He couldn't help the mean little cackle of mirth that burbled up from somewhere inside, as he saw the

gurney tip over, the wheels flying upward, and the harsh pop of bone as the bed flipped, bashing the

wall, and taking the lady doctor with it. He didn't bother himself to flinch. as he watched her being

flung to the earth as if she was thrown, her panicked squeal, the loud crack of skull hitting concrete,

and the dull thud of the whole thing crashing. White sheets slowly ran scarlet. The pristine tiles of the

floor were bright red from the heap of metal and cloth. He didn't bother to trouble himself with the questions

of if she lived or not. He didn't give a damn. Grinning coldly, or at least as much as his mutilated cheeks would

allow, he waited patiently for the attack dogs, the white-coats, almost disappointed that they didn't come to drug

him to happy land. Aside from the disorientating tilt of the world when he woke, being sedated wasn't nearly

the deterrant they had wished it to be. Indeed, being pleasantly asleep was far more enjoyable than the endless

waiting of the gurney and the straps...and the helplessness.

He scowled at the draft that was creeping up his spine, palmed the back of his cold neck and realised with a flush

that he would have been almost disrobed if they had let him stand. Indeed, he was getting damn sick of the skimpy

outfit. He wanted his pants back, at least. Running a hand through the greased curls, he stared at the white walls in

frustration, but smiled when he saw the large white lab coat the bitch had discarded somewhere between the scuffle of

her failed ..domination attempt, and his escape. He yanked it over his back, scowled at the sleeves that came to rest

high on his forearms. He shook his head, it wasn't a damn fashion show. Palming the scalple, with a neat little swirl of the blade

dancing from wrist to wrist, he rose, and cautiously ventured towards the formidable metal door, peered through the glass.

He saw nothing but the dark vancant hallway, the long corridors spiraling back unseen into hallways he hadn't had the

privledge of venturing into...yet. He couldn't help the little bright giggle when he saw the inviting, empty hallway.

Silently, he slid out, locked the door as best he could, peered over his shoulder to make sure that the aftermath of his

episode wasn't readily visable. It wasn't.

He raised an eyebrow at the lab coat, carefully cleaned the blade, grinned at the stain as he tucked it away.

His bare feet sounded hollow and thundering from their echo against the shining tile. Warily, he moved forward,

sidling behind each coridor and eyeing the path before he lurched forward. He was unnoticed, as there were

hardly any people on his ward, save for the occasional orderly shuffling past with a cart or an empty gurney.

It was easy to evade being detected, and it was a rather leisurely stroll to his destination. His cheeks

fragmented into a dark, twisted scowl as he stared at the obnoxiously shining gold nameplate that was

emblazoned with the name of the doctor. His fingers curled in aching futility as they felt the deep, cracked

flesh around the corners of his mouth. It felt like the skin of a corpse.

Grimacing, he fiddled with the brass latch of the door, and then grinned when it swung open in perverse welcome.

Without any further ado, he casually strolled in

Good Doctor Waverly had his glasses perched on his nose as his eyes roved over the dark book of Nazi pyschology,

raising an eyebrow in curiosity, as he turned a page, studied the photos of hollow-eyed suffering with indifferent fascination.

Cruelty, he knew, produced results, far better than wasting an inornate amount of time on society's ingrates. They

were little more than flesh and bone by the time they arrived here...little more than neat mechanisms of a machine like

system where the minds and parts were altered and reshaped until they...fit.

Doctor Waverly had a placid, paternal face, as kind as a Sunday morning preacher, and hardly looked more imposing than

any other silver-haired gentlemen. He wore his coats pressed, never failed to wear shiny shoes, and never lost the ability to

decieve people by masking how little regard he had for those in his 'care.'

So, he was more than suprised when he heard the cackle, and the lights of his office suddenly snapped off with a click.

Stiffening, he yelped when the chair beneith him lurched upward by an unseen hand and the world tilted and he was dumped onto the floor.

There was no sound except the eerie laughter, breaking like glass into the dark.

"What is the meaning of this? Who's there?!" The old man barked out, spluttering for an answer as he tried to haul his considerable bulk

from the floor.

"Evening, doctor." The voice was a languid drawl, as a small beam of light flared over the sliced face and the cracked flesh. The edges of darkness

were clinging to the scars that adorned the mouth, making the mutilation even more hideous, sliced by white and shadows...

"You!" The doctor bellowed, stabbed a finger inches away from the face floating over him. "When the orderlies get here, I will make sure you're so

drugged that you won't even be able to piss without an escort, you disgusting cretan!"

The insult only resulted in a coy snicker. "Promise?"

It was the slice of light gliding over face and blade, the rush of movement, and the dull thud as the thing came from the dark and siddled up to his side.

The old man's riled threats were soon silenced most effectively by the glint of silver and the sudden, sharp pain of the scalpel digging into his throat.

The blade sawed at the thick throat until rivlets of blood were dripping off his captor's fingers.

"Why so serious?" The mocking question was puncuated by an almost tender pat of a long hand over Waverly's sweating bangs. The doctor

trembled, stared blindly up at the unrevealing shaft of light, as the monster only coiled back, and stood over him. The doctor was still sprawled at his feet

as the blade danced before his eyes, the glint of silver and teeth all the more hideous from the shadows around him.

The merry chuckle abruptly turned brutal and chilled as that scarred mouth hissed into his ear, "Get up." Flummoxed, Waverly grunted as he hauled his

heavy body from the floor, attempted to distainfully straighten the mussed silk tie. The action was halted by a cackle and a neat slice as the tie and his palm

were severed. Waverly cried out at the hot, wet agony of his split open palm, drew the bleeding limb to his side, and started to cry.

He only heard the disgusted sigh, the bright arch of blade as it flew to his mouth and he was given the barked command, "Shut up. Shut up before I slice that

fat neck open." And in cruel emphasis, he felt the skin being split open.

"Move, doctor." Waverly slid his shaking legs forward, the blade at his back jabbing here and there, drawing fresh cuts and ruining the expensive suit.

"Are you going to kill me?" The question was whimpered, as Jack paused to stare at him, tilting his head, consideringly, with a leer.

"No, no. I won't kill you. That's too predictable and clique for my tastes. I mean..come on...I just kill you? What's the fun in that?"

He shrugged casually, the gleeful smirk returning as the old man arched an eyebrow at him, shuddered at the touch on his shoulder.

"Then what are you going to do to me?"

Jack only cackled, rocked back on his heels, mockingly, and sneered, as he lurched closer. "That's for me to know..." he purred, teasingly

poking the doctor with the scalpel.

"And you to shut the hell up about." He snarled, slammed the scalpel into the soft cheek at his knuckles, and chuckled as he carved out the

flesh with a smirk at the shriek of blinding pain, the whimpering disbelief, the bone deep shudder as the doctor collapsed, and slithered to the floor

with a pool of blood.