iii. bargaining
Sixty-five hundred days. Five hundred sixty-one million seconds. Eighteen years of his life stolen, eaten away by a mental institution he had believed would be his permanent residence until the day he died. Improvement started with vocalness, a stubborn refusal to speak to anyone having hindered his ability to "better his mental state" until he finally chose to open his mouth and communicate. It was blatantly clear, even to a fool like himself, that they didn't believe most any of what he said - in their eyes, the Doctor's revolution was a figment of his imagination, and Mary had never loved him at all - but their greatest fault was thinking that, over time, he'd learned to suppress the rage that had led him there in the first place. All he had learned in that terrible place was how to fake a grin and "admit" that all of the operation was in his head and that he never wanted to find himself within those walls again.
The acrid stench of city air serves as a better sucker punch to the nostrils than any, the sight of direct sunlight for the first time in nearly a score of years burning at his retinas, but the sound of his escort out of the hospital and into the "real world" is a fine enough anchor to keep his mind on earth with the rest of his body. "Hurray for you, convict," the broad-shouldered guard says, malice Nikki has long since grown accustomed to hearing in most anyone's voice dripping from each consonant. "You're a free man." Slamming doors cause him to start, shoulders jumping beneath the familiar and welcomed weight of his tattered trench coat, and without so much as an ounce of effort into helping him integrate with the world that has seen so much while he was strapped down to a monochrome bed, he is, again, alone.
A free man.
If only.
A tentative step - another. Soon, he's sulking down the streets he had once owned, littered with scum he'd once claimed to be a part of and smothered by the drizzle tickling the air. No home, no job; there's money, but he hasn't the slightest idea of what to spend it on. There isn't a name or a face in this city that he knows - not a soul in this city that he cares to know - and only one thought sticks out from the others in his frantic mind; one singular thing that he knows with a certainty. Doctor X is out there somewhere, reveling in the persona he has built from the broken blond's pain, and the only one going to serve the justice that is due is him. The law favors the rich, right? The revolution, however, (it's only remaining member) does not.
The former hitman tightens the crisp tie around his neck until the pressure against his skin could choke him, dirty jeans and old t-shirts cast aside in favor of a new attire - a new attitude. He'll mingle with elite, he'll imitate, and no one will ever suspect him to be the one-man death machine they had all feared until he's squeezed them of all the information he needs. The cruel gather around the cruel, the wealthy around obsessively ornate figures, and if there's one chance at finding the demagogue (just like the old days, he muses, only the crowd this time is quite the one hundred eighty turn), it's finding him here. He's supposed to be cured, fit for life with the rest of society - but the weight of the gun he's smuggled is a trembling comfort against the inside of his shirt, and the only things he can see and hear are all of the things the Doctor and the nun had shown and said to him all of those many years ago.
He'll never be cured so long as Mary's murderer goes unpunished.
A life for a life. No: One life for many. A hundred corpses, some guilty, some innocent flash through his mind, and Nikki knows that the only thing that will make him feel better is watching Doctor X die at his hands.
As promised, part three uploaded within the same day. Figured it was only fair since, like, I wasted near two months to get part two up. *wipes single tear from cheek* This one's actually the shortest of the bunch with just shy of seven hundred words to its name, but the next one'll be even longer. Even better is that, with the next chapter, we can move on from "Wow, I hate the Doctor" to maybe something with more, uh. Plot? Although, I suppose this was more of a character study or novelization than an intended story. Oh, no - that'll come with the collection of one-shots I'm also working on. Prepared to get filled with fanfiction, empty Operation: Mindcrime fandom. *applies sunglasses*
Anywho, thank you very much for reading up until this point. I'll try to make sure that the wait for the next two parts are much shorter than the wait between parts one and two, and hopefully you'll stick around long enough to see this five-part work through to its completion. o/