Deranged

Chapter 1: The Wonted

The Wonted will never know. The Chaos cringed as he heard another blood thirsty scream escape from an Undertaker. His room was destroyed. What used to be soft white walls, were now barriers redder than roses. He stood with his attenuated legs and walked to the doorway. His knees buckled under him; he had to balance himself on the wall for support. The lights were flickering yellow, as if a stoplight were broken. All of the metal cages, that had once contained the insane, were empty.

On the cold hard floor lay the bodies of nurses and his fellow peers. All of the bodies were dead. His honey colored eyes wandered down the hall. He was searching for any sign of life. He limped down the hallway, he leaned on his right leg for support. His left foot was not much use, it was missing a toe.

The Chaos continued to limp through the building. The only sound to be heard was the slap of his feet against the concrete floor and his heavy, deep grunting. He had almost made it to the stairs, but his dirty black hair had been thrust into the hands of an Undertaker. His body was slammed into the wall, you could hear his spin crunching. He was face to face with the Undertaker, the one that had most likely taken the life of the bodies in the hallway.

The Undertaker looked gruesome. Naturally, his hair matched the color of a lion's. Now, it was a mixture of red and black. His skin was ghost white, and his were dark, black pits. The man's skin was a gathering of creases and folds. The predator had missing teeth, he most likely had lost them in a fight. The teeth that were present were rotten and were no longer white. The mixture of dead body and the lack of bathing was evident in his smell. His maniacal smile made a pucker on his cheeks.

"What made you think that a crumpled, old fellow like you could just walk on out of this prison?" the Chaos whimpered, his captors' breath smelled like sewer water. The Chaos attempted to release himself from his captor, but he could not free himself. His strength was tyrannical. 

"We are from the same the world, you have no reason to harm me nor the Wonted. The world is in turmoil. We must help those who cannot understand."

The Undertaker snicked. "We are not one, your master made that choice for all of us. As for the Wonted, they are on their own. They took the ones that could help them and threw them in these prisons and called them deranged. The Wonted can fix this themselves. My master claimed that your kind would attempt to stop this."

While keeping one arm pressed against the neck of the victim, the Undertaker lifted his sickly, skinny leg. Quickly, he grabbed a large sharp piece of glass from his shoe and held it to the Chaos' stomach. "I have been given orders to stop you."

The Chaos was able to predict the Undertaker's move long before it happened; with all of his might, the Chaos threw his head into the Undertaker's. Efficiently, letting his release upon the man, the Undertaker hurled in pain and lost his balance. He flew back into the wall behind him. The glass had fallen to the ground, but had not yet broken into smaller pieces. Taking offense, the Chaos snatched the weapon from the cold, hard tile and buried into the heart of the Undertaker. The sound he heard reminded him of a baby being first born. Its screams could cause the ears to bleed and make your head throb. Unable to take no longer take the sound, he threw the Undertaker down the stairs. He stood at the top and watch as a mess of limbs became tangled from the fall. He heard as each individual body part hit each step. Finally, the body came to a stop at the end of the steps. 

The now only living man in the asylum had nearly lost his own breath from the force he had to use. He limped down the stairs, each step receiving its own groan the whole way down. At last, he reached the end of the steps. He looked down at his feet. What was minutes ago a notorious, foul killer, was now nothing but a dead man.   

Without another look at the corpse, the Chaos continued his path outside of the asylum. Taking a continuous amount of left and rights. He had finally reached the doors. He pushed upon the large, oak double doors. What was before him made him wish he was dead. 

When he imagined the outside world, he pictured cars driving down the highway. People driving the cars, hoping to not be late to their destinations. Grass was supposed to be green and made the homes of many little creatures that crawled within its small forest. The sky was always thought to be blue, like a never ending ocean. With clouds that varied in textures, but always matched the color of snow. Trees would sprout from the ground, with immense amounts of wood before the leaves. Small animals would occupy these trees. Perhaps, a little squirrel storing acorns within it. A bird, who would make a nest for its young. What laid before his eyes was anything but that.