Punching Loboto in the face very hard was not the brightest thing Fred had ever done in his life for three reasons:

1. Loboto was still laughing after Fred busted his lip. He laughed even harder when he noticed that Fred has cut his knuckles on his teeth.

2. The lecture from his boss made him want to punch someone even harder.

3. Fred got a week's suspension from work. Arguing further would cause Fred to lose his job, and arguing that would cause him to be banned from the asylum forever

So, with a badly bandaged hand and his briefcase, Fred decided to walk home instead of taking his rage out on bus passengers.

This wasn't fair. Loboto deserved that smack to the face and more.

And Sheila. She was scared and alone somewhere in those thick asylum walls, crying her eyes out.

And then there was Boyd, knowing to much for his own good. Fred was spending too much time with him, the conspiracies were starting to make sense.

And Edgar, heartbroken and tortured painter he was. The violence shifted between none and trashing whatever room he was in except for something with art, they were going to have to lock him in the art room at this rate.

And Gloria, poor, sweet, Gloria. The constant power outages happening at the asylum lately were too much for her to bare, and she wasn't aloud candles in fear of a fire. All she could do was be in the darkest of her emotions.

They were all doing so well, then suddenly, they didn't really relapse, more like they started back-peddling. And it only started a weeks ago...

... Loboto was admitted a few weeks ago. Around the time the power outings happened, around the time Boyd's chalk was going missing, around the time Edgar's paintings were being sabotaged, around the time Sheila's mental walls started crumbling.

Fred screamed when he made the connection, causing a few passerbys to back away and look at him, frightened. Fred punched the nearest brick wall of some random building, hard enough for the bandages to rip and his cuts to open. For the first time in a long time, he could feel his eyes tearing up.

Unfair.

So.

Damn.

Unfair.

Life isn't fair , his mind yelled, And it never will be.

The week based by slowly. Fred realized that he based most of his life around the asylum, and that most of his friends either worked there or were admitted there. The rest of his friends actually had lives.

Returning to the asylum, finally, got another "Don't do it again" speech from his boss. And yet again, he was handed a case file of a patient by the name of Crispin Whytehead, who arrived the day after he was suspened from wor–

Wait. Wait a damn second. He knew Crispin Whytehead.

Okay, so he really didn't know Crispin that well. He went to school with him, though. He was the kid who would always wear dark colors, sit in the corner of the classroom, get straight As, never talk, but whenever the teacher called on him, he gave the most heavily detailed and perfect answers ever in that nifty accent of his.

And apparently he threw himself off a building for heaven knows why. And now Fred was staring at him, while Crispin whimpered in the corner, lips showing signs of being bitten far too much and straight jacket threatening to tear any moment without much give needed.

"Crispin, right?" Fred said, trying to relax. "You know, we went to school together."

Crispin merely tilted his head, silently questioning Fred.

"Yeah. Uh, it's Fred. Fred Bonaparte. The kid who always ran into the top of the doorways, remember?" He could've sworn Crispin smirked, if only for a second, at the mental image of Fred banging his head into doorways.

"Anyway, I heard you were kinda... Unresponsive. So, I brought you something..." Fred held up the board game box, putting on his best smile. "Waterloo-O! The fun educational game for the whole family! My friends bought it for me as a joke, Bonaparte and all, and it's actually pretty fun, so... Uh, wanna play?"

Crispin backed himself and against the wall and pushed himself up.

"Alright. But I get first turn, General Bonaparte." he said quietly. Fred smiled and started leading him to the cafeteria.

"Alright, so all I have to do is get the knight into your fortress?" Crispin said.

"Uh-huh," Fred replied. "Soldiers can break bridges and when they encounter each other, both die. Carpenters fix broken bridges, and can only be killed by knights."

"Soldiers are weaker than carpenters." Crispin said bluntly.

"Hey, don't underestimate the power of a fully-armed carpenter. You'd be pretty scared if some guy was running at you with nails and a hammer." Fred replied, added an odd-one-out soldier back to the box. "Also, I can't let you out of your jacket, so I hope you can push things around with this." Fred placed a plastic shovel-like thing in front of Crispin. Crispin stared at him, serious face.

"General Bonaparte." he said, sounding mock-serious. "This battle can easily be avoided if you surrender."

Fred cracked a smile, then went to a serious glare. "Over my dead body, you heathen!" he spat back, brandishing an invisible sword at Crispin.

"Then let's rock." Crispin snapped back.

"You think they said 'Let's rock' back when Waterloo was going on?" Fred said, moving a soldier forward.

"Doubt it." Crispin said, pushing his carpenter near a bridge, shovel-pusher in his mouth.

Suddenly, the were both laughing quite hard. Finally. Something was going right.

Scratch that last stateme

The board game treatment was working too well. And Fred was getting he ass handed to him every. Single. Time. And Crispin would not stop gloating about that fact. The taunts were getting more jarring, the kind of getting-in-to-your-head way like Loboto, and eventually Fred decided to quit and wandered around for a bit.

Oh well. He could try tomorrow.

And then he lost.

Again.

And again.

And

Again.

Fred! You are a Bonaparte! You were made for ze victory and the like! His mind shouted.

... Did it always have a french accent?

... Oh no.

Fred wandered into the bathroom to clear his thoughts, beginning to understand that someone up there did, in fact, hate him and that the doctors were right:

This insanity is becoming a plague.

This chapter is very bipolar. Starts out depressing, goes to happy, then SUSPENSE GASP.

Next chapter will be the finale, with Fred, and probably a look at everyone post-asylum breakdown. So, yeah, I'll hopefully have it up soon if I'm not too busy rereading Watchmen.