A/N: This is the the prize for xXIronMusicXx for winning my Whodunit game on the Total Drama Writers' Forum a long effin time ago. Anyway, here it is. I tried to do dark comedy, but this ended up...well, you'll see. P.S. Absolution by The Pretty Reckless is a great song while reading this.
So without further ado…
The white clad woman clicked her heels elegantly across the floor. She was in an uncontaminated hallway lined with doors, each with a golden four-digit number below its peephole. The cold halls seemed to contain a few wandering souls with purpose to their similar movements. She noted how all who lived here were out on their daily task helping the community in one way or another. As she smoothly stolled down the hallway, not once did she look either side at the posters on the walls nor at the people stiding about.
Even though she didn't glance towards it like her subordinates did in a self-righteous and religious manor, she could tell the poster read: "The Connor Mental Hospital for a Better Tomorrow: This Age's Leading Care for Those That Need Us the Most". She had always liked that poster. It summed everything they strived for as nurses and doctors and chefs and odd repairmen. As she passed it between room 0157 and a hallway opening to the right leading towards the gym, she gave a quaint, knowing smile at the thought of her . She felt her own sense of personal pride as head nurse, taking only the more...troubled patients along with her other duties, giving her the blessing and curse of being one of the hospitals best known people.
Her stroll continued past the reception desk on the first floor. The receptionist, a small plump woman of Latino descent, and a personal friend of the nurse, waved to her peer passing by. "Hola, 0107," she greeted cheerily in her thick Spanish showing her metaphorical badge of immigration with pide. "How are you doing today?"
The nurse stopped and warmly turned around with her head bowed down as a sign of rare affection. "I'm doin' dandy, 1926. I was just about to see my friend, 1289616, for his lunch today-bless his heart. How are things with you and 0526 doin'?"
The sitting woman gave a sinisterly coy smile. "Todo es bueno. He's finally regretting what he said, cara de burro, so there's no need for…" As she spoke, the woman spat all of her words in her native tongue with vulgar venom. Quickly, she dropped her smile and looked around to make sure that no one was listening for the code word, "Proscription."
Her counterpart gave her a slight frown in return to her smile, but was quickly replaced with a wider smile filled with southern hospitality despite the Latina's small error. "Well that's delightful ta hear!" She continued to the elevator at her previous pace, stopping for a few seconds before a faint beep sounded, and walked inside. "Floor Twelve," she commanded to the elevator; it closed in response and began moving upward.
0107130 exited towards her destination as she exited the sleek, metal box with a slightly warmer interior. She barely noticed how the apartment-like residential surroundings had changed to posses a more metallic feel with handles and locks instead of knobs and keyholes.
Towards the back of the hallway was the 89th room. She placed her tray down on the plate suspended against the wall next to the door and reached into her pocket, producing a key card. She swiped the card in its slot above the and put it back in her pocket, grabbed the tray, and slowly opened the door with her foot.
"Good evenin', Mr. 1289616. How are we doin' today?"
The room had a twin-sized bed pushed to one side; on the other side was a toilet and a sink covered in the monochromed plush that also created a square island in the middle of the room. Every hard object was covered in a thick grey foam that would prevent the patient from self-harm.
The patient himself was sitting upright on his bed, ever so slightly he would push back the few strands of strained blond hair out of his eyes. He leafed through a weathered maroon Bible while reciting it to himself in a whisper, ignoring her first comment. As he spoke he would slightly stutter, pause, and add extra sounds to words to prolong his phrases. "...not that ye were made sorry, but that ye sorrowed to repentance."
"Mr. 616? Are ya busy?"
"...No, Ms. 130." The pale man dressed in a bright blue outfit spoke with a speech impediment that caused him to stretch out his vowels. He closed his Bible and set it next to him while turning his head so that he held his undivided attention of the woman. Finally, she gathered the nerve to enter the room and show the patient his meal. It was nothing extravagant-a broccoli and cheese casserole with a small brownie for dessert, as well as water in a styrofoam cup. Two white, circular pills of clozapine, still in their package, and two cylindrical pills of fluoxetine, half-white and half-blue, also resided on the tray. It was well-known that pills came with one meal, at least, daily for all residents.
The caretaker walked to the table and placed the food in the center, taking the seat closest to the door. "Tha cooks made an extra special broccoli an' cheese casserole today."
Mechanically, the man approached the food. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, the woman following shortly after, as it was hospital policy to respect the patient's religious views as one of the few things they could have once checking in. With passion, he recited, "Most Holy, Righteous and everywhere present God, our Father who art in Heaven, we ask thy blessing upon this food. Bless the hearts and hands that provide the same. And when it is ours to pass from time to eternity, own us and crown us heirs to Thy kingdom. Those favors and blessings we ask in the name of Christ, our Great Redeemer. Aman."
The nurse nodded and raised her head. "That was great, 1289616! You're really improving in speech!"
"Thank you."
The man ate sloppily as the nurse watching in stoic silence; he took his clozapine pills out of their package and popped them into his mouth with the water. Nearing the end of his meal, he swallowed his fluoxetine with the last swig of water. Downing the brownie in just two bites, he proudly displayed his frayed tongue as proof that he had finished.
"How was it?" The nurse looked at the man kindly, as her job demanded.
"It was good. Thank you."
She stood up and grabbed his tray. As she walked to the door, she stopped. Facing the hall, she said in a low tone, "Ya know, there's always the common room, where you can join other residents. If you ever want to join, just ring the buzzer next to your door..." The patient could almost hear her smile. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"
"Wait, please." He called with hesitance as she was about to close the door. "Yes?" 130 turned back to face her companion. It was not unnoted the oddness of his voice to her.
"I need to ask you a question." His voice held as much command as his tortured tongue could stand.
"What is it, dear?" The nurse continued to hold a pand of uncertainty yet still managed to hold a stable poker face of compassion.
"I must ask if you can you come here please? I need to ask you an important favor."
Her words hesitated. "Sweetie, can ya not ask me here?"
"I would rather not shout it out."
The aid walked back reluctantly to him. "Yes?"
"I must know, why can't we keep our names?" he whispered, though he knew it was no use. The walls heard everything.
Her smile did not waver yet it contradicted her voice. "Why... I have no idea about what you're talking about."
"Yes you do. We-we came with our own name. We don't have them anymore. We are told that these are our new names and we are punished if we question it. Why?"
"You should know the answer. We don't want y'all to be hurt by your past, an' we wanna try to build you a better future. A brighter future. One without pain from what's no more."
"But none of that matters now."
She moved her hands closer together at her waist and leaned in toward him. Her fear drew her closer to her as if the walls could grab her at any moment and she could use him as a sacrifice. "Why?"
"What time is it?" The tone of voice became slightly more agitated.
She looked at her watch. "It's 7:48."
"Thank you."
The man picked up his Bible, and his caretaker stood still for a few seconds until she was about to walk away. As she was about to leave, he looked up at her. "You might wanna take cover."
Panic was ever-so-slightly in her voice. "Why?"
"What time is it now?"
She shakily lifted her arm to look at her watch. "7:5-"
An earsplitting crash shook the room like an earthquake, knocking the two off their feet. Using his weight as a spring, the sick man jumped back up and was stable in a matter of seconds. The woman, however, still lay on the ground. The man walked over and stared at her. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish, but no words escaped from it.
"Ya see, God has called me in a dream. I am supposed to save y'all wit a message." Fear gripped the woman's eyes like a wild beast, but no tears escaped from her piercing eyes, no matter how much they threatened.
"I need to purchase the evils this world has divulged itself into. The only way to do that is to destroy the root of of evil. ...The CN tower is nothing but a vicious demon that spews sin to the masses! I must be the one to destroy it! Only then well they start to learn the errors of their ways!"
There he stood, quaking in his self awe. Slowly, he bent down to pick up the metal tray that Angie Grandson carried with her into his room. She understood what was going to happen when he began to bend down. It was what she trained for, after all. She quickly reached down to the inside of her sleeve on her right arm to press the panic button while simultaneously trying to stand up. Before she could make any grand movements, he struck her across the face one time on her right cheek. She tried to reach the spewing blood exiting from her right cheek but another blow across her temple stopped her.
He looked at her once again. She laid there dazed, fading in and out of consciousness while blood, tears, and snot ran down her ivory cries were muffled by the deafening screeches outside the room. As she laid there twitching, she subconsciously tried to make her movements more graceful and slow. Her sacrifice as the first martyr was an honor in his mind. He smiled at her blessing while he cracked her skull with a swift solid swing.
Not even wasting a moment, he grabbed the corps's access key He wiped off the trickles of blood as he ran out of his door. Smoke strangled his lunges as he rushed into the halls, making swiftly covered his mouth with his shirt. He understood what was going to happen as soon as she walked into the room. It is what he trained for, after all.
The patient found the blistering black air to be bittersweet. He hid in the open shadows as panic voices filled the air. His temporary brethren were shuffled like across the smooth tile floor. He felt a small pang of relatable pity for them. He flew across the well treaded hallway.
During his descent down, he thought drifted towards his former caregiver. She was a nice woman in his eyes, but a woman whose usefulness in death outweighed her life. It was common knowledge that she was a key figure in the structure of the institution-basic research told them about Grandson's accomplishments. Justice needed to be served on his captor. As he ran down flights of stairs, he broke from his pattern of running in a spiral to go towards the fourth floor's fire escape.
As expected of being in the back of a floor that was rarely used besides for a meeting hall for special events catering to donors with fat wallets to keep the "hospital's" pulse steady, only the visitor was present. The man was of average height and of lean build with near pale skin was the lone traveler who greeted God's profit. He held a crooked smile and a duffle bag that was obviously straining him, "Godspeed, brother Ezekiel! I take it that you have been blessed on your journey to spread God's news against those lost souls?"
"Yes. Ms. Angie has been made the first martyr in the awakening...God bless her soul."
"Are you prepared for the task at hand brother Ezekiel?"
"Yes, brother Gabriel. It is a sad task, but a sad task that must be fulfilled in the Name of the Lord. My spirit is ready as is my body and mind. The only thing that God has not yet blessed me with is transportation across the province-though he shall provide in his good time."
"Amen. God is a faithful warrior of peace and justice and provides his soldiers with the weapons to win His battles. The Almighty has bestowed upon me the idea of a diversion to help you flee this prison and discard your unholy name."
He gave a prompt pause in his passionate speech. Solmely, he walked over towards with the bag outstretched with care in both of his hands. Ezekiel met him partway to take his burden of a blessing to be of use. once the transaction was complete, Gabriel continued softly as first yet quickly raising in volume and passion. "Fly! Fly from this place and I will account for you so that no one shall look for you. I bless the a safe passage and be rewarded in God's Holy Kingdom once your mission has been fulfilled to His satisfaction. I shall leave now as my presence is expected elsewhere. Godspeed dear friend!"
"Godspeed." Ezekiel whispered with pride as he watched fondly as Gabriel vanished through the suffocating smoke. He wished his friend God's good grace before jumping out of a window onto the fire escape, the bag held above his head.
His skin blended almost perfectly through contrast in the forest night with the aid of the overbearing conflagration. The fire blazing solemnly waved him away to his mission towards God. All that he had prepared was the location and what to do afterwards. He was the man whose town was flooded, and he was willing to listen for God's advantageous hand.
Running away from the only home he knew for years was as easy as he anticipated. There were no guards present as all were fixing the distraction left before them, and once they notice his presence was missing, too many things will already be set in motion for it to be stopped. In the emotional sense, Ezekiel found it equally as easy to leave in an emotional sense. That place was nothing more than the place to invite the devil into people's minds and hearts. Only prayer and a bible was allowed to be kept of religion. Holy congregations were forbidden and talk of the Father between brethren was frowned upon. Keeping his heart clear on the mission, he pressed on and left his memories with his sins to burn.
Traffic was not-so-surprising slow on the highway a mere 7 kilometers away from The Conner Asylum. After a quick assessment, he decided to hide behind the nearest shrub with the bag carefully placed. He waited no longer than around ten minutes before a bright light from a general northeast direction radiantly corscated in his vision. The car swayed to the side slightly before jerking back on couse.
It seemed to be an older version of a Cadillac that was in clear working order. This was perfect-exactly the transportation that was needed. God worked in mysterious and miraculous ways that aided those who followed His Word. With his righteous fingers pointed at the machine for God's future use, he yelled, "In the Name of God Almighty, I command you to stop!" It not only did not stop, but jerked more to the side in indignancy. The Prophet of God was not pleased by this answer.
"I will unleash the Wrath of God if you dare disobey Hi-!" It sped up. Words that he was unable to speak exploded in his mind. No amount of help from what happened to him on that cursed show aled him at his time of need. Ezekiel looked up. He whispered to his Father in his mind. His mouth opened for a few seconds before begging, "Forgive him, Father. Forgive him for he knows know not what-"
Metal hit flesh at high speeds. The body never moved as if his God kept him to make a point to simply be crushed by a tire as the car flipped on its side and was only stopped by a tree that finished it's purpose from God as it fell on the bruised car. To continue the Wrath of God, the car burnt in fire until the next morning when the proper help could help the intoxicated body move from his metal tomb to a proper one in the ground.
As for the lone body on the ground, despite the search groups sent to find it, all they found was a trail of blood leading to a bush and a light trail of cloth-but any other forms of leads were nonexistent.
The purpose of Ezekiel, 1289616, Homeschool, was to send a message to stop the masses of television to stop spewing sin to the innocent and the growing population of corruption. Maybe God placed the idea into his head because of his humiliation or maybe it was because of the purity of the intention behind it. His name was supposed to be one of power and change. It was supposed to symbolize freedom and the dawn of a new age of enlightenment.
But thanks to the local new station, it turns out his name was subject to change.
A/N: Wow, still over 3k with the story itself. P impressive imo. This story was definitely fun to write (despite the fact that it took over a year and a half to finish lol whoops), and honestly it had a different ending where the car didn't hit him and he ended up making it to the CN tower and also acquiring some explosives, but there he would see Bridgette with Geoff with some children and he'd feel angry that he could never have her but would still feel the appreciation of beauty of the family that they had created that he was about to destroy. Then he would find out he's not invincible and the same epilogue would still be written.
I went with that until this afternoon where I felt this was a more satisfying ending.
Soooo fun facts!:
I wrote this at some point a while back but I think I took it out: The ID's assigned to both the patience and the staff have meaning to them. With the staff, you have their initials (the first 4 digits) and their ID code (the last 3) while the patients had their room and floor numbers along with their ID code.
Ezekiel's code is very special and ironice. 616 is known as "the true number of the devil" as 1289, from research at one point, was also associated with it-though I'll admit I'm having trouble looking it up.
Also, this fic is more of a dark satire people who claim to be religious by making their own interpretations instead of a satire on religion itself. And uh...I think that's it. Write a good ol' fashion review if you liked this, or even if you didn't, let me know why!
Finally, I want to give a loud shout out to my best friend Professor Kukui (or whatever her name is when you read this xD) who is holding video games hostage for me to do my due stories D: But seriously, she's literally my only reason writing and I love her and she is amazing (*psst psst* check out her stories (especially "Adventures in Monokuma's Circus") they're amazing *psst psst*)
Here's hoping to see more of me in both TD and other fandoms!