Chapter 2: Another Day in Blackfield

How many days have passed since he had been taken away to this place? How long was he going to be stuck here when these brief outings to his assigned therapist felt so short in comparison the slow hours here in the padded cell? The days were starting to blur together and time became more of an abstract concept at this rate, so much for trying to keep track of it.

Vincent sighed in defeat as he thought back to the start of it all, the incident that got him locked up here.

He had been busy working on his studies after returning home from a long day, it was a simple assignment meant to prepare for final end of year exams from what he could recall. Things were going smoothly until a loud slam came from the entrance of the house, indicating the arrival of his father. A man that Vincent despised with all his being for the cruel transgressions he committed against the only son he had in favor of an unknown daughter he cared more about. The young man hoped he would either laze about in front of a TV or drunkenly turn in for the night as usual, but fortune struck against such wishes when the door to his room was kicked open.

"What the hell are you doing up at this time kid!? When I say there's a curfew then I expect you to listen ya fuckin ungrateful rat!" The old bastard yelled, a pure look of disdain clearly visible on his face as he stepped forth with a hand raised..

Everything from there onward went blank as Vincent held no further recollection until he found himself crumpled in a corner all bloodied and beat up, his father motionless on a nearby bed with blood seeping out from him and onto the fabric below. It wasn't until the police had arrived that he felt safe, however, it turns out that someone had also murdered his mother as well. Investigators saw that the woman seemed to have been killed in her sleep with minimal effort inside the main bedroom, unlike the brutal nature of the first.

The authorities questioned him a bit at first, but then became relentless in their pursuit of the truth with each retelling of the story the young man carried in his head. He didn't know why at first until one of them pulled him into an interrogation room and finally told the truth.

"Kid, your fingerprints were all over the crime scene."

Reality in that moment tuned out as he came to grips with what he was told. He knew for a fact that things were reaching a boiling point in regards to the old man, but nothing would drive him to commit such a horrible thing towards his mother.

Even if somehow...

Before he could feel himself slipping even further from the present, a voice had spoken up in the dimly lit room.

"Cheer up Vince! I know you're thinking about some hard times judging from that look on your face, maybe some delicious PB sandwiches will turn that face into a happy one!" Immediately, Vincent turned to see a rather young lady sitting across from him.

Connie Vermont.

She offered a wave with a smile on her face as she motioned towards a tray of food located at the entrance of the cell, the gentle look put him at ease as he came to recognise her long black hair that was paired with a set of grey eyes and fair skin. Connie wore a black crop top shirt, tight denim shorts, and striped black/white leggings with a pair of similarly colored hi-tops.

The two had a cordial relationship with one another that had been developed over the course of 13 years in the making. To him, she felt like a close knit sister who always made things just a bit better. If there was anyone he could turn to, it'd be her first and foremost.

"I guess free food is something you won't turn down huh? Isn't there anything that makes you think twice about staying here?" Vincent smiled and shook his head, finding her optimism to be somewhat humorus despite the terrible conditions of this place.

When he specifically asked the staff for additional accomodations in regards to Connie, they offered something a little different by making arrangements to allow the two to have some free time in the recreational lounge where some of the other patients were at as long as they kept to themselves and upheld a record of good behavior with the personnel in the asylum. Once they were finally able to check out the lounge, the two often played various board games and remarked on a couple of the other people mulling about. One that caught Connie's attention was a similarly aged woman who appeared to be dressed in dark garbs of clothing with some bandages wrapped around both arms, she didn't look too friendly to be around nor wanted anything to do with anyone given the harsh stare she gave Vincent when the two made eye contact for the briefest of moments.

Definitely not a highlight of his stay here given the chills that crept up along his back at the time.

"I'd say the only thing that bums me out is some of the other weirdos here. Do you remember the guy with the freaky face? When he lost it in the rec room because he couldn't eat any of the pizza being served for that day? That was honestly super scary.." Connie said as she idly rubbed her arm with a hand, recalling a scene where the aforementioned individual beat down 8 members of the staff before being subdued by security personnel upon arrival. His fists were wild and reckless yet they somehow managed to hit their targets with enough force to leave a lasting impression in the form of some broken ribs, a busted jaw, and even a black eye or two.

"I know what you mean, the place was locked off for a week before anyone could step foot in there again. At least that preacher guy is pretty cool, he took a moment to hear me out unlike some of the others." Vincent shrugged as he opened up on the recent events in Blackfield, seeming indifferent to the chaotic nature of things here.

"Yeah but then he kept talking about finding god and all that nonsense, bleh!" Connie made a disgusted face after the mention of religious figures, she wasn't exactly a big fan of such things due to reports of crazed cult-like fanatics that have popped up around Midtown these days.

Before Vincent could respond, an alarm suddenly blared throughout the facility just as a loud BAM sounded off right outside the door shortly followed by a minor thud. Vincent immediately glanced at where the noise came from in slight fear as he then heard a set of keys being tested on the handle, it lasted until whoever on the other side finally jimmied it and opened up the entrance which revealed a man who definitely didn't look like he belonged here.

He was bald and wore simple clothing that didn't make him stand out too much, kind of like those thugs Vincent had seen in the ghettos. The real thing of note was the sunken eye that was all black in its socket, there were cracks extending outward from the source as if something made impact there at some point, though it'd have been impossible to know what that thing was. After a quick glance he spared the two, he held up his two hands only to realize a pistol had been gripped by the one on the right which was quickly stowed away in an effort to not startle them. Only then did he allow himself to speak with a twinge of sincerity behind such words.

"Sorry about that, I didn't think all that noise would be so perfectly timed to coincide with my arrival. Your name is Vincent yes?"

"How did you-" Vincent began to say, only to get cut off by the mysterious individual standing before him.

"I know many things, I know that you were charged with the murder of your parents and sent here as a result of the crime you were accused of committing. And I also know what really happened to them.. for a price of course." He smiled darkly, his eyes had an aura of ill intent behind them but promised something greater.

"You... you know who really did it?" Vincent slowly asked, his eyes widening slightly as he tried to balance both disbelief and suspicion in his head. There was no way someone like this guy knew the truth of the matter.

"Nah, you totally sound like you're gonna cut up Vince here and take out one of his kidneys to sell on the black market." Connie was quick to shoot out a statement that questioned the credibility of this unknown individual, causing Vincent to look over with a slight frown.

"I assure you that I tell the truth, should you choose to follow along. If that isn't what either of you two want then I can grant any other wish that is desired, why don't you look around on the way out and take this as an opportunity to reflect on my words? This asylum is going to burn down any second, it would be a shame for two more bodies to be found in the aftermath.." He smirks and steps aside to open up the door some more, revealing a dead guard at the base of the doorway and a hallway full of open containment cells. The sight alone was shocking to say the least, it also made Vincent wonder where the other patients went off to.

"...Holy shit. I guess I don't have any choice but see what you have planned uh.."

"Calypso, you may call me Calypso. Follow me if you will."

The group made their way out into the halls of the asylum as Calypso explained what he wanted from Vincent: His participation in a contest called Twisted Metal. The event was a total mystery to him and so Calypso had to explain that it involved an elimination style vehicular combat tournament fought to the death, mainly in certain areas within Midtown designated as arenas for contenders to duke it out in heavily modified vehicles. There would be no second chances considering that the stakes are the lives of those participating and that most of Vincent's fellow peers here would also be joining of their own accord for their personal wishes to come true. At first, Vincent wasn't sure if it was a good idea to put himself on the line for something as flimsy as a single request but soon came to the conclusion that he needed to find out the truth no matter what, despite this 'Calypso' making it sound a little too true for it to be legit.

After all, he excused the nature of the competition as killing off those who were deemed unfit for society given the people who Calypso had invited. It was a rather picture perfect argument to the moral question that arose during their little jaunt down all the way towards the exit. And even still, the sightings of so many dead staff members and nondescript patients were adding fuel to the fire that justified such reasoning. The last horrid attraction he saw on the way out were a pair of guards hung from the ceiling in a security checkpoint room, upon closer inspection the things used to hang them were their very own flesh and insides. And on the window that separated them from those who passed by the gate was a card stained in red yet plastered on the surface for all to see. The icon was that of the Joker.