Agent of Chaos

WARNING: it gets a bit graphic in the torturing part. You've been notified.

Wounds winding around his torso and up his arms, thethered by a knotting of ropes, slowly climbing back down his body and reaching down his bare legs that were also captured in the ropes' grips were openly shown. Each spilling its own portion of thick, juicy, red liquid; the display was art to both J and I.

His hands were on the boys face, leaving pure, bright cherry colored streaks as he slowly brought them down. He was nearing unconciousness and J simply pushed his finger onto his forehead to bring him back. The action left a harsh dot in the center.

It was a relatively playful action, but our entire show felt that way to us, it was our performance. Our efforts would put the boy in a beautiful position. That position was a threat to the Mayor. He survived once, but as this will prove, the consequences are dire. The coup de grâce for our gift would be the most deforming act of all.

I grabbed my surgical instrument and tapped his nose lightly to get my point across. A giggle escaped my lips at my own pun. He focused on me and his once dreary expression bloomed into a much more captivating form. However, that did not mean that it pleased either of us.

In fact, it absolutely fucking enraged me. His face was cocky. That little conniving bastard had the balls to actually be defiant.

"You think you really intimidate me, do you know who my father is?"

"Well," I started as I circled him like prey, "that would be exactly why we've chosen you."

My steps stayed steady and I felt like a predator, like a lion getting ready to pounce. His foolish bravery continued steady just like my gait and I could see J watching us from the corner of my eye sight. He looked amused and kept his gaze unwavering.

"My father isn't afraid of you or the clown," his head leaned and indicated his reference," and even if you killed me, it would only make him hunt you down harder."

My eyes met J's and he gave a small nod and my grip tightened on the object in my hands. It's presence felt heavier as the moments struck by that it went unused.

"Why not give him something more to worry over." I stepped towards him and placed in a cold metal device to keep his jaws open while I did my job.

I took two pairs of clamps that lay lonely on the tray besides me. I stuck them onto the end of his squirming tongue and the other a little farther back as he let out frightened yelps and moans; he had no idea what was coming, but he was definitely afraid.

The change in his demeanor made my stomach do happy flip flops. I steadied my hand and made sure the preparations were ready; my last tray held a small stick of silver nitrate and a cup of water to dip it into. I was ready.

My actions were swift, but still more than enough for him to feel. The clip I took from his mouth held the end of his tongue and I set it onto the previously empty tray. My hands nabbed some gauze for the blood and I took the nitrate in my protected hand and stuck the end into the cup before grabbing the other clamp and steadying his now deformed tongue. I moved the silver nitrate over the wound and it cauterized slowly.

I put it back and allowed myself to sink into his pain completely. J was doing the same as he watched my actions. He continued his screams and we both burst into insane laughter that rang from the very walls and made them quiver.

Roughly 45 minutes later, he was out cold, but still alive. I removed the clamp and admired my handiwork. There would be no way to fix it and he would have to live in the agony of disfigurement for the rest of his life. His father would be ashamed of himself for allowing it to happen and his son would feel like what he had dared to call J and I, a freak.

Speaking of the manic clown, he sat down besides me and I felt only slightly tense at the unusual action. I had sat down for tea and asked him if he wanted some. It calmed me and made my adrenaline relax.

He accepted my gesture and I prepared him some. He drank it even though it was still hot, but he made no movement in reaction to it.

He understood my staring, "I like it hot, makes the flavor more dominant." he laughed.

I giggled and sipped at my less extremely temperatured tea. My hands still shook from the excitement from earlier. Now we were seated in the outer room of the basement. I had taken some general knock out medicine to keep him quiet while J and I decided on the best way to deliver our prepared gift to the mayor. He hasn't noticed his son gone yet, he had been known for staying out and not coming home for a couple of days. He would be back by tomorrow.

I kept my gaze fixated at J's face. He had grown a little more comfortable over the time we had known each other with me staring at him. I enjoyed it the more and more I did it. I had yet to see the man without his make up, but I did sometimes fantasize about it.

I found him completely entrancing, the scars did not scare me or make me find him grotesque. They had the exact opposite affect on me. I was, for lack of a better word, completely enamored by the man. However, I didn't intend to let that on, because I knew it was a very slim chance that the feelings would be returned.

I admired him in that aspect, he had done a grand job on repressing certain emotions. Guilt and general human love/compassion tended to be at the top of the list. He wasn't selfish, I thought, but he was an agent of chaos like he has said before.

To be such an agent, you would have to be devoid of weakness like that, or just incredibley good at not letting it eat away or affect you. The Joker was one of those, but which is only his own knoweledge. No one can properly direct themselves through his mind.

No psychiatrist would ever divide his thoughts to concur his inner motivations or even identify them.

"Doc, just what exactly is your name?" his voice swept from his mouth in an inquisitive, but demanding manner.

My guard instantly shot up.