Under the Influence - Part Two

[Lunatic]

WARNING:  There is gratuitous violence and trigger words contained within the RP.  If such things offend your delicate sensibilities, please don't read any further.


Under the Influence - Part Two 

It was Sunday. He was certain of it. That was the only thing that could possibly explain the throbbing migraine in his skull. He'd gone out, partied just a bit too hard and was paying the piper. Lights hurt, crashing on his irises like starburst full of needles aimed directly at his ocular nerves. Sounds hurt even more, as if his ADHD-riddle brain had decided that focusing on every little sound all at once would be a wonderful way to start the day. Oh! And lets amplify them by ten like someone plugged a megaphone into a concert amp and cranked it to twenty bajillion.



An unwanted hand shoved an equally unwelcome glass of clear liquid in front of him. "Drink." There was that baritone voice once again; the one that he couldn't disobey, no matter how much he struggled. "It's water. You're dehydrated from your adventures. It was quite a successful therapy session, if I do say so myself."



Marc did as was suggested, hesitantly at first, then slurping the beverage down greedily like a man that just crossed the Mohave using only his penis as a means of locomotion. "What... what 'adventures?'"



"Oh, you were quite brilliant," chimed the burlap masked man in a suit. He laid his hands on Lunatic, giving him the gift of his memory back for the past twenty-four hours.



The flood of recollection hit him like a jackhammer, causing his body to lurch, his back to arch, his hand to squeeze the glass to the point of it shattering in his grip. Shards buried themselves in his convulsing hand, blood trickling from the wounds like crimson rivulets dripping into puddles on the floor. He saw a vision of riding the rail car through downtown Kansas City, Missouri alongside the Good Doctor. It must have been late at night, because they had just left the stop at the Power and Light District on 12th and Main.



Several drunken "dude-bros" climbed aboard the train, apparently to whoop and holler and be a general noisy nuisance to anyone and everyone aboard the sparsely populated vehicle. The "leader" was a rather large black-haired man with a haircut that was either given by someone perfecting the "whoops" look in beauty school or by a blind two-year-old who was also grasping a "Tickle Me Elmo" doll at the time.



The rest of them were unremarkable copies of the first unoriginal schlub, each in drunken stupor of their own and lending merciless support for their captain's special brand of douchbaggery that the captive audience would be treated to.



Their fearless fuehrer began the next brief leg of the journey by grinding against a woman's shoulder in an unwelcome display made even more uncomfortable by the fact that she was clutching her screaming baby tightly to prevent dropping him or her.



"You want some this, don't ya?" asked the Brochamp knock-off. "I know you put out. Give your baby to one of these other losers so I can show you what a real man feels like."



The woman did her best to crawl as deep inside the hard plastic seat as she could to get away from her assailant. "Leave me alone, please," she mewled in a mousy, thick foreign accent.


He continued to gyrate against her hijab, ignoring her pleas and nearly knocking the child from her grasp. "That's the real reason you sand jockeys come to America, isn't it?" His cohorts belly laughed at his taunts, bringing the poor woman to tears. "You want to know what a real man feels like." She stood, brushing past him as fast as she could, but the limited space on the car didn't allow her much respite. He spat more slurs at her as he walked down the aisle.



Looney stuck aggressively his foot out at just the right time as the car lurched forward to a full stop. The gathered drunks watched in amazement as their chief managed to get a forehead full of highly polished chrome rail. He staggered to full mast, holding his now bleeding nose. "Who did that?" he growled.



One particularly weaselly-looking asshat chimed up, glaring at Marc with murder in his eyes. "The hell did you do that for, asshole?" He shoved Marc with the force of a twelve year old. Had Marc been in control of his own mind, it would have caused an outbreak of laughter.



Then the drunk man took a better look at the pair before them. "Hey Neil. Check these guys out." He got down in Lunatic's face, close enough for Marc to tell that bourbon must have been the wine of choice for tonight's festivities. "Halloween isn't for sever... sev... It's not until October, geniuses."



"You boys need to get the fuck off of this car at the next stop," informed Looney, a glare of rage in his eyes.



Another of the intoxicated cavalry stepped up, this one in a pink and black striped polo with the collar popped like an unsuccessful throwback to the eighties. "You the Metro Rail police?" He dropped back, a look of disgust on his face. "Ooh. I'm so scared." He continued his mocking as his leader finished shaking the cobwebs from his encounter with the decor.



"I think that's a splendid idea, Mr. MacGwire. These ruffians need to be taught how to better conduct themselves in public."



Pink Stripes jumped around mocking, causing his friends another half-hearted fit of laughter. "These ruffians need to be taught a lesson. What a fruitcake." He bent down next to the doctor. "What kind of fag..."



Lunatic's hands shot out, one grasping Pink Stripes by the bottom lip, the other behind his head. In one swift motion Marc's knee and Pink Stripes' face got acquainted, freeing his lip from the confines of his mouth. As his foe looked on in bloody shock, Marc waved the formerly attached body part like a fleshy slab of uncooked steak.



"If you continue to give the Doctor your lip, I'll keep it." Marc pulled Stripes' hand out and fed it the bit of sinew that had once been part of his face. He glowered at the weasel that had been all up in his grill earlier. "What about you, Sparkles? Still feeling froggy?"



The man answered his question by resoundingly wetting himself as he backed away in horror. Their alpha, however, used the distraction to clobber Looney on the back of the head with something that rang like metal.



It may have been the adrenaline rush preventing him from tongue-kissing the floor of the transport. The voice in his head ordered him to end the display without killing anyone. Lunatic turned his unhinged attention to the man holding a chrome rail with a Marc-skull-sized dent in the pipe, no hint of sanity in his eyes. "Someone wants to play tag. Looks like I'm it. Run away. I'll count to ten."



Mr. Leader-man thought that freedom would come in the form of the rail stopping and the doors opening. He couldn't have been more wrong. Painfully wrong.



The rest of the memory hit him, but Marc found it difficult to care. Something, something "My arms don't bend like that." Something, something "I don't fit into a trash can." Something, something "I'm calling the police." His head hurt. He thought he now knew why. He was also painfully wrong.

******* 

"Doctor's notes, Monday, June 5th, 2017.

"We had our first successful outing last night. I think the subject known as Lunatic will be the one I have been hoping for; the leader I need for my other experiments. Only time will tell.



"The good news is that I can test him once again at the PCW pay-per-view called Living a legacy... Nine, I believe it is. He will be spearheading a match for number one contendership for the Undergound Championship. His opponents are the one known as "Crazy Boy" Tyrone Smith and a newcomer named Alyce Starchylde.



"Though I know next to nothing of the latter woman, though my limited research has divulged that she may be of future study interest due to her checkered past. There isn't much to go on from her employee file, but judging from the lackadaisical and short promotional video she produced, she has herself convinced that she has this match under wraps. I believe my patient may very well surprise her, if this weekend were any indication. Her arrogance and cockiness may be her undoing at Living a Legacy.



"As for the perennial fan favorite who calls himself "Crazy Boy," he is yet another subject to study further down the road. It seems on the surface as if he may have earned his nomme de plume through his daring aerial tactics. Review of his file indicates that it may run far deeper than that, though it isn't a widely known personality affliction. Nevertheless, I believe if my patient were to target this one's limbs, he may be able to prevent unwanted attacks from above.



"The management at PCW knows not what havoc they have unleashed upon the Underground scene. I believe this may be the perfect division in which to thoroughly test my patient's capabilities. In order for him to come out of this match victorious, he may occasionally need my assistance.



"This is the dawning of a new era for medicine and for the flagging career of Marc MacGwire. If he and I work in tandem, we may wrest the Underground Championship from whosoever is unfortunate enough to hold it when he wins this opportunity and cashes it in. Afterwards, we shall hold the emblem hostage for as long as I see fit in order to test my subject to his fullest.



"At Living a Legacy, the true nightmares begin for the Underground Division. I shall unleash hell in its purest form: a man known as Lunatic."