Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Exile ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )

Part III

***


There is few things that really irritates me. I can usualy just disconnect it or ignore it. But I have to say, that after one week with that redheaded German slut, I've changed my opinion. I realise now that I haven't known the true meaning of the word 'annoying' until now.
The little fucker seems to have some secret 'annoying-top-10-list' well hidden somewhere around, 'cause he's doing it all the way to the victory. He's driving me 'slightly mad'.
He just entered my list. Congratulations Schuldig. Well done.
I don't think I will last one more day here. I hate this place, whatever it is. I only feel safe in my dark, cold cell where I am totaly alone with myself. That's what I want to believe at least. But with an interfering telepath in the same building you can never be sure.

After my first meeting with the German - who calls himself Schuldig, which is, by the way a perfectly fitting name - I still thought that maybe, I had a chanse after all.
A chanse to flee. A chanse to finally get my revenge on god.
But I realise now how naive I've been.
I am stuck here. I'm locked up into a tiny little cell with no windows and no furniture.
I live with an American, Brad Crawford, who seems to be one of that kind you merely know and still your only relation is the word: 'enemy, enemy, enemy'.

The other person also living here is, as already told above, the sluttish German Schuldig. A telepath who seems to have the same fucking self-confident grin glued to his face, everytime I see him.
He's been visiting me quite often lately. I've been here for one week now. And I must say, I start to get the picture, even though no one has really explained anything to me. Neither what the heck I'm doing here nor my part of the play.
I'm just... here, to be here. And to be honest, I think I'd prefer going back to that boring asylum rather than staying here.

They said that I would kill for them. They promised that I would be able to kill. But I haven't even as much as touched a blade since I came here. I haven't hold a knife in my hand for so long, I miss that lovely feeling. Sharp, thin blade, brushing over my skin, caressing my pale body with scars.
So cold and pure, the blood colouring my skin into crimson red. I bleed for god. I bleed to assure my excistance.
I bleed only to know I'm alive. Because it's his tears I bleed.
I realise now that the fuckers back at the asylum had it their way for a while. They made me stop believing. They knew people like me, blaming others for their own sins.
But I tell them.
They can never have it their way, because they're all to fucked up to ever understand that they're already lost because god was having his way!
They can never go back and try and live another life. Because god made no other life, for the failures and the sinners. Because we're all sinners. We're all a bunch of losers.

I snort at the pathetic so called 'creation of god'. What the fuck did he do? He doesn't own the world. He doesn't own humanity or the universe. He must be laughing his ass of right now, because of humanity's naive way of thinking. Humanity's desperate belief.
Stupid, stupid, stupid humans! Blame yourself and no one else for your stupidity and deafness.

Ops, time to shut up. Someone's coming.

The door opens slowly. I watch it intesly. Someone's coming for a visit, how nice, I wonder who it might be.
It's 'mr Cream Suit'. Nice. At least he'll leave my mind alone. I breath out deeply and stare at the smirking American lazily.
"How are you doing Farfarello? Still mute?" he smirks at his own little personal joke.
The guy has a seriously sick sense of humour. I'd like to spare him just so that god could cry for his bad jokes and stern humour.
I blink boredly as he kneels beside me to unlock the chains around my thin legs, not that it's necessary. I mean, what damage could I possibly cause with my legs unchained. Is that really their impression of me. 'Wild-blood-thirsty-psychopath-who'll-kick-your-brain-out-if-not-tied-from- top-to-toe'. How pleasant. They know me by heart already, and we've just met.

He grabbs me by the sleeve of the straightjacket and pull me to my feet. I stare at him with that calm yet insane look that only we lunatics can manage. I must say he looks a little scared. Poor Bradley, I bet the lazy-ass German is busy up jerking of right now so that mommy Crawford had to go get the psycho-boy instead. Life's cheap Brad, accept it.

He push me out of the cell and pulls me along through the white corridor.
White, of course. Same fucking, calming white colour as at the asylum. I haven't left my cell even once since I arrived here. I had almost forgot it was actually attached to the rest of the building.
The American stop outside a well locked metall door and gives me a serious look. I fire a wide grin, only because I know he hates it.
"Don't move." he says and pull up some card out of his pocket. He types in a code and put the little card in the doorknob. A silent click pierce through the empty corridor.
I snort ironicly.
I was wrong. There's a whole fucking military base seperating my thiny little cell from the rest of the building.
I feel so welcome. Like they really enjoy my little visit here.
He frown at me and grabbs me again. I follow him nicely, like a kind little dog. I don't give a fuck about him, I enjoy this little walk. I take my time looking around the different surroundings that sweap past me.
Suddenly we stop. I wake up from my little dream world and look at Crawford. Another locked door.
He does the card-thingy again and I watch the procedure as he opens the heavy door. He push me inside and close it after him.

It's light inside of there. A long table in the middle of the white room and four old men sitting around it with long rows of available seats left empty. I wonder if I'm supposed to sit down or just stand there as some visible exhibit.
Crawford bow before the men and stands beside me, still gripping the cloth of my straighjacket roughly.
"Mr Takatori. This is Farfarello, the third member of Schwarz." he says in that polite, typical American accent way.
I see the later alternative was right. I'm not supposed to do or say anything. Only being scanned and confirmed.
Not that I had expected anything else. It's just a quite degrading feeling, just standing there, not having any own opinion. Not even having the right to interduce yourself.
The guy in the middle seat lean back and stare at me intensly. I stare back at him, coldly. But not maniacaly, as to Crawford, for this man is certainly different from Crawford. It's not his repellent appeariance, but the hint of power and megalomania in his eyes.
I can smell the many of his sins long way. He's as cold and blood thirsty as the rest of god's many lap dogs. I wonder how his blood taste? It would look so beautiful staining his expensive suit. Blood is so sweet and pure.
"The one who feels no pain... interesting. Interesting indeed." he mumbles. Crawford nodds slowly. "Yes mr Takatori. We have not got it confirmed yet, but the test will begin in a few days. Only then, can we tell for sure that it's not just occassional imunity."

Oh really. How nice for you Bradley. And exactly when were you about to tell me about this little 'test' so to call it.
Don't you just feel helpless in times like these. I certainly will not only hate Crawford after this, I will mentaly knock him down and draw all the fucking secret information I want out of his thin little head.

I hear a cynical laughter ring somewhere in the back of my head. I know that laughter by now. After one week with only that laughter echoing in your mind in the darkness you know when to shup up and turn of everything.

Welcome back Schuldig, any new brainstorms since last?

/Jei my favourite Leprechaun, you wanna get rid of good old Bradley, ja?/ I hear his nasal voice pierce through the tangled mess in my mind.
Now this was something new. He might have something interesting to say after all, this time. Even though he used that idiotic nickname that he love teasing me with.
/What do you have in mind?/ comes the question.
He sounds excited. Well, to mind the situation.
Let's see, what does he expect me to answer now. Maybe that I want to rip his throat out and use him as a teddy bear after stuffing his limbs with cotton. Naw, not very much Schuldig's type.
/True, true. I like it more--/

He loves this game. He start a sentence and then he awaits me to finish it for him. Just to confirm how 'bounded' I am to him.
...'protracted and sadistic' is the words he's seeking.
I can see him nodding proudly.
/Awww Jei. You've been doing your homework I see. Good boy. If you wouldn't be so fucked in the head and freaky looking I could almost believe I'd fall for you. But you seriously deserve a gold star./

I hear him laugh, and then the connection fades away. It's such an relieve every time he leaves. While inside of you, he's filling out all the space and absorbing every possible information that's streaming in the endless sea of consciousness.
I inhale the cool air and change the track back to the instant.
I assume a connversation has been going on there, as well as in my head. Crawford has gone silent and the other men seems to have fallen for whatever 'speach of peace' he's been telling them.
I still wonder about that test he was talking about. does it mean I'll finally taste some blood? That I will kill? I really hope so, for I get bored so easily...