Issue 28
Profundity in the Madhouse
"The world teeters on the brink of destruction once again. No one feels it slipping away but it does…every second," the small thin man with an unconvincing comb over warned in front of him. Sanjeet held out his tray to accept the meager, soupy breakfast Arkham Asylum's cafeteria had to offer. It was his first full day in care of the state.
"Professor Achilles Milo, chemist by trade," the elderly man introduced himself as he waited for Sanjeet at the end of the line, "And you are?"
"Sanjeet."
"No boy, that's your given name. I want your real name, the one that got you in here," Milo explained as he followed Sanjeet to an empty table.
"Wrench."
"Ah marvelous," he exclaimed nodding enthusiastically, "Well I am a friend to all here, Wrench. Perhaps you'd like me to explain a little about the asylum. Maybe give you some tips on how things work and what you can expect?" Sanjeet looked at the ugly man across from him and decided he was better than no friend at all.
"Sure Milo, why not?" he shrugged.
"Excellent choice. I guarantee you won't be disappointed. Let us begin post haste."
The World According to Milo
"What did you do in the real world?" the professor asked.
"I worked at a call center," Sanjeet began before he was quickly cut off.
"Wrong! You assume there exists a world beyond this prison. A common but unforgiveable mistake I'm afraid. Are you familiar with Peoria, a river city in Illinois?"
"Not really," Sanjeet replied neatly spooning the tasteless mush into his mouth.
"A city with origins in the performing arts. It was a common show business question to ask 'Will it play in Peoria?' Part of this was because Peoria used to be considered Main Street USA, home to the quirks but also the strange sensibilities tied into traditional culture. Beyond that emotional gauge, at one time it had similar demographics to the large metropolitan areas of the country like Gotham or Star City only on a much smaller scale.
This led to the city becoming something of a barometer for the success or failure of shows or new products. A real life test city where you could get concrete results before committing to the entire country, an experimentation of both social attitudes and the physical market," Milo spouted.
"That's interesting but what does it have to do with anything?" Sanjeet asked.
"People mistakenly think, even the ones who are thrown in here, they think this is the bad place. They think there are fences and a series of locked doors that separate us and them. The bad gets put to bed at night in here while the good sleeps soundly on the outside," Milo claimed. At the next table over an unkempt bearded fellow watched them in silence while one hand worked furiously inside his pants.
"But Professor, there are fences and locked doors between us and them."
"Superfluous semantics. This is the first lesson," Milo stated confidently, "perhaps the most important lesson. The 'real world' as you call it is truly only Arkham or more simply Arkham is the real world." At another table a man screamed bloody murder after being bitten by a neighbor.
"This is the world's test city shrunk down into a series of rooms and deadbolts. Make no mistake we are all here whether we know it or not, each cozy in our private cells adorned by posters of our favorite musicians and actors." A woman squatted between tables and released a stream of fluid, black diarrhea.
"Here is your reality stripped down to its barest bones. We accept no pretense here," Milo smiled plugging his nose.
"Not a bad theory. It might even have a little truth to it," Sanjeet decided finishing his plate, "What else do you have?"
"Much and more, I can see you're a discerning character. Now that you've had a proper introduction to the machine perhaps you'd like an explanation of how her gears do turn," Milo suggested as they got up from the table avoiding the shit puddle streaking the floor, "Before we get to that I forgot to tell you the one thing we say to everyone on their arrival in Arkham."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"Welcome home, friend."
In the middle of the sunny yard surrounded by hundreds of feet of thick towering fence line Sanjeet and Milo sat on a picnic table as other inmates scattered around them.
"Lesson two, my boy," Milo said slapping his thigh and standing up next to the table. Gingerly he scratched a line in the dirt with his loafer between them.
"This is the most significant symbol to all of humankind," he claimed as Sanjeet stared at the ground.
"A line?"
"Not just any line," Milo corrected, "This represents every line ever conceived both literally and figuratively." In illustration he motioned towards the fence keeping them from the freedom outside.
"The line is a concept that once you see you cannot unsee. It becomes apparent in the meaning of all things. For instance I am on one side and you are on another. What could this line mean? I was born in Italy and you?"
"America," Sanjeet responded.
"So it's an international line splitting points of origin. Now what if I cross it to join your side?" he asked doing just that, "Has it become a line of prisoners against the rest of society? Some rather radical folks might suggest all lines are inherently detrimental. This of course is foolishness. See the road out there? Cars flying by each other at break neck speeds separated by what? A segmented line of paint that couldn't really stop someone from crossing into oncoming traffic yet for the most part it does."
"Because they respect it," Sanjeet replied, "They fear it."
"With good reason…but how many angry, impaired, depressed, or unstable drivers share that road with us? And let's be honest, how many rational, good hearted people haven't thought about swerving into the other lane from time to time? They call those intrusive thoughts. Look around and you'll find lines created by all sorts of madness like the 5 and 8 war.
A long time ago Penguin served a sentence in cell block 5 while at the same time Two Face was housed in block 8. During their limited stay they were engaged in a bitter turf war over the Gotham streets fought by their gangs. Inside Arkham the two cell blocks rallied around their famous villains and grew to hate one another. They'd fight in the yard nearly every day. Eventually Two Face and Penguin escaped together and ended their gang war but the blocks never did. Even today 5 and 8 still hate each other and most can't remember why.
What about the other gangs? You get your stereotypical race based gangs but then you get other strange delineations beyond that like the pirate gang."
"They're all pirates?" Sanjeet asked as Milo directed his line of sight to a small cluster of men near the free weights.
"Not even close, the only real pirates are King Kraken and Captain Stingaree who founded the gang. Everyone else are just pirate enthusiasts. If you look closer you'll notice Captain Stingaree is madly in love with Kraken but can't tell him. Everyone easily recognizes this except Kraken who himself is in love with Magpie. Unfortunately Magpie only loves collecting things and thinks pirates are lame. More lines appear of love now. It's like Shakespeare on an ether trip in here sometimes.
There are the patients against the guards, guards against administrators, administrators against taxpayers, and tax payers against patients. Round and round it never ends you see but the trick is to figure out which lines are important, which lines are beneficial, and which lines can be crossed. If done correctly it can be a very effective skill to have."
"Good to know. I think I'm going to walk around a bit and check things out if that's okay?" Sanjeet asked clearly bored.
"You're a good boy, Wrench and respectful of your elders too. Be careful in here," Milo warned.
Outside the Lines
Strolling through the yard a soccer ball rolled up to his feet so Sanjeet flipped it up deftly into his hands. A chubby frowning man approached eyes downcast.
"Can I have the ball back?" he requested shyly.
"Sure," Sanjeet replied tossing it to him. The man remained staring at his feet curiously.
"Hey, are you in the pirate gang?"
"Uh no, I just got here," Sanjeet explained but the man reared back and punched him across the face. Some inmates turned to stare at the sucker punch.
"Welcome home, landlubber!" he shouted and promptly returned to the game. With a tender jaw and more alert disposition Sanjeet continued on through the crowd. He came across a small table where people colored furiously on well-worn books.
"Hello, you must be new here," a caregiver at the table greeted him, "Would you like to color with us?" Sanjeet sat down next to a lanky woman with tussled hair. Generously the caregiver handed him a book and a fresh packet of eighteen crayons. She explained that everyone was provided with a box of crayons on admission while he popped open his pack to survey his options.
"Can I use your purple?" the woman next to him asked without making eye contact. He obliged and watched her hold it up turning it over in her fingers.
"I used to have a purple but it broke. Then I technically had two smaller purples but it wasn't the same. My collection is huge but word spread that I lost my purple so people refused to trade me for one. Two blue, three orange, no price was good enough. They knew how bad it hurt me but no one cared," the woman recited a story he could tell had been perfected with practice. He surmised she was Magpie the kleptomaniac collector of Arkham.
"Take it," he insisted but she only glared at him.
"I'm not going to sleep with you," she declared.
"Sleep with me? What are you talking about?"
"You men in here, you think if you do a girl a favor she owes you something or maybe you just take it regardless."
"I really didn't want anything from you," he explained, "You just seemed like you needed a purple. I was giving it to you freely but if you don't want it…" She cut him off clutching the crayon to her modest chest in horror.
"No, no, no, I'm sorry. It's just that guys don't treat women well in here. If they're not interested in sex they're not interested at all. They look at us like we don't exist and say we make stuff up."
"Well I heard one of the pirate guys King Kraken thanks a lot of you. Didn't sound like he only wanted sex," Sanjeet suggested.
"Yeah Billy? He's sweet but shy. We talk every now and then but he's a pirate. They're kind of goofy, don't you think?"
"Look you can tell me to shut up anytime but don't you think he might help you? I'm sure he'd like a date with you. If you agreed he might get the gang to look out for you girls. Only on your terms though, no funny business. I'm sure he'd be respectful. Plus he might show you his shiny loot that he's got squirreled away."
"Shiny loot?" she perked up.
"He's a pirate. I'm sure they've got booty of some kind, even here."
"Hmm," she hummed in contemplation, "that might work. I'm going to talk to him."
"Before you do take the rest of my crayons. I don't think I'll do much coloring."
"Why are you so nice?" she asked curiously.
"I didn't really like the person I was before I came here. I decided to try something else for a change. I'm Wrench by the way," Sanjeet extended his hand.
"You're the hero!" she exclaimed in wonder.
"Please don't call me that," he whispered.
"You're the hero," she replied nodding surely.
Later that night Sanjeet returned to his cell exhausted only to find it occupied by his much discussed roommate called Anarky, born Lonnie Machin. A regular, thoughtful young man Anarky sat on his bunk watching Sanjeet wash up before lights out. He had thin, sandy hair and wide observant eyes that followed his new bunkmate around the small room.
"I read about you," Anarky finally spoke, "The Wrench, burned down seven houses of your capitalistic masters only to save two little girls when you realized they were trapped inside, the daughters of your greatest enemy. It shows a compassion for the innocent rarely seen in Arkham.
Myself I'm a young revolutionary of radical idealism. We could make a formidable team. We could lay waste to the greedy hoarders of wealth and property returning it to the people who truly built it." Uninterested Sanjeet climbed into the top bunk depositing his head onto the moth bitten pillow provided for him by the underfunded state.
"I learned at a very young age the world is stacked against us," Anarky continued without encouragement, "I studied history to decipher the pattern of human oppression. Obsessively I poured over documentation of revolutions through the ages and realized most inciters of change only acted for their own benefit. Once power was achieved they reverted back to the old ways of subjugation and put a new name on it. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss if you will.
The truth is they never went far enough in the quest for freedom. That's a mistake I will never make. My plan is already in the works and no one can stop it. We'll use this place to crush SECURE and their fascist corporate owners! All of us together!" He squeezed his face into the space between the bars of their cell.
"Do you hear me, Arkham? We'll rule this world like we always should have! Are you with me?" he shouted.
"Hey Lonnie!" a woman named Whip shouted from an adjacent cell through the dark empty hallway.
"Yes, yes, my sister, I'm here! Are you ready to join us? Are you ready to be free?" he called back.
"No! I'm trying to masturbate over here! Shut the fuck up!" she answered. Turning back to his roommate Anarky heard soft snoring from the top bunk. Unperturbed he reclined on his back with his hands behind his head.
"Welcome home, brother," he whispered towards the sunken mattress above him.
The Problem with Clyde
Ten minutes after lights out Sanjeet awoke startled by gut wrenching screams from the cell block across the wide hallway. Fitfully he tossed and turned but the cries for help went on until dawn crept in between the barred windows above him. The next morning he trudged towards the cafeteria with heavy lidded eyes behind his young, talkative friend.
"Nietzsche's eternal recurrence merely hints at the possibility of manipulating the patterns of time into a positive force on the evolution of human culture but we must go deeper," Anarky emphasized as they reached the breakfast line.
"How can anyone get any rest?" Sanjeet asked ignoring the lecture, "The screaming never stopped. Why does that guy yell all night?"
"Who Clyde? He got here roughly a week ago. Why does the madman lament?" Lonnie waxed poetic, "Why does the gambler roll the dice? Why does the general declare war? The better question is what result will his wailings produce? Nothing for you to worry about though, a group of us decided to handle the problem today for the good of the population at large."
"Wait, what do you mean?" Sanjeet stopped turning to him.
"See that surly man at the table there? Today in the yard he'll quiet old Clyde for good so we can all sleep easy tonight," Lonnie casually explained.
"You're going to kill him? You can't! The guy is clearly sick," he protested but Lonnie stared at a loss.
"What would you have us do?"
"Give me a day. Let me try it my way," Sanjeet begged.
"What is your way, Wrench?" Lonnie wondered.
"I don't know," he realized, "One day." Thankfully Lonnie agreed to delay the prearranged hit more out of curiosity than compassion. With the life of an innocent man hanging over his head Sanjeet went to work. First he watched Clyde in line for his medicine where he expertly cheeked his pills only to drop them amid a crowd in the yard. Scrambling between slowly shuffling legs Sanjeet spotted them before a short stocky man snatched them up happily.
"Hey!" Sanjeet caught the unfamiliar man by the wrist, "Clyde needs those pills. Otherwise he'll end up screaming all night again." The mole like man blinked at him uncomprehending and uninterested. Instantly he stuffed the pills in his mouth and swallowed before Sanjeet could react.
"Dammit!" Sanjeet cried as the man scampered away giggling innocently. Next he tried talking to Clyde himself who turned out to be a fairly affable character.
"My momma had a house in Gotham," Clyde narrated, "We lived on Sharpwater Avenue my whole life. Number 881, the green one! I rode my bike up and down the street all day carrying my portable radio but it wasn't really a bike. It was my motorcycle, a really fast one. Momma got sick cuz she was old they said. We had to put her in the ground and my cousin Terri came to live with me but I didn't know her.
I missed momma so much so one day I went to her new place with a shovel to bring her back home. They stopped me for I could save her and everyone got real mad specially Terri. She told them to take me cuz she couldn't watch me all the time. That's when I came here." Still listening Sanjeet watched groups of patients milling around a common area. So many Clydes lived in this house for the unwanted and unmanageable.
They were people society could gain little direct profit from and were subsequently set aside with only enough concern for their care to keep them breathing and contained. As Milo may have described a very real line existed between the Clydes and the dangerous ones like Anarky or himself. The real villains used Arkham as an escape from the brutal realities of a true prison like Blackgate. Their sleazy defense lawyers cries of illness were shields to protect their clients while at the same time delegitimizing those who truly needed the help but couldn't ask.
"What about nighttime, Clyde? Has someone been hurting you?" he asked examining the finger paint art on the walls. He noticed a piece that showed Clyde riding a severely malformed motorcycle.
"No but they want to hurt me," Clyde replied warily, "There's monsters in the walls. Sometimes I hear them moving but I always see their lights. They shine through the spot next to my bed. When I yell it keeps them from coming through." Sanjeet saw an opportunity to corral the delusions instead of reasoning with the man.
"Actually the monsters are drawn to your yelling. The more you yell the more they try to get through the wall. The only way to get them to leave is for you to be quiet," Sanjeet lied. For a moment Clyde stared at him quizzically then laughed patting him on the shoulder.
"Mister, I don't think you know how monsters work at all," Clyde replied. Defeated and out of options Sanjeet left the cell and looked around the hallway lost only to notice a library in the room next to Clyde's. A middle aged woman sat on her bunk staring out at him. Wearing black rimmed glasses and short blonde hair she shook her head at Sanjeet clearly having overheard his previous conversation.
"He won't quit. Believe me, I tried," she explained, "My best advice is to get a book and a light. The nights get boring when you can't sleep. I can lend you one if you want. I've got thirty four novels of lady smut and Gulliver's Travels."
"They let you keep these?" he asked approaching her shelves through the open door.
"Good behavior. Plus the guards are pretty sympathetic due to the screaming. I even got a battery powered lamp for lights out," she stated proudly. Uninterested Sanjeet turned to go but stopped by the exit and slowly turned back.
"The lamp!" he flipped it on pointing it at her bed, "You use it like this?"
"Yeah I read pretty much all night," she stated. Sanjeet approached her bunk running his hand over the shared wall with Clyde's cell. Sure enough he found cracks in the cement blocks that could possibly leak light.
"It's your lamp at night," he theorized, "That's why he screams. He thinks its monsters in the walls. You have to shut it off. Tonight don't turn your light on no matter what. Will you do that?"
"If it stops him from keeping everyone up I will," she agreed. That night he returned to his cell filled with a multitude of questions from Anarky. He only stated the problem was taken care of and climbed into his bunk nervous but hopeful. Across the hall he could see halfway into Clyde's cell. Anarky sat watching and waiting expectantly.
For the first fifteen minutes Clyde paced his cell restlessly pondering the lack of monsters in the wall worried about a new attack on another front. At each cough or random noise he yelped but quickly settled again. Eventually he crawled into his lumpy bed and soon fell asleep. The rest of the surrounding block did the same except for Anarky. Sleepless and thinking he sat on his bunk until the sun came up and Sanjeet rose for breakfast.
"I would have killed him or had him killed for the comfort of everyone else," Anarky commented guiltily as Sanjeet washed his face in the sink, "but you found another way, a way to save him and still help everyone. Why was I so eager to sacrifice an innocent man?" It was a long time before Sanjeet answered.
"Sometimes the needs of the few sacrificed by the many are due to a lack of concern by that many," he surmised. Anarky stared at him mouth agape.
"Who the hell are you? What kind of snake oil are you selling?"
"I'm beginning to think it's the opposite of yours," Sanjeet answered.
Internal Upstarts and Socks
Over the next few weeks Sanjeet learned the often charming intricacies of life in the asylum. He found joy in the glory of Tuesday's dessert, pan brownies. He suffered through the tumultuous chaos of Saturday night movies typically anything before the sixties. He wondered at the irrational politics and cliques both the guards and the guarded practiced. Quickly Sanjeet found the most valuable commodity in Arkham though few seemed to recognize it and it wasn't crayons. It was socks.
Although socks were technically provided along with their orange coveralls, they proved to be as unreliable as they were uncomfortable. Often they came pre-worn with holes or thin worn patches in the heels. On the rare occasion Sanjeet's friends on the outside dropped any cash into his account he purchased large packs of thick white socks for himself and anyone who came to him in need. Soon nearly everyone trod the halls in soft comfy feet, and he won countless friends though that was never his intent.
Regularly he played board games with Professor Milo and anyone else who could properly grasp the rules. Since they competed most afternoons Sanjeet soon met Dr. Victor Fries who while not a talkative man he never passed up a game of Chinese Checkers. He noticed almost immediately that Fries was a dangerous opponent at least when it came to jumping marbles over other marbles. Andrea Beaumont also joined them on occasion but preferred Clue to anything else.
Throughout all the minor adventures and unusual social encounters he returned every night before lights out to his young friend Anarky who always had fresh ideas and plans to share. On and on he droned about the multitude of injustices and worthy plights that sprung up all around them. It was true SECURE slowly and quietly took control over the daily administrative duties of Arkham. Tighter regulations began to be enforced and Arkham's patient population definitely felt the change.
Anarky became another extremely vocal cry against the pressure that was already building among the residents. Sanjeet always got the latest gossip on the protests and pushback from his fellow prisoners whether he asked or not. Until one day it became clear the talk was soon to become a reality as Anarky explained the basics of SECURE and Gotham's Militia, the band of villainous rebels fighting against the paramilitary force.
"There's going to be a breakout," Anarky finally let slip, "The Militia wants us. Better than that they need us. They're going to come crashing in while this place is in the middle of a riot I'm going to create. Then everybody is free to go where they want and do what they want."
"No," Sanjeet replied simply.
"What are you talking about? No to what?"
"All of it. I'm not about to let you do that. I'm not going anywhere and neither are you. Tell me what your grand plan is for Clyde or Jan the Jumper or Brutus and Pip. Can they live on their own and do what they want to do?" Sanjeet demanded fiercely.
"They'll be taken care of!"
"No they won't. Their own families don't even take care of them. They'll be the first ones you toss aside for your shitty movement. Your noble intentions don't mean dick in the long run. They never have."
"B-but-I-y-you," Anarky had so much to say it all choked him up.
"Wait, wait," Sanjeet stopped him, "Why are you in here?"
"I dared to question a financial system built on the backs of-"
"You set up a series of bombs in the downtown district and one triggered early killing three of your own people you supposedly care so much about. You're not some misunderstood hero. The truth is you're no different from the rest of them," Sanjeet accused.
"I thought you would understand. I thought we were friends and you'd be on my side. Now I see you're just another idiot with internalized guilt."
"I am with you but not like this! We need to try something else, something new."
"No," Anarky warned, "Stay away from me. You can believe what you want but if you get in my way I swear I'll kill you." The conversation was pretty much over at that point.
The next day Sanjeet went exploring as he did when he felt particularly restless. He found himself deep in the bowels of the asylum near Killer Croc's floor where he was warned against visiting by Milo. Passing door after broken door he peered into unused cells full of junk and debris. Suddenly he came across a door still standing and locked without a number or identifying marker. Staring through the small window he noticed a hunched figure in the shady cell.
"Hello?" he called into the lonely room. The figure stood and approached him slowly.
"Hello Wrench," the naked reticent man greeted politely.
"How do you know my name?"
"I know a lot including my own name, Edward Nigma. I know too much if we're being totally honest with each other."
"You're the Riddler," Sanjeet replied in amazement, "What happened to you?"
"I pulled an Icarus. I also saw Ed McMahon smoking crack. None of that's important anymore. There's a sea of ink and a forest of pencils stretching across a vast, white plain of what's next. All our lives here come down to a single premise or question. What if?"
"Do you know about SECURE and this riot they're going to start? What should I do?" Sanjeet asked because he felt something strange about the grimy lunatic.
"What can I say? A large part of it was my own doing. I can't deny that. I stuck my hands into the very innards of God and returned quite satisfied despite how I may appear. Like Thomas I poked and prodded the very wounds that clotted into our salvation. It seemed like a good idea at the time. The first chord struck began the slow fade out while the desperate notes scrambled to make themselves heard over the top of it.
I'm slipping away again. I apologize. To answer your question what you should do is get out of the way. There's nothing that can change what's going to happen. I helped set the dominoes and I'll put that gun to that young man's head and help him pull the trigger. Blasphemy to the initiated but there's always room for another story," Edward rambled like an enraptured monk.
"Wait you're losing me again," Sanjeet begged, "Please tell me anything you can."
"I know-I-I know how many angels dance on the head of a pin…none. All the angels turned into devils long ago. That's the only way the story can truly end. To break the rule and go to the place you're not allowed, that's our exit plan. So many worlds exist out there. Why can't this be ours? Our one chance to sit down and break last bread together. Communion, a fatal catharsis, the long awaited transubstantiation of gratuitous ultraviolence in high definition." Edward banged on the door startling Sanjeet from the hypnotic, disjointed preaching.
"It's just a stupid metaphor! Why can't they see it?" he screamed banging his head against the steel now. As Sanjeet backed away from the caged maniac he heard rumblings from somewhere below most likely the monster Killer Croc stirring. On the long journey back out of the lower levels Edward's voice continued to echo after him.
"It's about letting go and moving on from something you love. It's about accepting the truth like me! Can't you see how much I accept it?"
The next few days grew progressively worse under SECURE's strict hand. Any leniency once granted disappeared quickly as "banned" items were confiscated without reason. At times Sanjeet felt SECURE's troops intentionally tried to rile up the populace. Books, posters, snacks, games, and more were taken bit by bit until every cell looked the same, barren walls and meager bedding. Although he could tell Anarky grew more heated with SECURE he received no more information about the uprising.
He was forced to seek it out elsewhere and the other friends he made quickly caught him up to speed. One day he approached a guard in the common area after learning the specifics of the riot. This man was named Aaron Cash one of the few leftover regulars after the transfer to SECURE. From what Sanjeet could gather Cash was roundly hated by the most devious and ill willed in Arkham which made him most likely a half way decent man. Inconspicuously Sanjeet stopped in front of him and bent to tie his shoe with his back to the guard.
"Cash, you don't know me but I hear you're usually fair. Just listen," Sanjeet began though Cash gave no indication he heard anything, "There's going to be a riot. I can give you a time and date but more than that a breakout will occur at the same time."
"You know I have to report something like that," Cash responded quietly.
"You can't. If you do SECURE will pack this place with troops and it will turn into a warzone. There's a group of villains out there who are going to come down on this place. It may be ten or a hundred. Either way a lot of innocent people will be caught in the crossfire. Instead you need to lock everything down and pull your men back to any safe spot you can defend."
"Why would you tell me any of this?" Cash wondered.
"Because I'm going to try to stop it and if I do I'm going to need something from you."
The riot began due to a lack of brownies at dinner Tuesday night, or that was the pretense the malcontents used to incite it. Erupting with violence the cafeteria filled with screams of anger and innocent confusion as groups of patients attacked the guards and serving staff. Soon they equipped themselves with knives and anything else that could double as a weapon seized from the kitchen. They also took mace and tasers from the unlucky SECURE agents who happened to be caught in the middle.
Before long word spread through the asylum like fire through a field of switch grass. All over inmates rose up overpowering their captors by sheer force of numbers. Through the chaos Sanjeet sprinted through the halls empty of any resistance. It appeared Cash held true to their arrangement and removed as many Arkham guards he could from the line of fire. Hopefully he also fulfilled Sanjeet's simple request or all his preparation would be for nothing.
Back in his cell Sanjeet grabbed a bed sheet and headed for a cell across the hall to meet up with the only person who graciously agreed to help. Clyde sat on his bed looking scared from all the yelling and tumult. Ever since the monsters left him alone Clyde grew much more amicable and happy especially to Sanjeet who he viewed as a true friend. Only Clyde offered his help to his friend though Sanjeet wasn't sure how much the simple minded man understood of the true danger they would face.
"Ready for our adventure, Clyde?" he asked spurring his partner along gently.
"I guess, Wrench," he replied smiling shyly, "We're gonna be good boys, right?"
"You got it buddy," he replied as they hurried down the halls.
"Momma always said to be a good boy." They finally arrived at the right spot. Thankfully Sanjeet found the key left by Cash right behind the service box as requested so he quickly unloaded it and unspooled the line. After explaining the mission to Clyde one last time Sanjeet stepped out into the main hallway on the east wing and tied the bed sheet across the length of the walkway. Leaning back against the cloth cradle he secured the flat, inert line in his hands and waited for the coming assault.
Not far away his nemesis Anarky led the revolution through the repeating halls gaining soldiers from cells as they went. Smaller roaming groups caught sight of the mass and eagerly joined their ranks. Any guards that tried to halt the rioters were quickly eliminated by stronger members of the mob. They continued chanting and celebrating as they moved towards their destination. Their destination was the east wing of Arkham where Gotham's Militia would breach a wall near the entrance providing extraction for the masses.
"Stop right there!" Sanjeet yelled as the group rounded the corner drawing close to the freedom promised, "Go back to your cells! You're being used!" The lone hero stood against the onslaught holding a fire hose pointed at the crowd. In response Anarky climbed the bars of a cell door to address his followers.
"You see this?" Anarky broadcasted, "Another fascist who wants to keep you locked up like the rest only now we're many and he's just one. Free yourselves!" He pointed at Sanjeet and the crowd moved forward.
"Hit it, Clyde!" Sanjeet called and for a terrifying moment nothing happened as they closed the distance. Then the nozzle in his hand shook at the coming explosion. Water rocketed out at one hundred pounds per square inch and all he could do was keep it pointed the right way. The jet cut through the line forcing people back and knocking them off their feet soaking everyone in stagnant brown water. Anarky screamed at them to advance but no one could gain footing under the liquid assault.
Just when he thought everything might work out Sanjeet felt the pressure dip then drop completely. As he turned to find the problem he saw Clyde surrounded by another group of inmates who came from the opposite direction forcing him to shut off the hose. Captain Stingaree who seemed to be leading grabbed Clyde by the arm putting a knife to his throat. He shoved the terrified man forward towards Sanjeet as the main group approached him from behind.
"Wait, stop!" Sanjeet begged, "It's over. You got me just let him go. He doesn't understand."
"He's right," Anarky called, "Let him loose." At that moment Clyde's fear got the better of him and he thrashed against the pirate wailing desperately. In the scuffle trying to keep the frenzied man under control Stingaree inadvertently ran the knife across Clyde's throat splitting the blubbery skin and nicking his carotid artery. Quickly blood gushed down his neck, too quickly as Clyde fell to his knees confused. The look he gave to Sanjeet shook him to the core.
"No!" Sanjeet screamed kneeling next to the man he brought into this mess.
"Oh shit," Anarky stated sadly at the accident. Suddenly around the corner the wall crashed in as the Militia arrived on time. The stunned crowd abandoned the tragic scene for the temptation of the outside until only Sanjeet and Anarky remained over Clyde's already lifeless body.
"It's not too late," Anarky whispered putting a hand on his shoulder, "You don't have to stay here."
"Too late?" Sanjeet asked like he didn't understand the words then his face quickly turned, "Too late!" A swift shot to the stomach doubled Anarky over knocking the wind out of him. Sanjeet stood and slammed his knee into Anarky's face. The young man fell swiftly and Sanjeet stomped him like a jackbooted thug screaming.
"Stupid fucking kid! Playing with what you don't understand, not one ounce of self-awareness! Using people as shields in your pathetic unjust war. You want a revolution? How about changing your fucked up self before you drop your problems and inadequacies in someone else's lap?" Sanjeet walked over untying the bed sheet and returned to his injured enemy.
He hogtied Anarky and dragged him through the halls back to their cell. Sitting on the bunk Sanjeet stared at him as he struggled and spit and pleaded. After a few minutes they heard heavy footfalls coming towards their room.
"Looks like a disagreement," the monstrous Bane noted staring through the bars, "Do you not want freedom like the rest?" Sanjeet looked away silently ignoring the behemoth.
"Yes please!" Anarky begged.
"Let him go," Bane ordered breathily. Begrudgingly Sanjeet released him slowly as he spoke to his former friend.
"This isn't freedom. If you walk out that door you'll never change anything. How many times have you done it before with no result?" Sanjeet pressed, "You'll be just like them another rampaging monster without a soul. The only thing you'll leave behind is a path of Clydes in your wake. You don't have to do this. We can find another way to change it. Stop running from who you could be. Stop fearing everything." Anarky stood beaten and bloody simply glaring at Sanjeet then he turned and walked out without a word as Bane followed.
For what seemed like forever Sanjeet stared out into that empty asylum the only patient who sought refuge in a world gone mad. When he was finally confident everything was ruined and unfixable he heard footsteps again. Anarky returned alone still silent, stepped inside, and slid the door shut behind him. The young revolutionary wrapped his hands on the cool steel bars and rested his bruised face between them. His sigh sounded like a final resignation in the face of insurmountable ignorance. Sanjeet reached out and put a hand on his friend's shoulder and spoke Arkham's simple greeting.
"Welcome home, brother."