Chapter five

Somewhere in rural Wisconsin, a man is a white, starched shirt and tan khakis stared idly while he worked on his newest… friend.

And while he worked, he talked.

"Do you know who the the Marquis De'Sad is?"

There was not answer other than whimpering and sucking gasps from the person on the table.

"I'll take that as a no, the Marquis is the reason our word for taking pleasure from pain in almost every language is known as Sadism, they slapped his name into a word, and a few hundred years later, voila, a man has been immortalized through his art and passion."

The man shook his head sadly.

"Truly, it is the men who commit the greatest acts of violence, who are remembered the most."

The was a slight squelch and a splash of blood squirted out, staining the man's white clothing.

"My apologies, anywho, where was I… Ahh yes, the Marquis, was both a rather impressive man, and a good writer, in one of his essays, he wrote on the nature of pain. Pain he said, was like any other emotion or drug. As time goes by, the subject naturally begins to grow, not immune, but used to the sensation that the subject is receiving, and as such, in order to keep the sensations of pain fresh and new, the method of delivery must be changed, but of course that new method will eventually become stale as well, necessitating a sort of eventual plateau where the subject has been completely broken, and thereby inured to any new sensation."

The man leaned in close to the person strapped to the table.

"And that, my friend, is where my passion lies, pushing that envelope, delaying that plateau as long as I can, insuring that the peak continues ever higher, do you think you can help me with that?"

There was a whimper.

"Wonderful."

A few hours later, the man walked out of the room, his once pristine clothes covered in blood, and other vital fluids.

A girl dressed in a white pinafore dress was sitting enraptured in front of the tv, watching one the national news channels, enraptured, her hands clapping with little spasms of glee every so often.

"Hey uncle Jack, do you think we can go too Brockton next?"

The man smiled indulgently at one of his greatest works.

"Of course little Riley, I don't see why not, after all, everyone one has someone of interest there"

Scene Break

In the bowels of the now cordoned off Brockton General, there, lay a patient under armed guard, a blond patient that no guard was allowed in contact with for more than twelve hours, otherwise, as it appeared, the guard in question would become… off.

Not violent, no, never that, just, preoccupied. With the patients comfort, then with their general well being, eventually they would begin talking and conversing with patient as though they were fully capable of responding, laughing, joking, and on one memorable occasion, even singing.

But now, now, she was waking up, brain activity was cycling up, heart rate and blood pressure raising and dropping rapidly as it flooded chemical and adrenaline to every corner of the body.

Fingers and toes began twitch as the brain began to send neurons until the body responded to every impulse, and yes, the eyes opened revealing silver white orbs that were like silvered topaz, and like a zombie rising from the grave, she sat up abruptly from her hospital bed, and with a sultry, seductive hiss.

"Ammmyyy…"

She was off, walk thing through doors, walls, and anything or anyone else in her way.