"A/N: From here on out this story will be REVISED. Looking back, I absolutely despise how this was written. I will go back after the story is complete and rewrite the first 15 chapters, but for now, I shall continue. I apologize if the change in style is a bother, but I promised this would be complete, and so it shall."
There was something unnerving about waking up to a dimmed white room. Particularly twice in a row, to add more to the point. A set of dulled brown eyes lazily swept over his surroundings, however limited that vision might be. It felt as if his entire head had been strapped down and there were some very cold and uncomfortable restraints pressing into his flesh. He attempted to grit his teeth to emphasize his frustration, but it was to no avail. His entire body was lifeless.
He desperately commanded his brain to send signals to the rest of him to move. To lift his arm, kick his leg, wiggle his toes - anything! But he couldn't so much as even contract his muscles, let alone muster up enough strength to do something as strenuous as twitch. It just wasn't in him. But he had to wonder, with all that being known, how he had managed to open his eyes. He didn't even remember blinking them open, painfully taking in the hazardously bright light directly above him. When did that happen?
But then there was this feeling. It was different from the cold metal and leather that he could unfortunately recognize. It was soft and warm, almost suffocating, as he discovered its placement. Something of a cotton origin had wound up draped over his mouth and nose, stopping just short of his eye sockets, but that was all he could feel. For whatever reason, his eyes refused to strain themselves downward to get a good look. He was only able to assume that whatever it was, it was probably white, too.
But that was all beside the point. Johnny took what he thought was a strained and harsh breath as he dove into his memories for a recount of the past twenty-four hours. He remembered waking up at the county hospital and all the doctors and nurses present in his room. There was a table at his bedside with the same medical instruments that he would sometimes use on his own victims. Had he let them live, he often wondered how mortified they would be to go to a hospital to seek treatment with the very objects he tormented them with. The thoughts made him inwardly giggle.
And then he lashed out. The details were fuzzy, albeit unimportant to him. He killed the doctor, ran after the nurse, and tangoed with some security. A throb emitted from his shoulder to remind him of his downfall, but the events after that were missing entirely. He didn't have the foggiest idea as to what happened next, but it all led up to him being here. Wherever here was, that is. And now he was immobile, abruptly uncomfortable, and felt like his entire being was being scrubbed with doom. Disaster oozed from the recesses of his mind as he swore he heard a nearby door open. And although his eyes would not drift in its direction, the shadow of his visitor loomed over him anyway.
Another fucker in a lab coat.
Though much of his face was shrouded by the hanging light overhead, Johnny could still identify some key features of his guest. He had shaggy brown locks, a dark oak color to be more specific, with strands of gray mixed in between. It was assumed that he was in his mid-to-late forties, what with the hair and wrinkly face. He had incredibly dark bags under his eyes, and despite whatever color they may be, Johnny could only see red. This man supposedly blessed with God's healing grace was revealing himself as Satan's incarnate. Johnny no longer cared about what he actually looked like, for it was obvious that he was going to bring about nothing but misery and destruction. Excruciating, dragged-out malevolence.
The maniac took a moment to appreciate the irony of the situation. He supposed that karma must be real, the only certain force in the universe aside from death, for him to have found himself here. He was a man, guilty or not, ripped from the streets and forcefully restrained in his own version of a house of horrors. He was a plaything for whoever walked through the door and a dummy to be experimented on for their own sick and twisted "justifiable" reasons. He was a prisoner, a captured and caged animal, a victim to his own game. He had to conclude that irony and fate were two best friends taking turns kicking the metaphorical puppy that was himself. How deliciously cynical.
But all traces of humor aside, Johnny would much rather not be poked and prodded, possibly even sliced open. It just didn't sound like a fun way to start his day. Or night. He had no concept of time at the moment. But the good doctor spat out some incoherent words, to him or someone else, he was unsure, and then the door clicked shut. When had someone else entered? Did they knock first?
A warm hand greeted his face as the doctor used his index finger to pull up Johnny's right eyelid. Next, a sharp and unpleasant looking device was held up and was slowly descending above his eyeball. The maniac panicked, trying harder now than ever to move his limbs. Any sort of motion would be helpful, any at all, but none would come. He was unaware, but aside from the restraints that did such a fine job of locking him down, Johnny had been given a sedative that was clearly only doing half of its job.
His muscles were completely lax, not a bit of tension or flexation to be found. His body felt like jelly and brain might as well have been mush. He seemed to only be able to form thoughts, and his autonomic nervous system seemed to be the only other free functioning part of his body. As much as he thought he should be sweating, breathing heavily, chocking on his own vomit, or slamming his bloodshot eyes shut, he couldn't. Instead, his body lay motionless, lungs expanding and deflating as he breathed even, and his heart rate was even steady.
Of course, that all changed as soon as the presumed ice pick was wedged above his eye and below his frontal lobe and a light yet ridiculously painful tapping commenced. The dual-purposed tool was being hammered into his skull, the intent to clearly break bone. It was only then that his heart rate increased, though only slightly, while his mind could only register the sensation of pure pain.
And he was picked at, the device plunging further into his skull until the bone was shattered. A light tune could be heard being hummed from the operator as he proceeded to swish the pick around. Johnny could only inwardly cry and howl as his nerves were being hacked away at. He could feel the disconnection happening as the frontal lobe of his brain was being torn away from his thalamus. The searing and raw agony could only be described as indescribable. This was an ache that no one should ever have to feel. Though, he knew that he had done this very procedure on several occasions. He truly was a sick little monster.
The operation that only lasted for several minutes felt like several years to Johnny as the doctor proceeded to gnash at his other eye. Should he recover from such a horrifyingly traumatic event, he swore revenge on this sadistic asshole first. By all the evil and hatred that swelled within him, he promised to inflict the most heartbreaking and long-lasting impressions of unbearable suffering on this wretched creature who dared to call himself a man! That was a vow he did not take lightly.
But alas, as the procedure came to a close, Johnny lost a good deal of semi-logical thought. He was fighting, frantically trying to remember where his thoughts last left off at. What sort of awful scheme must he have been hatching and how could he so quickly have forgotten? Where had the feelings of rage and violence sprung so harshly from that they threatened to take over his very being? He couldn't recall being angry, especially not to this extent. Wouldn't one remember such things?
His memory was completely shot, the ice pick doing its job of separating his lobe. The idea was that he would lose his memory, lose his ability to judge and plan, and all ability for higher motor function. A procedure like this was designed to stupefy maniacal and crazed men like him. If they can take away your ability to act, think, and remember, then you would somehow become complacent and "normal."
A reality like that could never exist for the criminally insane mastermind. A life without bloodshed and sleepless nights was a luxury he would always be denied. For once the doctor had made his final flick of the wrist, all was lost. Johnny's heart monitor beeped like a kid who forgot to take their ADHD medicine was ringing a doorbell. As his rate increased, his body convulsed, and he had one last bit of bodily feeling. Tears poured like waterfalls down his face involuntarily as his body contorted and heaved. It was his final movement before flat-lining.
The doctor scurried around the room, pressing buttons, paging nurses, and seeking out syringes with futile liquids. The operating room was chaotic in a mad rush to keep the killer alive, but it was all in vain. It was always in vain.
And so, to conclude the events of such a horrifying day, it was with a not-so-heavy heart that the Wacky Shack Institute had to deposit one said body of a Mr. Johnny C. to the morgue. Despite not being a John Doe, the facility had no means of contacting anyone to identify the body, no family to notify, and no one to release a death certificate to. The creepy morgue slave would perform an autopsy, a half-assed one, seeing as how his very place of employment had caused the death, and lock his body in the freezer. If no one stepped forward, his body would be carelessly tossed out into some abandoned graveyard with an unmarked tombstone.
And it would be there that his mangled corpse would be free from the piss of the unruly teenagers of his hometown. His spirit, wherever it had ended up, would smile at that fact. Looks like he got a happy ending after all.
"A/N: So, yeah. I much prefer this style of writing to how this was previously written. Honestly, I'm embarrassed that I ever thought what I had done was good. Anywho, I apologize for the incredibly long absence. I hope this update was good enough to make up for it. Johnny's suspense is all over now, you know what happened. Should only be a few more chapters before I tie up this story and start rewriting it. So, yeah, leave me a review and let me know that you all still exist/care."