sheltered beneath dingy and chiseled nails. Warn and rubbery folds of skin stitched into his metacarpals. Fifteen people, etched above his carpels.

Leonard Thompson, Lawyer. Kate Blofeld, single mother of two. William and Katlyn Blofeld, third and sixth grader respectively. Archibald Smith, drunkard.

John Bayard, kindergarten teacher. Louis Shepherd, naval ensign. Phil Collins, pedophile. Clarice Howards, psychiatrist. Lamar Dalton, cashier.

Kyle Cardone, accountant. Katelyn Cardone, socialite. Ryan Cardone, tenth grader. Lisa Hawthorne, county clerk. Simon Brinley, tourist.

His fingers brushed against the painful scratch marks as he grinned erotically. He did not mourn them, for they were free. They were free, and he supplied them with that freedom. It made him feel so warm and fuzzy inside, overjoyed, really. Their immortal souls, etched into the back of his hand. Finally free. Free of the illusion, free of this indecipherable misery. Musing over this was the only genuine joy he could ever feel anymore. Everything else, so empty. So, meaningless. It hurt his innards to think about. Victor yearned to join them. He yearned in a quiet and intrepid desperation for that one final mark across his throat. This loathsome existence to end, and to be free like the others. He knew it was selfish, but he just hated life that much. Nothing made any sense, and the void just gnawed away at his flesh faster than the marks ever could. He had almost started to weep when their came a knock at his apartment door. His dark eyes which peered at the ceiling slowly trailed over to the door, and he frowned. He loathed visitors. Especially when they interrupted that weird time of the day where he’d lie on the floor shirtless and think about death. He lumbered over like a corpse, miserable and distant. His skin was lathered up in makeup to conceal his precious tapestry, for some reason people never took it well. His work. Ungrateful bastards. The door swung open, and his eyes remained cold and dead. ”Hey Stu! Oh... You’re uh, shirtless.” This was Laurie. She was so delicate and beautiful, her hair was so vibrant and warm like the sun, and her smile said a million reassuring words. She smelt like lilac and she was just wonderful to be around. Victor, or rather “Stu” tensed up and stammered out a rebuttal. "Oh... I-I’m sorry, Laurie. I-I forgot about our date. Give me just a second and I’ll be ready.” Timidly, like a meek child, Stu closed the door. Zsasz had escaped from Arkham three months ago, and there was still a manhunt looking for him, eluding capture by remaining right under their nose. In open daylight, he walked amongst the sheeple. Around the second month, he spotted Laurie, and Victor knew he had to have her. He followed her home once, but she hadn’t noticed. He broke into her house and watched her sleep once, but she hadn’t noticed. Then he followed her to work, a diner named Sammy’s not too far away from the Bowery. As luck would have it, they were hiring. He got the job, and maintained a stable income for two whole months. It was a cozy job, just “Stu”, Laurie, and a girl named Shelley to wait tables, then the owner, Sammy, a kindly old man who treated his employees well, worked as the cook, and finally there was a busboy named Dimitri.

“I have a special night for us, Laurie. I think you’ll really enjoy this.” He called out from his crummy apartment. He was in the bedroom rummaging through a mound of dirty laundry. He found a striped dress shirt and gave it a quick sniff, finding the level of stench to be acceptable for this venture with Laurie. He buttoned up and his wonderful coworker waited patiently outside. There were many features she and others found attractive in him. He had impeccable physique, which could on occasion be outlined in certain articles of clothing, flowing blonde locks which looked clean and crisp no matter how kempt or unkempt it was. A square jaw and high cheekbones, and finally, his eyes. He had the most fascinating eyes ever seen, in fact she had never seen anything like them. Black eyes, the blackest eyes ever seen, like gazing into a vast expanse of space, millions of stars and galaxies glistening brightly in two tiny white retinas. Those eyes mixed with his awkward smile, she couldn’t help but melt into him like putty. ”Ready?” he shuffled out to her, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

They were head over heels for each other. Anyone who watched them stroll by could clearly tell. They way she tightly clasped on to his bicep, and the way his black eyes looked down to her with a seemingly compassionate yearning. He pressed an ear against the soft tufts of her hair and strolled down city streets. Their destination was reached. A neon pink sign which read Sammy’s. “Stu” smiled sheepishly at her, he couldn’t really afford to take her anyplace else... She giggled with an eye roll, nudging him in. Shelley, the waitress who was a bit of a punk, chuckled. She had short black hair, large glasses, and a few piercings, as well as a sharp wit to go with it. ”Hey, Sammy! Look who it is!” Sammy, was a jolly Italian with a bushy black mustache. ”Wouldja look at that! Couple a’ vagabonds come wonderin’ in.” “Stu” and Laurie both gleamed at their coworkers. Finally, there was Dimitri, clearing dishes away on a neighboring table. He wore a pair Waynetech AirPods and blasted some new age garbage music absurdly loud. Tightly clasping a box of dishes, he smirked upward nod to the pair and offered “Stu” a fistbump, which the blonde reciprocated. ”You’re one to talk, Sammy.” Shelley rolled her eyes, and gestured for the pair to have a seat somewhere.

Cheek nestled softly into his right fist, glinting lovestruck eyes ogled at her longingly, just watching and admiring her as she spoke about friends and her last year of college and other things. He grinned like a doofus the whole time. Even as they ate, he just enjoyed seeing her in front of him. Her presence alone was comforting, and she felt the same for him. They laughed and they smiled, and all went well. But then the bill came. ”Twenty one thirty five” The words pierced his heart like daggers. A painful horrified look overcame his face, and with deep heavy breaths he looked into his wallet. “But... I thought... I thought we got an employee discount?” be shot an ugly glare at Shelley. But she hardly noticed. “That’s with the discount, Stu.” A large pink bubble obnoxiously blew in her face, a pop immediately followed. “Stu” glanced down and clenched his fists. “I... I can’t... That is... All I have is a twenty...” What kind of pathetic... Subhuman wretch... Can’t pay for his own meal!? What sort of man was he? This shame... This disgusting abhorrent shame. “It’s fine, Stu, I can pay.” Stu’s black eyes were swirling with anger like a snarling vortex. Shame and disgust poured over every iota of his being. The indignity, to be embarrassed like this... His blood was boiling, and his grip beneath the table was so firm that it felt like his carpel bones were about to shatter. Sullen eyes were lost in a trance as they glared spitefully at the table. He began grinding his teeth together like sandpaper, his jaw locking so firmly with each twist and writhe that it felt like his molars were about to shatter like glass.

But Laurie gave such a reassuring smile, and suddenly an uneasy grin of relief had blanketed over his rage. It takes a special kind of person to appease a beast like that, and “Stu” was smitten. He grinned doofishly out to her, in a daze. She gave a flustered giggle, and after settling their bill the young lovers took a quiet stroll back to her place. A quiet suburban paradise with lines of picket fences trailing along an open empty road. Perhaps it was the future? One could only hope. Laurie has her head rested on “Stu”’s shoulder as they climbed to steps to her place. A nice house rented out to her and a pair mostly unseen roommates. They reached her door, and his black eyes locked with her brown. A kiss was exchanged and he bid her farewell. There was something he needed to do.

Sammy’s had entirely cleared out, apart from the staff that is. There was Dimitri, Sammy, and Shelley, each toiling away with their humdrum nightly routine. Dimitri had his AirPods up full volume and danced in the back over some grimy dishes and pans he was scrubbing in the sink. Sammy was sizzling one last burger over the grill, this one for Shelley. ”Shelley! You like your patty well done, right?” He hollered out from his little window. ”Yeah!” Shelley in turn yelled back, grabbing a few leftover utensils from the dinner rush. There came a ding-a-long from the diner’s door, and recognizable face stomped in. ”Stu? What’re you doing back here?” Without even thinking, Victor grabbed a butter knife off the table and lodged it deep into her throat. She coughed a sputtered in a sort of, watery drowning noise, and Victor marched off. ”What’s with all the ruckus out-OH MY GOD!” Sammy leered over the counter with a horrific terror etched into his retina. Zsasz marched into the kitchen and Sammy backed away. “OH MY GOD! NO! I-Hrrrrk!” A lone patty sizzled over the stove, and Dimitri danced to some pop garbage as he washed dishes. Unaware of Zsasz, on the floor, who’s fingers were coiled around Sammy’s throat, fatally constricting the trachea. Victor arose, and the patty sizzled desperate and alone. Dimitri danced. A blonde face, void of empathy took a slow turn and leered over the boy. With a mechanical inhuman strut, Victor grabbed a steak knife. He leered behind Dimitri, towering above. White retinas fell to the brown tuft’s of the boy’s hair. With a predator’s speed, Zsasz slammed the kitchen knife into the young man’s trapezius. A shriek billowed out into the empty building. Dimitri, blade jutting out of his shoulder, and heart pounding like a Gatling gun, fell and scuttled back like a cornered rodent. His breath heaved out frantically, sweat poured down his forehead, and tears in his eyes. He used his phone. The patty began burning up. Zsasz leered over him with a psychotic grin.

”9-1-1 what’s your emergency?” The deed was done. Zsasz ripper open his button up, one stray button flung across the room. He was an angel of death, freeing these wretched pinheaded mortals from this mortal coil. Though their bodies lie scattered, and their souls dissipated into nothingness, their memory lived on... In three little gashes on his bare abdomen. ”Hello? 9-1-1 what is your emergency?” He grinned at the pain, and the burnt patty erupted into flame. The billowing smoke wafted into the building’s smoke detector, triggering a rain of sprinklers from above. Soft blonde locks fell soaked in the pitter patter of sprinkled water, and tan makeup slithered off his skin and unto the floor. Half his body riddled in marks, the other half with tendrils of makeup. Many of the marks now revealed, but remnants of makeup danced across his body. Zsasz towered above Dimitri’s phone with an inconsequential almost dull expression. “Operator? I killed him. He’s dead.” Click.

There was one last loose end. He’d broken into Laurie’s house before, and this time had been just as easy. He grabbed a ballpoint hammer from her shed. Slithered into the house. Crept into her bedroom. Zsasz leered over her as she slept, the white of his retinas glistening in the shadows. Looming there, stiff, silent, she was so beautiful. Snug and wrapped up in that warm bed. He almost considered snuggling right up next to her and sleeping the night away in comfort and clarity. But he didn’t. With a chilling nonchalant, he took the hammer, and smashed her skull in. She had never even woke up. She never even knew it was him. That dashing blonde which swooped into her life like Prince Charming. Victor dropped the bloodied hammer, and crept to the fridge. The frigid light glistening against his flesh, he took a carton of milk and drank, and that was it. The memories faded, and he was in Arkham. Cold. Hungry. ”But...... Why?”

The reality of Arkham swirled back into Victor’s mind. Tiny white retinas scanned from the rickety plastic table across to the confusion and concern etched across Dr. Sam’s face. ”You were so happy. A stable income, a good disguise, a beautiful woman.... All that down the drain with the death of four people....” Zsasz mused quietly over what could have been, then simply shook his head. Expressionless. Void of emotion.

“People like me don’t need reasons, Doctor. We’re everywhere. We could be your neighbors, we could be your friends, your family, even. Hiding, here, right under your nose, with this yearning. This insatiable terrible yearning. It gnaws at our insides like an angry badger. Sometimes it doesn’t take some tragic heartbreak or sexual failings. Sometimes it doesn’t take an obnoxious bully or societal misgivings to set us off. Sometimes, all it takes is a bill. A bill that costs just one too many Washingtons.”

In a way, Doctor Sam was right. Victor had felt something. Not love nor compassion... He felt satiated, his thirst for blood quenched, and it felt goooooood. Although the thing about hunger is, it always comes back. Zsasz was hungry again, his skin was itching and writhing for another blade to peel it away. Bloodshot eyes trailed from the floor to Dr. Sam, veins pulsating within his retinas like fiery tendrils. "Would you like to know something else, Doctor?” Zsasz stifled a grin but it was an oh so painful undertaking... The devil’s eyes locked with Dr. Sam’s, and in that instant his fate was sealed. The four brand new tallies became a full set of five. "I have a knife in my straight jacket.”

Score: 313
Keep at it, Killer!

The Bug Eyed Bandit
Larval Stage
It’s not stealing if everything’s mine!

The year is XXXX,

Metropolis has become a hotspot for technologically superior threats to America and Earth as a whole. Violent clashes between the monarch city’s mighty protector and advanced otherworldly powers have caused cutting edge debris to trickle down from the heavens like rainfall attracting a new criminal element of scavengers to claim this state as the art tech of their own. To combat this new age silicon black market, the Metropolis Science Police is being revamped by lead scientist Dr. Ryan Choi — the Atom. An unacceptable development.

Like a gnat to rancid fruit, Bertram Larvand — the Bug Eyed Bandit has stalked followed Dr. Choi to the City of Tomorrow so as to become a participant in the silicon black market. Establishing a headquarters in a dilapidated building in the lower end of the city, this entomological evildoer schemes to fashion himself a crooked criminal reflection of the science police and has enlisted the aid of a group of local hooligans to assist him. They called themselves the Locust Gang, mostly because their Modus Operandi before Lord Larvand involved the petty crime of stealing food, and lots of it. The group had become infamous amongst local butchers, grocery stores, and fish markets for their grand dietery heists. Some of the larger ill gotten goods were pawned off, but more often than not the Locusts would simply eat these pirated provisions. The gang mostly consisted of teenaged meta-humans, a combination which provided an overall voracious hunger. First there was Hopper, the youngest of the gang a twelve year old speedster who was always quite annoying as well as quite hungry. His speedster metabolism made him quite hyperactive and forced him to burn through calories and food at a remarkably obnoxious rate. The team’s leader, Mantis has no powers rather he is equipped with wit and street instinct. As leader of the gang he was arguably the smartest, but that wasn’t much of an accomplishment frankly. In spite of his small and unassuming role in the underworld he had a fiery ambition and drive for grander villainous pursuits. It was he who chose the clique’s gimmick and subsequently caught the Bandit’s attention, and it’s he who immediately jumped on the idea of working for a bonafide supervillain. While the other Locusts got their monikers from their powers, Mantis made his own by fashioning a pair of weaponize gloves with farming sickles taped on the sides. The only female member was a quiet and dark figure named Cricket. She was a shy one very timid and morose but her sonic voice proved her the most powerful nonetheless. Of the bunch she seemed most tolerable because unlike the others Bertram couldn’t hear her be stupid. Finally there was big and brutish Stag. A very big boy, four hundred fifty pounds of hulking brute force and the brain of a walnut. He was named after a stag beetle but wore a football helmet with mandibles shaped like a Hercules beetle. He was nothing more than a simpleton and one who enjoyed breaking stuff at that just a very useful idiot.

They weren’t the sharpest knives in the drawer but the Locust Gang was eager to learn from a career criminal like the Bandit. They were his pupils and prodigies in deviousness but if only they had half a brain between them all. Yet in spite of insurmountable odds, Bertram wasn’t just a good teacher. He was a great teacher. Quite possibly the greatest evil teacher to ever live! This was the Girl Scouts of villainy... Tutoring youngsters on the incoming disappointment of adult life.* Lesson one was on self-respect. Bertram did so by belittling the youngsters and calling them morons. Lesson two was supply and demand. Someone else has the supply, and Lord Larvand demanded they steal it.

*”The people’s good fortune is my misfortune!” ——— Max Stirner

Dusk crept above the cozy Metropolis skyline in a blazing glow of orange and purple. The magnanimous shimmer of a bright horizon began its slow descent, a proud backdrop with only the Bug Eyed Bratz to bask in its full glory. Parasitic shadows of the nefarious Locust Gang danced before the blazing shimmer of neon apricot, and with them a glorious treasure of pilfered scrapyard junk. Mantis lead the charge with a smug determination, dull pavement creasing against the soles of his sneakers as he dashed through empty streets. Hooked hands trailing close behind, Mantis and the other goons raced to the nest of Lord Larvand. Close behind was Cricket quietly pushing a shopping cart of junkyard scrap, followed by Stag who towed along three shopping carts on a rope behind him.

Steam and smog billowed from the writhing mechanical lair of the Bug Eyed Bandit, an abandoned warehouse and quite clearly the most maniacal building in the area. Gears would grind and cogs would pound, a mechanical hive currently under construction by his android insect workers. The green screen of mechanical compound bug eyes glared at a seeming intruder as he marched through a plastic curtain into the dilapidated nest. Robotic cicadas barked and screamed an alarm at the insectoid inventor as he toiled away with a lifeless midge resting on his workbench. Green eyes glared sharply at his security cameras, finally they were here. It certainly took them long enough!

Mantis marched through a plastic curtain, the Bandit’s squad of fleshy drones heralded and greeted by the screeching ungodly cries of scuttling cicadas. ”YOU HALF-PINT HALFWITS CERTAINLY TOOK YOUR TIME, DIDN’T YOU!?” Robotic creatures all toiled away around them, constructing mining and building the headquarters as the trio of goons ferried shopping carts of junkyard scrap into the laboratory. Above them were midges hoisting up bars and beams, and below and around them were mechanical ants drilling tunnels deep below. Then of course there was the obnoxious cries of the cicadas all around them, Larvand cringed in annoyance and fired his remote to end the ungodly screeing. ”QUIET, TIN-CANS.” The group parked their trolleys for Larvand to inspect, and very soon Hopper joined the bunch in a blur of yellow. Fashionably late of course. ”YOU WEREN’T FOLLOWED WERE YOU? SHOW ME TODAY’S CACHE!” Venomous eyes glared at their treasure trove... One of the shopping carts caught his attention for all of the wrong reasons. He marched over fuming with anger, reaching in with fingers coiling around the cart’s contents. “I ASKED FOR COPPER WIRE YOU BUMBLING BRATS!! THIS IS CHICKENWIRE!!” With clump of wire clasped in his grip he glared at his pupils waving it directly into their faces so they could see their mistake — but alas they could not. ”What’s the diff?” Dim-witted Mantis blurted out to their tutor earning him only scorn and disgust. ”THE ’DIFF’ IS, ONE IS USED TO MAKE KILLER ROBOTS AND THE OTHER HOUSES FARMYARD POULTRY!!” The maestro of mechanical midges hurled the offending wire to the floor. Three of the four chastised teens looked away in dismay of their failure — and it was only the largest of them to chime up a meek little protest. ”We tried out best....”* Bertram slapped an exasperated hand over his face and pulled it deep into a tug upon his goatee. This was exhibit A, B, C, and D on why he preferred to work with robots.

*”Only the mediocre are always at their best” ——— Jean Giraudoux

Simply returning to his work station Bertram sunk into his tattered swivel chair with an eye roll and a whinny. He reached to a package of rechargeable D-Batteries his Locusts had procured and clipped a pair into the midge he was tinkering with. They were dead batteries from the junkyard, therefore the android did not stir. Rather, another of the robots fluttered a dainty landing upon the table. This one was comparably special to the rest, a lightning bug with a neon thorax — through a process Bertram referred to as power cell trophallaxis it would charge his midges, worker ants, and cicadas to save on energy. After the metal midge was powered up it came to life with a mechanical whirring, eyes now shimmering a bright green glow. With robotic wings atwitter and the pitter patter of metal feet the android fly inspected the new world around it. Dim lime illuminated on the table brightly admiring the bug eyes of it’s creator, growing ever more curious as a giddy yellow creature zipped over its master’s shoulders. “Wowwowwow! Yourrobotsare - sorry! Your robots are so metal, boss!” The monarch of midges cringed as Hopper gleamed over his neck, the boy’s soft breaths over his shoulders proving to be particularly irksome. ”OF COURSE THEY’RE METAL YOU MORON!!! YOU THINK I’D MAKE A ROBOT OUT OF PLASTIC!?!?!?” Kids these days! Why are they so obnoxiously stupid!? Larvand shoves the runt away and returned to his new beloved pet ”What’s the plan now, Bug-Eyed-Boss?” Mantis timidly stepped forwards. The Bug Eyed Bandit simply let loose a writhing villainous grin in return

”ENH-HENH-HEH-HENH-HA-HA-HA-HA! WHY SPOIL THE SURPRISE? YOU’LL SEE SOON ENOUGH!! YOU BRATS ARE GOING TO HAVE FRONT ROW SEATS; AND WHEN I BEAT THAT MICROSCOPIC NIMROD — DR. RYAN CHOI — NO ONE NOT EVEN THAT BLASTED SUPERMAN WILL STAND IN MY WAY!! THIS CITY WILL BE MINE!! YOU HEAR ME!? MINE!!* NYEHEHHEHHEHHEHHEHHEHHEHHEH!”

*”Mine!” ——— Larfleeze

(OOC: this was super fun to write! My whole thought process was to make some twisted reflection of everything Ryan Choi’s been up to recently. In Gail Simmons’ rum with Ryan, she did these little blue blurbs between panels that were famous quotes from prominent and intelligent people that tie in to how the Atom is feeling at that moment. I did my own warped version of that here, idk that if I played BEB it would continue to show up cause actually finding malicious selfish rotten quotes to tie into my posts will be kind of difficult but it was fun to use here XD. With Ry running the science police it made sense for Bertram to do the reverse of that, that is he involved in a sciency black market and then with Ry making side character ocs for the science police I decided to make the Locust Gang/Bug Eyed Bratz. Like I said, everything to kind of reflect what Ry’s doing)