"When the world is turning

You'll find your true nature

When the first is last and the last is first

You'll be where you choose to be"


Ludwig spent a year in this place too, a long time ago, before I was born. You see, my father's side of the family has a long history of unique individuals in its bloodline, and you have no idea how proud I am to be one of them. But I will never measure up to Ludwig's... individuality, thanks to a tiny, tiny influence on my genes from my mother's placid and docile nature. Behavioral traits are handed down; there's only one U in "nature". This bothers me sometimes, because it will keep me from ever turn homicidal. Oh, dear. How I wold disappoint my sweet mother if she ever found out I told you that.

I punish my naughty thoughts by slicing a deep gash from my elbow to my wrist, avoiding the arteries but nicking quite a few veins. You know how good it feels, dont you? Or maybe you wish you did. I can tell you that it's relief beyond comforting words. The ruptured scales reveal a web of fatty tissue protecting the flesh underneath. The blood soaks through the pillowcase and no amount of bleach will ever get it out. It's Koopa blood; thick, sticky and notoriously colorfast. Go ask your pal Mario. He used to spend all his time in between performances getting it off his shirt. He gave up though, so now you know how his clothes get dyed. I pause and let my thoughts race. It's so funny how my record lists me as a blue-blood when my blood is as red as any Koopa's.

We'll get back to Ludwig while waiting for the bleeding to stop. He has agreed to help Dr. Clawdia help herself. I gently wipe the blade to not blunt it. You thought I was going to ambush my own physician and drive the scalpel into her temple? Oh, no, my friend; what she has done to me and my friends is beyond revenge. She must be taught the way, just like we have been. We understand now. After all, we weren't taken here to die for our sins, but repent them, and mend our ways. I believe that Clawdia can also make changes for the better. But only if she's given the chance. My brother agrees, and he knows how to help her.

When he resided at Freaky Fred's, an unpleasant incident occurred, where he refused to take his medicine in a fit of disobedience. Dr. Clawdia tasered him into submission; a practice that's since fallen into disuse. As a result, Ludwig's been permanently jittery and his hair won't come down. Lithium won't stabilize his highs and it has negative effects on his scientific performances. He hides it well, but he dares to be himself in front of me and Roy. I cheer him up when he's at a low point, and Roy can restrain him when he gets in over his own head, literally. I just didn't make the connection until now.

"So you see now why I take this so personally?" He asks as he sutures my wound. The stitches are beautiful; like black lace. I wonder how a scientist specializing in chemicals and occasional musician has learned to perform minor surgeries. His gloved hands feel strange against my scales, and my face twitches, changing several times over naught but seconds.

"It's OK, mein brother. We're almost done with the touching-part. I just need a clear answer from you."

"I understand," I say.

"Gut. Please put that back." He says as his back is turned rummaging for a gauze sleeve in the first aid cabinet.

I frown and pull out the wooden mallet I nicked when I thought he couldn't see me. Ludwig never bears a grudge, though. Grudges are un-Koopalinglike. He places the potential murder weapon out of my hands.

"I know you want the, um, intervention to succeed, but Iggy-dear, you must have patience. I promise you we will be successful."

How can anyone promise that, I wonder.

"If we fail, however," Ludwig adds, brow raised, "That I'll come to you during visiting hours, and tie myself to the windowsill so you can pelt my chest with broken crayons. Sounds good to you, yes?"

"Sure." Hopefully he won't get more than he bargains for.

The newly sutured wound on my arm stings as Ludwig strokes a small dab of moisturizer over it. "Remember to put on a little every time you wash you hands." He frowns. "Whether or not you do, that cut is going to leave a nasty scar."

I can tell that he wants to ask me why I did it, but realize he's better off not knowing.

"I really hope I will not pass my bad habits to my own offspring," I say, looking at the big picture of little Wendy and Morton that Ludwig keeps over his desk. They're still too young to feel the weight of life on their shells.

"I lose sleep every night worrying about the same thing, Iggy." Ludwig covers his most recent edition of Eugenics Quarterly as he says that and holds up another one of his Erlenmeyer flasks.

"Dr. Clawdia keeps the ward's supply Silentium in transfusion bottles, not vials, am I right?"

"Mhm," I nod. "She likes to serve it farm fresh."

"Good, that will make this a lot easier. This is sterile water combined with a small drop of my antidote; synthetic Imagicillin. All you need to do is to inject this into the faucet on every IV line. It will render the Silentium completely harmless. Iggy,"

He adds as I shell the fate of Freaky Fred's and leave for the pipe. I turn around.

"An enemy hung by the rope they fashioned themselves always makes for a happy ending." He tosses over the vial of intact Silentium. I tilt my head and smile at my brother, as I desperately want to let him how much of my heart that is his. Even when he calls me Dummkopf.

"Tonight," I say.

"Tonight," he replies.


Shelly is also shaking as I return. I pretend to read the TV guide and ask her what's wrong.

"Iggy," she whimpers, and a few expletives and secrets from her sister's diary jumps out as well. "I was at Dr. Clawdia's office today. She... she says she wants to do to me... what she did to Koopie. She thinks that it will take care of my little problem."

Now, now, no crying. It is frightening to see her breaking the unwritten rule she bashed into my head my entire first day here. Koopie is sitting in her favorite chair, while Koops tries to get her to eat something. Most of the time she's unresponsive, and every time Jerry shows himself she begins her guilty wailing, which attracts nurses, ordierlies and the wretched Dr. Clawdia.

My blood may be red, but I'm a noblekoopa. A legally insane nobleman's psych ward is his castle. When an evil force threatens the women of his castle, it's up to the King to protect them from harm. But this force is already causing harm to my women, and I can no longer stand idly by. Guilt stings at my heart as I realize I should have done something much sooner.

Shelly then notices the sutures on my arm. She scoffs. "You just couldn't help yourself, could you? You're pathetic." She doesn't say it, she sprays it, on my cheek.

"Shelly..."

"You said you'd take care of Clawdia as soon as you had the means. Do you have any idea what I had to do to get that sharp?" She stomps the linoleum. "Before you actually get around to act on your plan I'll be... Koopie."

"It's not going to happen, Shelly. I promise you that."

"You can't promise me that, you retard."

"Well," I say, trying to remember what my brother said that actually did reassure me, "If I fail you I will visit you in solitary, tie myself to the restraint bed so you can pelt my chest with broken crayons."

Shelly shoulders become relaxed. "Oh, Iggy; I would never do that." She hugs me, and for once the voices does not tell me to hurt the person that's close to me. A crooked smile spreads across her pale face. "My crayons are really expensive."


You may wonder why I've held on to this scalpel for so long. A scalpel is good for many things; surgeries, pedicures, cleaning fossils - and jimmying doors open. A credit card is the stereotype, but since when did underage lunatics tote any of those around? Scalpels on the other hand... With a quick and graceful swing of my wrist, the door to my room opens. Little Christmas Eve, how perfect. I know for a fact that since it's also Friday, Clawdia is working late in her office, either typing in recordings of her patient sessions, or trying to find a date on the computer. I dare not speculate which endeavour would be most successful.

Yesterday afternoon I saw Shelly as she was prepped for the ECT treatment. As her bed was wheeled behind the "RESTRICTED" doors of the ward she didn't look frightened. She trusts that I'll save her. Either that, or she's given into despair. No. I can't allow myself to think these thoughts. Sadness has no place in a Christmas-decorated mental ward.

Christmas, indeed. Because of it half the staff is missing and those who have remained are not at their posts. One has left the door open a crack, probably to smoke or get coffee. It does seem convenient though, so I keep the knife within easy reach. If I have to hurt someone, I will, because I've decided that as of this point on, all bets are off.

Even the door to Clawdia's office is open, but the light in the hall is off, and the one in her office is dimmed, so I don't cast a shadow as I tiptoe past it. For some reason or another, Freaky Fred's fire safety regulations are very strict; much stricter than Kastle Koopa's. One of these restrictions makes it illegal for orderlies to lock restrained patients inside their rooms. And Shelly is indeed restrained. After I unhook her wrist and leg straps, I cut the ties on her straight jacket, and the long canvas sleeves fall to the floor. She rubs her wrists.

"Thank you," she whispers. I smile, but to myself I think that I'd give all my birthday presents to Roy if Shelly did not have another vocal tic as we're standing here.

As we leave the room, however, I accidentally walk right into a bucket on wheels that the janitor must have left. It speeds right across the hallway floor and crashes into a potted plant. I curse myself as the carpeted part of the hallway was only a yard away from said plant and would have made the bucket stop rolling. No such luck. The bucket veers, and water inside the bucket even spills onto the floor far down the dark hall.

Dr. Clawdia minimizes a webpage that should be kept clandestine, and says: "Who's there?"

We hear her getting on her feet. Shelly trembles in fear, but I hold her hands in mine.

"Calm down, Shelly. We have nothing to fear anymore. From now on, it's you and me. And our friends. No one is gonna stop us now."

"Oh, Iggy," she says tenderly.

She calms down, and her eyes are soft. Standing there in our tattered straight jackets we exchange tongues and bodily fluids that are very big potential harbingers of disease vectors. Ludwig says the layman's term for the act is "making out". He must have read it in Redbook. I say to you as a reader that you shouldn't read such an obscene periodical. It's not good for your mental health.

It makes me feel good, though, so no wonder why people do it. I keep holding her hands. My heart is palpitating, my palms are perspiring, and my breath is short. It worries me, so I tell Shelly as the footsteps of doom approaches.

"That's being in love, you scientist," she says. Her voice is still warm, and it makes my abdominal cavity feel as if filled with cherry soda or butterflies. The scientist in me can't help but theorize as to what purpose these emotional responses have.

"You two," Dr. Clawdia growls as she shines her penlight right into our eyes. Shelly whimpers and clutches my hands. I just stare right back at the hag.

"You can't hurt us anymore, you two-faced bitch," I snarl back at her. Mama would pass out if she had heard me saying that word. I take a step forward to shield Shelly. "We are no longer afraid of you."

"Really," she says as she approaches. We turn on our heels and try to jog as quickly as possible down the hall. Shelly's legs are weak after spending such a long time tied down, and she's too heavy for me to carry. I really should have borrowed Roy's workout DVD's last summer instead of Ludwig's pile of Science Illustrated.

"Come back here, you deviants," she shouts; the little she remembers from her Hippocratic Oath - classes slash doodling the name of her latest crush in her notebook - time is now forgotten. "When I get my claws in you, I'm gonna fry your brains until there's a blackout in every town a hundred miles from here!"

Unfortunately for us the hallway leads us to a dead end; the fire escape, and the door will not respond to my scalpel. Even if it did, I'm not leaving my friends in the lurch. I think about my family as I see the syringe dangling from Clawdia's stubby fingers. She must have thought that false nails would make them more tapered, but they don't. I still don't hate her as much as I pity her.

"There you are." She towers in front of us. "Iggy Koopa, you have broken so many rules that you're beyond solitary. I'm taking a piece of your brains out."

"No!" Shelly cries out. "That's illegal!"

"No one will ever know." Clawdia reaches for my face. "I'll tell your families that you killed yourselves and that you were so messed up we had to cremate you. I'll put you both in the white room, without windows and even a toilet. No one will find you... I will not have a blot on my record. Not now as I'm filthy rich."

"From peddling poison!"

"Shut your filthy trap!" Clawdia grabs Shelly's neck, pulling her close to her face. "You will be the first blot to be erased."

I'm about to defend my woman with a scalpel when a colorful ball hits Clawdia in the shoulder. I think I'm hallucinating, but I realize that Clawdia can see it too.

"I just hit the jackpot!" It's Lemmy. He's standing in the faint moonlight reflected in the waxed linoleum, wearing one of little Wendy's dresses and a pink curly wig. I hear screams in the background as he's doing a tippy toe dance, but it's not the other kids. It's the only orderlies left on the ward. Clawdia reaches for her panic button, but as she sets course for Lemmy, she slips on the dirty mop water and falls. I grab her syringe and look at the contents; since I took extra caution to contaminate every bottle of the horrible Silentium I'm aware of the slight yellowish tint that Ludwig's perfected antidote causes. The sedative in this syringe is harmless. I herefore eject it onto the floor and reach for the only dose that is still potent.

"Clawdia," I say. "All your coworkers are dead. No one is going to save you." I don't want to stand over her; that's unfair. Her ankle is sprained, so I roll up her labcoat and lay it under her foot. She knows that none of the other orderlies will show before the next morning.

"Let me give you something to calm your nerves," I say. She violently opposes this, and it confuses me, as this is her own wunderdrug, that she recommends so glowingly to any doctor willing to listen, or close enough to hear.

"Look who it is, Doctor Iggy," Shelly says and I look up as I finish injecting the Silentium into Clawdia's shoulder.

Ludwig approaches wheeling a chair towards us; hair wilder than ever before and wearing an iodine-stained labcoat. I have no evidence yet to say it's not iodine.

"Ah," I say. "Doktor K. Vorkian. Hopefully you had a pleasant trip."

"So sehr pleasant, ja." He smiles wickedly. Oh, he's decided to do the insane Nazi physician after all. I'm so happy, and I won't make him get me another Christmas present for as long as I'm a Koopaling, that is, unless he keeps hogging my microscope. He didn't put on the red arm band though, even without the weird symbol on it he must have thought it crossed the line.

"Und hier we have our Patient, ja?" He kneels on the other side of Clawdia. "Ooh. Ziz's worse zan I thought, ze zubject has harmed herself during eine Fluchtversüch? I cannot treat a person who is not bereit to make a change."

"Well, Doktor, I really hope you will stay for our intervention anyway. The other board members are dying to meet you."

I'm having the time of my life. And the best thing is knowing that it'll only get better from here.

"Gut, zat changes alles, does it not." Dr. Vorkian has conveniently brought an adult-sized straightjacket in the seat of the wheelchair. I recognize it all of a sudden; it's the same one I was put in when I first got here; with the spokeguards complete with the green aliens on them. Wowza. It's hard to tell which part of my brother I admire the most; his homicidal tendencies, scientific prowess, or attention to detail.

"I am deeply concerned with the status of this patient. You see, Doktor, I've been working with her for so long, but I feel that my approaches to her ailment falls short of what is needed."

"Verdenken not yourself, Doktor Ignatius. I always tell you, wärend our internship, you take patient care too persönlich. Now, take me to the Sitzungsaal. I am also anxious to meet your Kollegen."

We break characters for one moment to join forces in putting the hospital gown and straightjacket on Clawdia, who is drooling and attempting a hateful stare at us. "Nurse Shelly, please, the foot rest."

"Yes, Doctor." Shelly puts Clawdia's hurt foot up, to avoid the formation of an edema. We can't have any physical discomfort to draw attention away from her more serious issues, can we?


All the greatest medical minds and the most faithful of coworkers in this Real World state has come to the conference of the century. Jerry the forensic psychiatrist, Roy the orderly, Shelly the psychiatric nurse, Toadette the behavioral modification specialist, Lemmy the candystriper and all the others are gathered here to figure out what to do about our very sick and uncooperative patient.

We have gathered in the grand conference hall, also known as the dining room. After shaking hands and introducing ourselves I present the case, appropriate seeing as I'm the subject's primary physician.

"December 23rd, Friday, Hour 22. Today we are gathered to evaluate the treatments available for patient no. XX-039, Greenkoop, Clawdia. Master Roy, please wheel in the patient."

I had Clawdia put in a bed instead of a wheelchair because of her foot. The mattress adjusted so she can sit up, but she is securely jacketed and strapped. Her face is full of fear, but her eyes are still analyzing the situation. I'm not underestimating her. When in survival mode, all creatures do what is necessary.

"This patient was transferred to my insitution from a ward in her home town. This ward did not have the necessary staff nor equipment that a patient in a condition as serious as Miss Clawdia's require. As a result, she was kept in solitary, where her condition worsened and hel wellbeing deteriorated. I worry so much about her recovery," I add sanctimoniously; "That I turn to you, my dear colleagues."

"Well, good," Jerry the forensic psychiatrist says. "I have read the copy of the patient records that you mailed me. I'd propose that we spend some time figuring out a diagnosis. Let's talk with the patient."

The others murmur, but I think it's a great idea. "Now, now, my friends, this is open forum. Everyone has the right to speak." Jerry nods. "But first, Doctor Ignatius, I am curious as to what is our theory on the patient's condition? Because my impression is that she's suffering from a psychosis, but several of the symptoms are telltale signs of a more serious illness."

"Like what?" I ask, taking careful notes.

"Some of the them are classic signs of antisocial personality disorder. They are more than symptoms; for instance, she seems to garner satisfaction from her mistreatment of fellow Koopas and Toads. Reckless disregard for other people's wellbeing. There was an incident, not long ago where she was caught torturing a Koopa lady with electricity."

"Sadism, ja. Eine deutlich sign of klassich psychopathy. Very interesting." Ludwig nods. "And I vermuten it's not an isoliert incident, ja?"

"It wasn't my fault!" Clawdia yanks her straps, which prompts Koopie to hold up a syringe. "It's the voices! The voices!"

Clawdia playing along with our perfect storm is a good sign. I sign to Koopie that the dose in unneccesary, at least for the time being. "Voices, you say?"

"Yes." she curls up in the bed. "They say that if I don't harm people, they will make me harm myself."

My face twitches, both in satisfaction and disgust. "There, there. We are here to help you."

"But only if you cooperate," Koops the cerebral hygienist nods his head. "Tell us more about these voices."

Clawdia's lip quivers. Jerry adds; "At your own pace. Remember the little talk we had about not having to always please everyone at once?"

She nods. "Yes, doctor." Clawdia pulls her knees up under her chin as far as they will go, due to the straps.

"I hear them every time I'm around people. At first, I thought the other people were asking me to hurt them, so I did."

I think about all the things she has done to other people. Posed as a kind healer, to gain the trust of parents and guardians, and then perform terrible experiments on their relatively innocent children. I remember the drug convention where all kinds of quacks from miles around gawped at me, and some even prodded me with pencils to see if the Silentium actually did keep me from attacking. Having to pretend it did made me see white-hot flashes, and I must have torn up every pillow and mattress I was put next to for the following week. Just because one can keep their emotions in check, doesn't mean they aren't having them, or struggling with them, or that they are powerless.

"Do you understand that what you did as wrong?" Jerry asks in a sing-song voice.

"But I had to do it! I'm a doctor! How can I help people unless I do what I am supposed to do?"

I calculate that about 70 percent of her tears are real. Jerry turns to Doktor Vorkian. "Obviously she does not understand."

"Ja, ich agree. Reasoning with the patient serves as eine Katalysator for her delusions. Has she always geglaubt that she is eine Doktor?"

"Yes." Jerry subtly shakes his head. "It's very frequent and profound."

"Ah. Ich fearen that ze patient suffers from a deep Psychose. And according to her Journal she does not respond satisfactory to Medikamente. Has you beachten any selbstmörderisch tendencies?"

"I have," Koopie says. "More than once she has pounced on me and tried to pry pens out of my hands to stab herself with. At first I believed it was motivated by self-harm related impulses, but she always aims for her arteries."

"She refuses to share what prompts these attempts," Koops interjects, "After several sessions trying to uncover the reasons for her depressive fases she reacts either with anger or escapism."

I nod. "She has occasionally been observed whispering to this." I hold up Lemmy's doll. Everyone gasps. A breakthrough!

Clawdia looks at the doll, perplexed at first, then she sinks back into her role. I am proud of my patient for making an attempt to conform herself to the rules of our society. We are finally moving in a forward direction.

"Now, Clawdia, if it's too difficult for you to confide in us, talk to Mr. Muffin here. I know how much you love his little cupcake face."

She smiles in anticipation, and then nods. "Yes, Doctor, I do."

I prop Mr. Muffin up so she can talk to him face to face. "Mr. Greenkoop says he loves Clawdia, but he's a liar. when nobody sees it, he slaps her and says she's fat and ugly." She nods again. "Do you know what he does to her at night, when everyone else is asleep? He goes into little Clawdia's room and when she pretends to be asleep..."

Shelly wipes our patient's tears and brushes her hair behind her shoulders.

"And her mother is even worse. She says that no man will ever love Clawdia because of her ugly nails. Clawdia can't stop biting them, because her mother has put her on a diet and now the little girl is always hungry. When Mama Greenkoop catches her stealing leftovers, she takes out a wooden spoon and beats her so hard."

No one interrupts, but Shelly pulls up the bedrails just in case Clawdia attempts to hurt herself again.

"What's that? The kids at school? They treat Clawdia so badly. Once they held her down and forced her to eat garbage. They spit at her. The teacher doesn't believe her, and when she walks home, the children punish her for telling and cut off her pigtails. She doesn't want to go home. Everywhere she goes people hate her. And now she hates herself, too. She wants to die."

She curls up into fetal position. The straps used at Freaky Fred's are designed to allow this position; it's up to the wearer to decide whether it's a kind invention, or a sadistic one.

"Fraulein Greenkoop," Ludwig says after a while. "Have Ihr told Mr. Muffin about Ihre need to Töten those who did zeze things?"

Clawdia smiles wickedly and even giggles as she holds Mr. Muffin to her ear. "Yes, it's funny. The Kraut thinks he knows anything. But he doesn't have a clue. If I could just keep the little Koopas and Toads here, and hurt them, and make money off them, I will never again have to think about all the horrible things that happened to me. And I like doing it. I do."

Doktor Ludwig K. Vorkian shakes his head wistfully. "It is as Ich feared. Ze Patient is beyond recovery and Psychiatrich help. Eine total homicidal Wahnsinniger."

"Is there nothing you can do, Doktor?" Doctor Koopie asks.

Ludwig is torn, I can tell. "Kann sein if I could observieren how she sich verhalten in a normal setting, ja."

Yes, yes; as she was making her confession to Mr. Muffin, Toadette and Lemmy has prepared a setting for us. Please come join us; it's a very pleasant one. I know you'll enjoy it. All guests, please bring you own scalpel- I mean, butter knife.