Claw - Chapter 6

Claw
A DC Universe fanfiction
Chapter Six: Seeing Red

~

         “Help me!” Doctor Charlie Nadler screamed as loudly as his soft voice would allow. He struggled against the handcuffs which bound him to the desk, even though he knew would be useless. The metal cuffs were strong enough to hold a man twice his size, and the desk was securely bolted into the ground. But against reason, Nadler continued to pull away, trying to all of his might to free himself. “Please, somebody help!”
         He continued wailing for nearly five minutes, struggling in spite of bloodied wrists and a hoarse throat. He needed to do anything he could to get away. To help Mikhail.
         Finally, just as hopelessness was beginning to creep into Nadler’s heart, the door to the therapy session room swung open and a young orderly with shaggy blond hair rushed inside. Nadler had never met this particular orderly before, but his face was kinder than most of the brutish orderlies he had the displeasure of becoming acquainted with. “What the hell is going on?”
         “M–my patient,” Nadler stammered. The blood was pounding in his head, causing his thoughts to muddle together. “Mikhail Walker. H–he escaped.”
         “I figured that out on my own,” the younger man barked. “He knocked out the three orderlies stationed outside of the room. I wouldn’t have heard you screaming if I hadn’t spotted them.”
         The blood continued pounding in the doctor’s head. How had a fourteen year old managed to take down three grown men? Even if he had caught them by surprise. Nadler grimly reminded himself of how resourceful Mikhail could be when he put his mind to something. His mind flashed back to how the boy had escaped from his handcuffs just five minutes ago by using a stolen ball-point pen.
         “Where are the keys to the cuffs?” the orderly asked frantically. “We need to stop the patient before he escapes.”
         A wave of despair crashed down on the shores of Nadler’s mind. Shuddering, he motioned with his head towards the drawer that housed the handcuff keys. “He doesn’t want to escape,” Nadler whispered, fearing it might already be too late to save the young boy. “He wants to kill the Joker.”

* * *

         “Yoo-hoo, kiddo,” the Clown Prince of Crime taunted. He laid sprawled out on the floor of his dimly lit cell. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”
         Claw stood frozen in his tracks, eyes wide with disbelief. In his shock, the young boy nearly forgot why he was there, staring down the man of his nightmares.
         “It’s a simple question,” the Joker continued in a sing-song rhythm. “Do I, or do I not, know you?”
         “Y-you…don’t remember me?” the boy asked feebly, his voice shaking.
         “Can’t say I do, kiddo,” the Joker chuckled, an amused eyebrow raised. He eyed the intruder in his cell from top-to-bottom. “Though those pincers of yours do seem awfully familiar.” He puckered his lips exaggeratedly. “Did I kill your parents last June? Raid your school trip to the zoo? Gas your junior prom date? You gotta give me something to work with, kid.” The clown snickered at his own musing.
         “…You don’t remember me…” Claw whispered.
         “Better speak up there, crabby. Arkham meds tend to mess with the senses just a tad. It’s a wonder I can hear you at all. Heheha.”
         Claw’s grip on tightened around the pen in his hand. “You don’t remember me,” he repeated, his voice harsh.
         “Evidently,” the Joker rolled his eyes. He almost looked like he was growing bored with the conversation.
         The blood boiled beneath Mikhail’s skin, unbridled rage consuming his every thought. He raised the pen up in the air as if it were a rapier. “Let me try and jog your memory.”

* * *

         “You sure about this, doctor?” the blonde orderly shouted as he raced down the long hallways of Arkham Asylum.
         “Absolutely certain,” came the reply. “Mikhail will go to the Joker’s cell.” I can only pray that we get there first, Nadler thought. If they were too late, if Mikhail somehow managed to kill the Joker, the doctor knew that he would never be able to help the boy. And if the Joker killed Mikhail…
         Nadler pushed the thought out of his head. Recalling every bit of psychological training he’d ever received, Nadler reminded himself that obsessing over endless possibilities would do nothing productive.
         “We’re almost there, doc,” the orderly shouted from a few feet ahead. Nadler quickly ran through the timetable in his head. Mikhail had escaped during their session only ten minutes ago. It had taken five minutes for the orderly to find and free Nadler. And now they would be closing in on the cell in less than a minute. With a gulp, the balding man braced himself for the possibility that he might be too late.
         Several other orderlies turned their heads to watch as Nadler ran past them. A few almost looked like they considered following the sprinting doctor and young orderly. The doctor silently comforted himself, noting that Mikhail would have needed to sneak passed Arkham staff in order to reach the Joker’s cell. That would certainly take time. We just might beat him there.
         Nadler’s heart sunk as he rounded the final corner to reach his destination. By order of Doctor Arkham, all of the most dangerous inmates always had two guards stationed outside of their cells. And just outside of the Joker’s cell, two men laid unconscious on the cold ground. He’s already here.
         The doctor and the orderly rushed through the unlocked door into the holding cell, coming face-to-face with the Joker and Claw.
         “Mikhail, stop!” Nalder ordered. The Joker laid on the floor, wrapped in an orange straightjacket, farthest from Nadler and the orderly. And in the middle of the small room, equidistant between the clown and the doctor, stood Claw.
         “Shut it, Nadler.” The young boy turned to his side, standing in profile view of his doctor. He stood with his side to both the Joker and to Nadler in order to keep everybody in his line of vision. The young orderly raised his arms and hesitantly took a step towards the child. “Don’t even think about it,” Claw warned, raising the pen in the air, its tip pointed directly towards the orderly. “You should know better than to approach an inmate with a sharp object,” he taunted. Nadler noted that his voice was unsteady when he spoke. Something had happen to shake the boy’s confidence.
         “Mikhail,” the doctor ventured. He tried to keep his voice calm. If the boy had been shaken, then he might be able to reach him by conveying as much certainty as possible. Make him believe that you know best. Take advantage of his reluctance. “We both know that you don’t really want to do this.”
         “You’re a real sucky doctor, you know that, Nadler?” Claw spit, not lowering the pen in his pincer-hand.
         “What do you expect with Arkham’s budget? You’re lucky he’s not a monkey with a stethoscope!” the Joker laughed.
         “Keep your mouth shut!” the boy barked, turning towards his former mentor.
         “I’m your friend, Mikhail. I’m trying to help–”
         “I don’t want your help, Nadler!” The boy was fuming. “I want you to watch his blood pool on the ground!”
         Nadler realized that he needed to calm the boy down. He knew very well that there was absolutely no reasoning with Mikhail when he was angry. “And then what?” Calm and confident. Calm and confident, he reminded himself.
         “Who the hell cares what’s next? I am not in this for the future! I’m here settle things right now! And I don’t give a crap what comes after!”
         “I understand that you feel like that now. But you’ve told me your stories, Mikhail. I know that this won’t–”
         “Yeah, Nadler. You have heard my stories. So why don’t you give me one Goddamn reason that the Joker should not die? One reason this murdering scum shouldn’t die?”
         “Can you think of anything, doc?” The Joker chuckled. “’Cuz I’m sure stumped.”
         “This isn’t about whether the Joker should or shouldn’t die, Mikhail! It’s about you. It’s about you becoming a murderer. The thing that he wants you to be. Prove to me that you’re not what the Joker tried to make you into.” He paused, realizing that his breathing had become heavy. “You’re not a killer, son. Prove it right now.”
         The room remained still. And for a second, Nadler was certain that he’d finally gotten through to his patient.
         “You’re not seriously buying this, are you kiddo?” the Joker chided, a smile wide across his face. “Don’t quit now, things are just getting interesting! Hahahaha!” The maniac’s booming laughter filled the small room, mocking the young boy.
         At that moment, Mikhail snapped. Nadler could tell from the boy’s face that his rage had consumed him. His teeth were gritted together in an open-mouth scowl, and red veins were visible in the whites of his widened eyes. It looked as if all of the blood in Claw’s small body had rushed to his head, making his face turn a crimson hue that rivaled the color of his hair. Gripping the pen tightly in his arms, the boy turned his back to Nadler and prepared to leap towards the Joker.
         “No, Mikhail!” Nadler screamed. His voice was nearly cancelled out by the Joker’s booming laughter.
         The orderly at Nadler’s side rushed forward, his arms extended towards the pincer-handed boy. He grabbed Claw just as he leapt into the air, and pulled backwards with all of his might. The two tumbled to the floor, and the orderly wrapped the infuriated boy in a bear-hug.
         “NO! AGHH!” Claw screamed, struggling to escape the orderly’s tight grip. He flailed his arms at his sides, and with all the might that his frantic state allowed him, drove the pen’s sharp tip directly into the orderly’s abdomen.
         The young man let out a pained cry, and loosened his grip in the frenzied child. Claw rolled onto his side, screaming unintelligible rage-filled shrieks, and furiously began stabbing at the orderly. A barrage of quick blows pierced the young man’s delicate skin as Mikhail doled out dozens of powerful jabs in only a few seconds.
         Nadler stood in horror at the bloodied scene before him. He hesitated for several seconds in terror as his patient repeated stabbed the pen into the young orderly. Resisting the urge to vomit, Nadler gather all of his strength and leapt forward, tackling Claw. The two rolled several feet away, the pen dropping from the young boy’s hand. Nadler landed on top of the squirming boy, pinning him onto the ground.
         “Calm down, Mikhail! Look at what you’ve done!” As the words escaped Nadler’s mouth, his eyes settled on the boy’s face. All of his features were contorted in monstrous wrath, almost making the boy unrecognizable to the doctor.
         As his rage receded, Claw’s features gradually returned to normal. His squirming slowed, and his breathing deepened. Once he finally calmed down, his neck fell limp and he rested his cheek on the cold floor, his face pointed directly towards the bloodied mess he’d just created. Mikhail watched with disbelieving eyes as the final breaths escaped from the orderly’s mouth.
         The Joker never stopped laughing throughout the entire ordeal. As the scene calmed, the clown continued his maddened chuckles. Even as more guards entered the room, prompted by the screaming commotion, he continued his booming merriment. The guards groaned in disgust at the bloody scene. Nobody in the room could bear to look at the now-dead orderly. Nobody except for Claw and the Joker.
         Nadler stood up, defeatedly cupping his wet eyes in the palm of his hand, as the guards collected Claw off of the ground. The boy remained completely still as he was raised up and handcuffed, his eyes never leaving the bloodied, motionless body.
         And as Mikhail was led out of the room, his feet dragging on the floor like a lifeless doll, the Joker finally ceased his laughter. He called out to the boy as he was dragged into the halls.
         “Now there’s a boy that a father can be proud of.” He then resumed his bellowing laughter.

* * *

         Far away from the bloody scene at Arkham, from Gotham City, from America, from the blue-and-green swamp of a planet called Earth, a monstrous being stood over a very different pool of blood. The planet of Ysmault, far from the reach of primitive human technology, but not too far from Earth by other matrices.
         The being stared down into the bubbling pool of red plasma. He stood at over seven feet tall, and wore a red and black bodysuit that radiated a hot crimson aura. His skin was a cooler shade of maroon and was filled with deep, dry creases and calluses that made the creature appear more like a devil and an alien. His sharp yellow teeth stuck out from his mouth as it curled up into a maniacal smile.
         Lord Atrocitus, commander of the Red Lantern Corps – the bearers of the Light of Rage; guardians of hatred and vengeance – knelt down before the ocean of blood. The very ocean that helped to fuel the powers of the Red Rings of Rage. He gingerly dipped a thick finger into the boiling water and allowed it to burn away at his skin.
         Though he was alone, the hateful alien whispered to himself aloud. “It is time to expand our ranks.”