Welcome… To Mullyssa Nemo!

[Vio]

O
Prologue

The waters were calm and eerie, windless air thick with grey mist whose very touch saturated the vessel’s timbers and coiling tendrils drenched men on deck through to the skin within seconds. Cool, but clammy was the atmosphere, but all that was overcome by far less tangible auras. The ship’s timbers groaned solemnly in protest to being here, empathising with the crew whose spines quivered not from cold, but from the foreboding fog that obscured their eyes. Barely could one see more than a couple of feet before them – outreaching arms were commonplace as they stumbled blindly. Even the blaze of lit lanterns and torches failed to turn the baleful cascade, offering little solace.

“I can’t even see the water,” one sailor noted, leaning over the sodden railing. “It’s as if we’re floating on mist.” With caution, he extended his torch out beyond and, peering through the beam of amber, saw vague silhouettes of something. He could not tell if it was distant or close, but it was there; an outline, tall and a slightly darker shade of grey than the surrounding air.

^{“They should’ve just sent her to Impel Down,” another muttered:
“This whole island… it feels like we’re being watched from the fog…”}

^{“D–D–Don’t say things like that!”}

“It’s not like Ghosts are real, bozo.” He received a strange look. Fog clung to his partner’s face.

“You didn’t see what we saw on Eldoran,” the seaman retorted, shivering. Again, it was reminiscence that made his body judder, not the cool and the wet and the dusky hues. “That freak – that demon… it’s like she summoned the souls of the damned. I’ve never seen freaky s#!+ like that before. I’m seriously considering leaving the Navy once we get back.”

^{“I think you were just hallucinating…”}

^{“Says the guy who is paranoid!?”}

“Enough,” boomed a deep, cushioned voice, intervening. Both men jumped, caught unawares as a tall figure – a good sixteen feet – broke through the wall of fog. His long, ivory cagoule hid much of his aesthetic, but glimmered in the radiance of the torches. Upon his back, a heavy broadsword rested within a decorated leather sheath. Through the tightened hood peered a rounded, wrinkled visage with short nose and big, glossy eyes of ink.

^{“Lieutenant Commander Pug!”}

The two Seamen saluted, straightening themselves despite the weight of the air and arming themselves with brave faces. A mere ruse, easily seen through by the odd eyes of their superior, but alas he did not bat an eyelid in question. He two was alert, feeling the ominous emptiness pouring from the forsaken isle. He waved an oddly small hand and his subordinates eased. Rain dripped from their faces like tears rolling down their cheeks and chins, such was the viscosity of the haze.

^{“We’re here now,” the tall one stated:
“Please. Lower the gangplank.”}

^{“W–We are…?”}

^{“How can you tell through all this fog?” queried one:
“I can barely make you out from here with the torch.”}

“The ship’s hull has been equipped with a number of sensory ‘Probarnacles’ which feel out their surroundings using special, elongated filaments. Thanks to them and their ability to communicate with Den Den Mushi at short distance, we can map out and navigate even the most treacherous of Calm Belt waters, such as those we currently sail in.” Pug shifted, turning to look across the deck. Not that much of the deck could be seen. Vague shapes could be made out amidst spots of amber that dyed the air – hints of the presences of other Marines as they scrambled about doing the necessaries of it all.

With a few clunks and thumps and nearly completely failed attempts, a sturdy timber length was set down from ship to shore. It was a shore none could see, but they knew for a fact that it was there. A dozen men, each in pairs and holding burning torches high, progressed down the length of the gangplank. The flames spat and sizzled as droplets of cold rain caught them, but otherwise the subtle glare was clear enough. Within a minute, each man had taken his position down the length of the broad board, forming an illuminated path.

In the distance, something screamed.

^{“Please tell me that was just the wind…”}

^{“This is the Calm Belt… there is no wind.” Whispers exchanged.
“And they say that on this island the only weather’s rain…”}

Footsteps heaved across the deck of the ship. The gangplank groaned slightly. An escort of four men, all burlier than the rest, made their way down the path provided. At front and rear, neither held anything more than a bludgeon, pistols at their hips and swords at their backs. The Lieutenant Commander nodded as they passed, but many eyes were upon what the other two men carried between them. Rested upon a stretcher was a woman, dark of hair and wrapped practically from head to toe in gauze and bandage, and many a stitch likely lined her flesh beneath. Her complexion was almost as ghastly as the fog itself, eyes closed. Across the left eye, at brow and cheek, were two vertical scars parallel to one another.

“T–That’s her,” muttered one of the Marines, recalling the chaos.

^{“After all that, she survived,” one wheezed:
“And now we’re leaving her to rot here…”}

“I bet she’ll die of pneumonia within days,” yet another wagered. “She’s been unconscious since the Bloody Battle of El Town. It seems… almost too sparing for all the lives she’s taken.”

“We honoured Clementine Rosa’s decision,” Pug spoke up. “Scarlette Grimm-Rosa has been sentenced to remain here, on Mullyssa Nemo, until the day she dies. When that will be, we cannot say – nor will we know until long after the fact – but I will say for certain that there is no hope of her escaping this place before that day comes. Ironic, given her supposed corrupt beliefs, that death shall be her only saving grace. Place her upon the pier and let’s make haste. I think I’m catching a cold standing here!”

Reaching the base of the gangplank, the four men set foot upon cracked, grey stone. It was a length of carved rock that reached in either direction from where they were, its ends consumed by the veil of thickened, soupy miasma. Down the two men lowered the stretcher as a third scooped the ragdoll body from it and placed it upon the saturated architecture. They made swift their movements and, within just three minutes, the entire vessel began to back away from the island. While they thought this was the end, the truth was that it was just beginning…

I
Asylum, Lost

Coughing, spluttering, and feeling as if she had just had her head held forcibly beneath the water. That was how Scarlette Grimm-Rosa awoke from her slumber. She spat and she choked, gagging on tasteless moisture as she rolled feebly onto her flank. She was outside, so she believed, but had no notion of where or when or how. Her head ached as she searched for glimpses of memory, but all prior events were naught but a blur. Redness, bright and vicious, was all her mind’s eye would dare let her see. Amnesic, but conscious, her vision took a while to adjust.

Why was everything so bland, grey?

“Gck… Hch,” she tried to speak aloud. “Agr…” Dry rasping, despite the liquid in her throat just presently, was all that dared emerge. The need for drink was suddenly very real, like she had not done so in days. Tongue like parchment, swell and rough, sought the sanctity of refreshment. She could barely move – barely had the strength to move. Bindings did not aid. She could feel fabric clinging, taut upon her skinny physique. The familiar feeling of bandages brought back some of her memories, provoking imagery that made Miss Grimm-Rosa sour within. Sustenance was the sweet to contrast it.

As a thirsting mongrel, she pressed her lips to the sodden stone and suckled. Barely a few drops, but the moisture was welcome, soothing. She scanned what she could see, but very little seemed to stand out amidst the colourless canvas. A veil of drear and damp was about all the feeble female could find as she worked and wriggled, crawling like a grub across the rocky flat to a shallow puddle of precipitate.

Splash! Scarlette misjudged her movement, face hitting the water. Really, it did little. The rains, quite heavy and cold, had already seen to soaking her newly acquired attire through quite well. Ivory cotton, quite thick but comfortable, comprised a pair of trousers and a top with long sleeves and low, skirt-like hem. Socks upon her feet and some sort of gripping slip-on shoe kept her toes dry, at least. Nonetheless, she sponged up as much of the rainwater as she could. Though cold on her teeth, it felt strangely warming in comparison to the parched craw she had awoken with.

“I still… feel weak… Huh?” Straining, the sodden soul extended her arms, pulling them towards her face so as to get a better look at her restraints. Manacles of some sort gripped her wrists, cold as steel but with a hue like a shining sea. Iron links bound the twin hunks of metal together, hindering her hands more than the rest of her form. For what purpose, she wondered. There was something odd about them, not just in colour, but it how they felt. An uneasy, weighted feeling pressed and pulled upon her, forcing a sense of fatigue even when she felt refreshed.

For a minute, the woman in white wrappings lay, thinking, listening. A solemn, sorrowful expression mixed raindrops and saline tears as memories reinstated themselves little by little. Cold and rainy days spent snoozing by the fire in the lounge, back to back with her resemblance, stirring and playing with woodwork houses and sewn dolls. Now here she was; no warm and crackling fire, no roof over her head, and most importantly no likeness to share with. This horrid place, wherever it was and whatever its name, was defining itself as a place of nothingness.

Scarlette rolled over and forced herself to sit up, glossy black hair clinging to her head and face in saturated clumps. No sign of sunlight prevailed, just an endless dimness – an endless twilight stripped of colour. Another memory flashed through her mind. Impaled she had been upon steel, piercing her chest from back to front. That was it, was it not? Her head lowered into her palms.

“Why? Why am I here?” sobbed the sullen spirit. “I tried so hard to do right. I did everything Papa told me I should do. I was a good girl. I shouldn’t be here. This is the Wardens’ doing, isn’t it? I… I don’t belong in Hell… I don’t belong here… I– I want– want to b–be with P–Papa and A–Anna!” She scratched at her skin, at her bandages, and looked towards the endless plane of frosty grey above. Her presence in the Otherworld denied, her hopes and dreams crushed, all she did was sit there. She sobbed and she wept and she wailed, wailed till her face was a glistening mess of rain and tear, till her nose ran and her throat was sore and parched again. She cried till her stomach pained, her lungs gasping, and then some.

It took what seemed like an eternity to catch her breath.

Miss Grimm-Rosa stood up, albeit very shakily, and craned her neck to wipe her nose upon her sleeve. It did not seem effective, water clinging in place of mucus, but beneath the fabric she could feel the rough bandaging that bound every corner of her body. That only made matters worse – a soul imprisoned within a tomb of flesh and thrown into the depths of Hell – but she could not force more than a whimper after so long wrought with sorrowful shrieking and shedding of tears. Onwards she pressed, with no notion of which way was north or south. There was no issue there. There were, of course, only two ways to walk.

Walk. If you could call it walking, that is. Broken and beaten some time before, Scarlette’s physical form was struggling through even mundane, natural tasks. Slow steps were wobbly, uneven and heavy. A light breeze could have knocked her down again, so fortunate was she that there was not even the faintest whisper of wind in the watery air.

^{“It’s getting c–colder,” the woebegone wanderer panted:
“Why am I… starting to feel s–stiff…?”}

^Gachi…

^Gachi…

^Gachi…

“It’s f–freezing… The temperature c–c–changed so quickly,” stammered she who shuffled. The rain had picked up a little, the fog now seeming to come alive and metamorphose. What was an endless and obscuring cloud of dull, ashen hue was now beginning to shift quite rapidly into something sparkly and chilling. Just walking through the vapours was making the woman shiver uncontrollably, turning her joints stiff and making her teeth chatter. Her breath steamed, only to turn to sparkling mist a second later. The only saving grace was that, with its unprecedented and rapid evolution, the impregnable soup was dispersing.

^{“Is that… h–h–house?”}

^Gachigachi!

“…!?” Eyes widened, shocked by what had happened. Though up ahead a building’s shape was forming, something else was taking shape far more rapidly. A sudden, frigid biting sensation at her feet drew her gaze down. A large drop of rain had struck her left shoe, but the water had frozen nigh instantaneously. Slender needles of sparkling ice protruded from the tongue of her slipper, as if the scattering water of the raindrop had been frozen in time. Now she really saw what was happening. Frost was forming, creeping into the stitches of her garb, turning saturated warp and weave into ice-starched restraints. Any warming properties such clothes might have had were fast being annulled by the bitter chill.

“Hrf!” grunted Scarlette, pushing herself to her limit. Needles of ice were now forming on the path before her, precarious glaze crawling across the ground where mournful mists settled and abated. The cold upon her face was searing, turning rain and mucus and lacrimation to verglas. Even breathing could only fill her lungs with iciness, like somebody was shoving fresh snow down her throat. Her clothes crackled and snapped, spitting shimmering flecks as her joints strained.

Before her now stood a two storey construct of dull white paintwork, rundown and already caked in the same chill that threatened the bandaged blight’s movements. A rusted iron gate beckoned, forming a short tunnel through the building. One half was jammed upon rusted and groaning hinges, the other flat against the floor and eroded. To the side, a wooden door, heavily rotted and pocked. Out of necessity, the freezing femme reached for the latter – the closest.

Bang! She pushed the door, but it gave little. She tried the handle, but it fell away at her touch. Icicles were forming amidst her darkened mop now, form juddering and quaking from the cold. Her stance shifted, hand drawn backwards. A punch to the mould-worn, frosted lock shattered it like glass. Upon ice the whitened woe slipped, careening forwards and into the shelter she had sought out. Elbows bent, helping to cushion the fall somewhat, though her knees seemed uncooperative. Indeed, she had to drag herself – a couple of inches at a time – into the building.

Inside it was not much warmer, but at least it was dry. Dusty, yes, but dry.

“Fff!” the revenant winced as she picked glace from her face. Solid flakes of frozen tears peeled away, leaving patches of red-raw skin in their wake. Little in the way of comfort could be made of the situation. Even breathing on her fingers served a futile purpose, such was the baleful nature of this hibernal weather. Eventually, she crawled further inside, using an old and worn wooden desk as a support to draw herself up from the floor. Shivering was about her only capability, body desperate for warmth.

“F–F–Fire…,” Scarlette sputtered. “Make fire.” Doubt clouded her judgement. Never before had kindling been a required skill for her, but now the time demanded it. A lack of knowledge on the subject was almost as stark as the whitening façade of what lay without. Nonetheless, the refugee persevered, pursuing comfort amidst Hell’s frosty walls. She scoped the place, not very thoroughly, and dragged bits of rotten and splintered timber from about the building’s lower floor. Up Scarlette piled it, dismissing any notion of safety or fire sense. She had fuel, but what to ignite it with?

Desperation, frustration, all culminated in an angered slam of balled and manacled fists against the desk.

“Blood… Blood is warm,” the Offspring Woman considered, a weak and trembling smile forming. No blade available, but a finger would do. Against the desk she pressed her nail, trying to cut into its timber via supernatural force, but to no avail. “Porte Rouge!” The second attempt failed, too. No sign of carmine miasma forming, not even pouring from her limb to condense at her fingertips. Something was restricting her powers – or maybe they had been stripped from her entirely? Again, the thought of all her efforts going to waste plagued her mind to the point where she screamed out of sheer regret.

Falling to her knees, head in her hands, she closed her eyes and mithered…

II
Carter, Warden

How many hours passed her by? Was it hours, or did it just seem like them? She could not say, nor could she tell. The lighting barely changed as time crawled along. The only certainty was the cold, unforgiving and unrelenting.

“Everything’s… turned to ice,” Scarlette Grimm-Rosa whispered, as if fearful of her own voice disturbing the eerie pattering and crackling of water and freeze. She was trembling less now, though still unable to find a means of making flame. Standing there, she simply looked out of a broken window and watched the scenery. Tranquil, though depressive, the whole world seemed to sparkle and glitter like silver. The fog had abated entirely, brightening the world up a bit, but still the shades of grey prevailed.

The only colour was from within the gatehouse, whose derelict husk was still littered with bits and pieces left to age and decay. Metal filing cabinets looked rusted and worn, some toppled and others upright. She had tried to open a few, to see if there was anything of us within, but corrosion and oxidisation had sealed many a draw tight. Little else could be found, or indeed little else was of any use without a means of producing a spark.

Then something caught her eye.

“Yellow and black, or yellow and blue,” the girl assessed as something colourful made its approach. A bright raincoat seemed to protect the figure wearing it from the rains, where even freezing splashes seemed to slip off harmlessly, allowing them to walk on. Dark boots plodded across the ice without much issue, but each step seemed full of certainty. The crunch of ice beneath heels and toes was a welcome break in the usual ambience of this forsaken Hellscape, but it did beg a question that made Scarlette tense as it sprang to mind. Uneasily, she backed from the window, shuffled to the door through which she had entered and steeled herself.

Out into the rains she bolted, cold upon her partly dried skin, but rounding the corner offered some shelter. Under the bridge of the building, where the gate once stood, she scrabbled for the fallen ironwork. Rust had bitten away at chunks of the metal, leaving it comparatively brittle, and thanks to said fragility the cautious killer was able to wrench a piece of it away from the rest. An iron pole, jagged and rusted at both ends and a good eight feet in length from head to tail, would serve as a useful weapon. The metal was almost burning her fingers, such was the cold. Nonetheless, she felt somewhat better for having a polearm – even a makeshift one – in her hands. Bound she might have been, but not defenceless.

Crackle, crackle, went the ice. Footsteps crunched closer, closer still. The woman’s heart thundered louder than the beat of the rain. Her back pressed against the brick of the building, sheltering as best she could as she slid back inside. Holding the weapon was difficult – the limited reach of her hands prevented her from making a good swing. She could, however, thrust. Slashing, piercing, bludgeoning; there was no way to tell how effective such means of attack would be against a denizen of the Underworld.

Footsteps stopped.

^{“Hello there,” called a male voice:
“It’s okay; I don’t mean you any harm.”}

“…” Scarlette’s silence spoke volumes.

“Do you mind if I come inside?” the unknown entity asked, his voice deep but gentle, slightly quavering with the chill. “It’s cold out here, but I’m sure you’ve figured that out already, haven’t you?” Still, Scarlette’s lips remained motionless save for the ins and outs of respiration. It was less about caution, more of her just not knowing what approach to take. A slight trace of hesitation welled within, but the man’s presence seemed kind enough. Hell was a place for sinners, liars and other fouled souls – a second and indefinite sentence of imprisonment after their mortal tomb had long rotted. What sins did this soul commit to, and did he still commit to them, even in this atrocious afterlife?

^{“O–Okay…”}

^{“Thank you,” the stranger replied:
“I heard a scream, so I hurried over.”}

The door opened as he spoke, the hinges straining. A bright yellow raincoat gleamed with water and chill, but that was little compared to his stature. Visibly ducking just to enter, a man of eight feet and eyes light blue might have seemed imposing, if not for the gentle and welcoming expression upon his square face. As far as human beings went he was an unusual one, though again memories flooded back like the downpours. This was not the strangest of fellows as far as her eyes had glimpsed, but right now it did not matter who bore the most bizarre bodily design.

Miss Grimm-Rosa primed her polearm, kept her distance, and remained almost entirely still. She watched as flecks of glaze were brushed from the raincoat’s shoulders, tinkling upon the floor like pieces of glass. No weapons made their presence known; no trace of iron or fire, save for the burning lamp that he placed upon the top of one of the filing cabinets closest to his entry. Fluttering insects soon emerged from the woodwork, hovering precariously in the light and projecting enormous shadows upon the walls.

“My name’s Johann – Johann Carter,” the smiling sir introduced, pulling down his hood to reveal a head of short, grizzled and charcoal-coloured hair. A slight moustache of fairer hue lined his top lip, which frowned slightly as he took a better look at the lonesome lady. “What’s your name?” he asked, frown abating back into a calm smile.

“S–Scarlette,” she replied hesitantly.

^{“Hm. And your family name…?”}

^{“Grimm…,” the woman swallowed:
“Scarlette Grimm-Rosa.”}

This must have been the first time in some years that she had personally spoken her full name. It certainly felt strange to do so, particularly the latter pieces that comprised her identity. The surnames of Maxwell Grimm and Clementine Rosa combined had been bestowed unto just two worldly souls, and those two had been divided between afterlives. Indeed, Scarlette had all but abandoned the names of the families whose unison had birthed her, yet people insisted on reminding her of her origins.

“Huh, you have a reversed name, too,” Mister Carter noted. “I don’t hear that very often. Most people have their family name first.” He moved to sit himself down upon the desk, which strained loudly beneath his weight, but did not give. All the while, he seemed to pay no mind to the fact that she held a spear in her hands.

^{“Why are you here?”}

^{“Hmm…? Oh, I work here, in a sense,” Johann answered:
“This place… Scarlette, I’m the Chief Warden of Mull–!?”}

“Hraa!” Pupils dilated suddenly, a horrid and tangible mix of fear and hatred writhing within. Before the Chief could even finish his sentence, the newcomer had lunged towards him, thrusting her rusted iron pike as best she could in an attempt to skewer his heart. Did the Wardens even have hearts? Their portrayal was always one of a heartless, conniving nature. Nonetheless, she was going to find out. At least, she would have done so if not for her target’s reflexes and strength – or maybe her own lack of such things. A single hand batted the polearm aside, causing the wielder to trip and turn and drop the tool.

The next thing she knew, Carter was supporting her shoulders, keeping her upright. His hands were warm through the clothes and bandages, but all Scarlette could do was shiver and squirm in protest. She shrieked trying to break free, to which he obliged without any struggle.

^{“I’m sorry,” he said, swift but calm:
“I mean you no harm, Scarlette.”}

^{“Leave me alone!”}

“I can’t do that. Sorry, but it’s my job to make sure everyone here on Mullyssa Nemo is safe and well,” the Warden explained, contradictive to everything the warped reaper had been nurtured into believing. A demon whose duty was to protect seemed the most obvious lie, but then why would a demon make their deceits so transparent? On all fours, she scrambled and clawed some distance between herself and Johann, keeping brown eyes focused upon him at every opportunity. Manacles rattled. Floorboards creaked. Moths flitted about. Eventually, she huddled into a corner, hands on her knees as she rocked gently from side to side.

“I don’t belong here… I don’t belong here… I don’t belong here,” she whimpered, she chanted. It was a sorry sight.

“Mm, none of us do,” Carter answered, speaking softly as the cowering castaway continued her misinterpreted mantra. “This place – Mullyssa Nemo is its name – was supposed to be a sanctuary for those suffering from various issues, all related to the mind. That’s what I believed when I joined as a member of staff. What I didn’t know was that the World Government were just using it to throw people away, out of their sight and out of their mind. Uh…No pun intended,” he held his hands up in a sort of ‘I didn’t touch anything’ gesture. “Anyway, some years ago the World Government closed this place down. They offered us – the staff – the chance to leave it all behind. I couldn’t do that. I and a bunch of others stayed to look after the people who were left here, abandoned. Every now and then, World Navy ships drop off supplies and – as they’ve proven with you – the occasional new ‘patient’…”

There was sourness in his words – sourness that he apparently had no interest in hiding.

^{“World Government,” Scarlette repeated:
“The World Navy… They brought me here?”}

^{“Nobody else would. Nobody else knows.”}

“I’m,” Scarlette started, slowing her rhythmic bobbing as she processed what was being explained. “I’m not… This isn’t Hell?” Chocolate eyes were teary and sore, bottom lip aquiver as she raised her face from her hands and knees and looked at Johann. She seemed so gaunt, so haunted and aged, yet there was a childishness buried within those dark irises of hers.

“No, Scarlette,” he answered. Her face lit up in response, smiling and crying. “The only devils in this world lurk beyond this island’s shores, although…”

^{“A–Alwough…?”}

^{“Mm, don’t mind me,” the Warden waved:
“Anyway, this rain will ease a bit soon. Here.”}

Undoing his own raincoat, the gentle giant reached into a pack concealed beneath and extracted a white parcel of sorts. It had sheen to it, much like the waterproof anorak he donned, and it proved to be of the same design. A hardy, resistant coat of white hue, a bit worn and stitched here and there, was unravelled and offered. Rather than approach, Johann simply rested the garment on the desk next to him. He was not a rushed person; that much was clear.

III
Eyes, Everywhere

The air without was cold, damp, but at least now Scarlette Grimm-Rosa’s body was protected from the unending cascade of glacial droplets from the sky. The coat itself was a few sizes too big, hem falling almost to her ankles, but wide enough so as to not threaten her footing. Footing – it was not the easiest thing to maintain upon chill, slippery stone. Small, certain strides were a must. Johann Carter walked beside her, his hand holding arm for stability. For every half a dozen steps she took, he only needed one, but all the same their footfalls crunched and crackled and squelched through the ice and slush beneath heels and toes.

With every few yards the path grew narrower, little by little, and followed rough and rocky contours through the terrain. No matter where her eyes moved to, all the waddling woman could make out were irregular spires and cliffs of mottled grey, iced rock. Some of them in the distance, hazy behind the dull shimmer of wintry air, looked strangely squared.

“W–What time… of year is it?” Scarlette queried.

“By my reckoning, I’d put it at around late summertime,” her escort explained, provoking disbelief. “Yes, I know it’s hard to believe with this weather, but that’s what makes this place… different. Spring and summer, autumn and winter – none of those really exist on this island. There’s three ‘seasons’ which change with the moon; Flooding, Foggy and Freezing. Unfortunately, it looks like you arrived during a new moon. That’s when the season changes – and it changes fast.” As they walked further, he continued to explain. Explain how the harsh climes were a constant and little to no direct sunlight ever bathed the island. Explain how the windless sea that was the Calm Belt meant that the clouds never stirred for anything more than their own personal water cycle. Most of it went over her head, but she listened all the same.

^{“You must’ve put up quite a fight,” Johann continued:
“You’re pretty much covered in bandages, head to toe!”}

Scarlette glared at him, then said: “You called yourself… a Warden?”

“That’s right,” Carter nodded in confirmation as they moved past a series of wooden posts embedded into the rock. It was a sort of fence, but with no ability to really prevent anything from passing in or out. No panels, no barbed wire, not even hedgerows. Well, to be fair, the only greenery she had seen on the island was wood rot, and even then that was almost grey. “There’s myself and many others, two dozen in total, and we look after all the patients here on Mullyssa Nemo. Food, shelter, guidance – we offer all that when and where we can.” His explanation made her uneasy, nausea rooting itself slightly as she struggled up a slope down which veins of verglas were building as the water crawled back down. Near the top, the path widened again, forming a sort of natural crossroad between sloping, dull hills. Some of the cliffs were more visible now, only they were not cliffs at all. They were buildings, embedded into the rock.

^{“Block A’s just up ahead – another five minutes,” the Warden pointed:
“Oh… You’re about to meet some of the others, too!”}

^{“Others…?”}

“Other patients, like you are now.” Spheres of amber littered the pathways now, which Miss Grimm-Rosa soon discovered were little lamps hanging on those wooden fence posts she had passed before. The air seemed to glitter in snowflake patterns around them, speckled and blurred from a mix of distance and contrast. Soon, another source of illumination presented itself – orange warmth settled some ways above the path. At first it was welcoming, but soon the glare forced itself upon her eyes, bringing Scarlette to avert her gaze and clamp her lids shut. “Easy. Easy on the lights, guys! Foggy Season’s rolled out now. It’s just me, Carter, and a new friend.” There were murmurs, a few seconds of silence, and then the light abated.

“Warden… Carter… Hello… Stranger…” A voice – emotionless, deep, gruff – emanated from somewhere up above and ahead. A rickety structure of timber and iron stood tall, overlooking the pathways, and from its sheltered balcony where the cascade of fiery orange descended stood several souls. “Red eyes… But not red.” The orator, short on vocabulary and even more so on intonation, was the tallest of the lot. In fact, even though there was quite some distance between them, Scarlette was sure he dwarfed even Johann by a good three feet. Pale-faced with dark and ragged hair, bulky and donning identical off-white attire, a pair of inky and unexcited eyes looked down from beneath an unnaturally straight brow.

“Myers, Scarlette,” Carter gestured between them, “Scarlette, Myers.”

“Mm… Red…” Myers bobbed his head, showing stitches around his jaw, cheek and temple. Either side of Myers, several smaller souls peered and squinted, whispered and gestured, seemingly ignorant of the new girl’s ability to hear them and their incomprehensible babblings. She picked out the odd word and phrase. They seemed to discussing their comrade’s comment about the eyes, whose irises flickered firebrick in the refracting light. One, a middle-aged woman, cupped her breast as if comparing. No real response. Another, a stick of a man with a crooked and long nose, scratched softly at his wrists. That actually did make her conscientious of the manacles at her own wrists.

^{“Get inside, guys,” Johann waved:
“It’s going to be a cold one tonight!”}

^{“Cold… Watch your step…”}

Off the two went, following the path between rugged outcrops and what appeared to be long crumbled remnants of other structures. Some rocks looked far too much like broken concrete slabs to be natural. Even so, as she walked, Scarlette could feel the eyes of the people dwelling in the tower upon the back of her head – drilling into her mind. She tensed. Mister Carter patted her gently.

“We call them ‘Watchmen’,” he spoke quietly. “They’re nothing to be afraid of, really. I know, Myers is quite intimidating, but once you get to know him he’s a real sweetheart – real protective.”

Silent the siren remained, and her eyes were upon the shackles as she continued along the route. Her escort exhaled audibly, drawing her focus for a moment. Those blue eyes of his were affixed to something in the distance – a massive building that seemed to swallow the summit of the tallest mount of Mullyssa Nemo. It looked ghostly, glittering glass and frost and a faint trace of illumination painting the scenery with an eerie blue-white.

^{“What’s that…?”}

^{“Mm– Oh, an abandoned building,” Carter stuttered:
“It used to be the main block, but it’s… empty now.”}

“T–Then… where’s the light coming from?” the shackled soul quizzed, honestly curious as to the origins of the one thing that was not cast in grey or amber. Her company frowned a little, sighed, and then turned his expression into a smile again.

“Don’t you worry about it, Scarlette,” he palmed her shoulder, turning her so as to guide her up a set of shallow stone steps and towards a building of around six storeys. Up ahead was another one of those peculiar outposts, nestled about a hundred yards from a porch area of the main building itself. Again, she could feel numerous eyes watching from above as they waltzed beneath the watchtower, though there was no stopping and chatting this time. Rather, Johann waved up from below, receiving a couple of waves back. They approached the porch, concrete with a wooden shelter and a bevelled sign with ‘Block A’ etched into it nailed onto the left side of the double doors…

IV
Society, Sociopathy

“Tch! ‘Bout f*€%in’ time, Carter,” barked a grating voice, startling Scarlette as she entered through the door that Johann had opened for her. Barely did she have time to register the innards of the sanctum when a man, maybe a few inches taller, paced along with boots thumping the floor. “What did you think you were doin’, walkin’ out in the middle of a switchover without sayin’ a d@mn word? You could’ve gone an’ –evenin’, Missy– froze to death!” The man, dressed in some sort of navy blue uniform, gave her a hazel-eyed glance and a blond-haired nod as he moved straight past her and stopped at Carter. He straightened his back, gaining about an inch in the process, but soon slackened again when he noticed that sizing up to the Chief Warden was no small feat. Nonetheless, he maintained a stern scowl upon his face, which was answered with a classic smile.

“Nice of you to worry about me, Hawke,” Johann said, closing the door in his wake and thus shutting out the cold and the hiss of the freezing downpour. “Still, it’ll take more than a cold shower to stop me from doing my job. This young lady – Scarlette Grimm-Rosa – is a new patient of ours.”

^{“New…? Man, those jackasses sent her here?” Hawke sighed:
“Go figure! Ol’ Bryan heads to the races and now they drop off!”}

^{“Ol’ Bryan…?”}

“Eh? Ah, yeah. Ol’ Bryan was our Snail,” Hawke explained. “Poor crawly passed away a fortnight ago.” To this, the girl tilted her head, pondering the possibilities of a Den Den Mushi’s soul travelling onto the Otherworld. This was not the first time she had contemplated animal existence beyond the mortal prison, but it did draw another notion to mind – one which made her heart race. All of a sudden she tore the coat away from her body as best she could, the garb hanging more on her shoulders due to the manacles that still bound her wrists. Twisting and turning, she palmed her figure, seeking something. She found nothing.

^{“W–Where is it?”}

^{“Where’s what– Wait,” Hawke scratched his head:
“Are those cuffs… made of Kairōseki?”}

^{“My diary… Where is it!?”}

“Did you have it when you were dropped off here?” Carter asked, hanging his and Scarlette’s coats upon a slightly rusted wall rack. Hawke shrugged dismissively, more interested by the binds. However, the dark-haired damsel – now frantically struggling against said shackles – seemed near enough hysterical as she clawed at her clothing as if trying to dispatch swarming ants.

^{“Pst! Carter. You know they don’t slap ‘em on just anyone,” Hawke whispered:
“She’s an Ability User– They don’t send those types here, ever.”}

^{“N–No… I… I didn’t…”}

“Then… I’m sorry, Scarlette.” Squatting down, the giant of a man set himself eye to eye with the distraught demoness, placing both hands firmly upon her shoulders. She looked him in the eye, equal parts glaring and hopeful. But alas, that hope was shattered. “They won’t have brought your diary with you.” Her head fell, black drapes closing over her eyes as her gaze fell to the floor. Her form slumped, as if her strength of leg had been sucked out of her, and it was only Johann’s guidance that let her knees softly touch down upon the hard tiles. Gaunt and ghastly was one feature of her aesthetic, but now she looked as if her very soul had been stolen.

“Everything… Everything keeps getting taken from me…” Miss Grimm-Rosa whined softly, like a lost puppy whimpering for its mother. “My sister, my abilities, my diary… My liberation…” The last words were foreboding, as if she had screamed it out with her last bit of breath. Hawke eyed her curiously. Carter shook his head, still supporting the woman’s weight, but now only with his left hand. With his right, he tapped the handcuffs and tested the interlinking chain.

^{“Hawke,” the Chief Warden addressed his company:
“Fetch me a chisel and hammer, would you?”}

^{“You aren’t breakin’ Kairōseki with ‘em, Chief.”}

“I’m not going to.” He raised Scarlette’s hands, clicking the chain for emphasis. Brown eyes observed, though absent and hollowed, almost as if she were some sort of zombie. “The cuffs themselves might be Seastone, but the links are iron. I can at least let her use her hands properly.”

“Fair.” Hawke turned and walked off, muttering something about not wanting to have to deal with a Devil Fruit. Admittedly – and the Offspring Woman knew this well by now – the Tane Tane no Mi’s conjurations were of little use in such a persistent rain. The constant washing of the stone would mend the rifts she created, not to mention melt any summoned Homunculus before they could be of any use to her. To use her power, she would be limited to indoor environs.

Speaking of which, a portion of her glum outlook had ebbed by now, letting her take in the sights and sounds and smells of Block A. The air had an almost stale scent to it, like a faint musk that lingered due to a severe lack of airflow on the isle. It was the kind of odour that you could quickly grow accustomed to, not so pungent that it would overwhelm, but present enough that new noses could pick it out immediately. The walls were clean, but cracked and worn, showing faint traces of coloured paint which had long since flaked away. The floor was tiled, dull, and the ceiling was smooth and slightly arched. Simplistic sconces lined the upper reaches of the wall, once housing gas lights but now reduced to little more than candle holders which offered just enough light to see clearly by. No wind; no threat of them being blown out.

“We’ll get those off you soon. Let’s go and meet some of the others first, hmm?” Johann stood. Scarlette did the same, mechanically. As they walked, voices became audible. There were others here, definitely, though her ears could not quite make out any conversation topics. Another set of doors came up, lighter than the entrance in weight, and creaked and stuttered as the Warden eased them open.

Beyond the gates was an open hall, its width and breadth illuminated by a closed off fireplace. Warm and bright it was, but many a figure milled and meandered about the room. Some were like Carter and Hawke, dressed in uniforms, but the vast majority were simply clad in matching opaque ivory. Some women had long skirts instead of trousers, while a few men wore long, buttoned jackets instead of the usual tops. All in all, fashion was lacking, but even Scarlette could see that those present all had one thing in common. They were all–

^{“Are you my mummy?”}

“Eek!” She jumped, stumbled and turned, caught unawares by a query that made her blood turn to ice in her veins. Johann tried to secure her, but the shock was enough to make her bound just out of reach. Into a table she toppled, shackles palms slamming the timber as she found herself bent over and examining up close a sprawl of papers. In wax and lead, scribbled in a mix of infantile outlines and colour blending that could have put the finest artisans to shame, were various animals – some known, others mysterious.

Ventilating, the vexed vixen looked up. A crayon poked her cheek. Out of shock, she thrust herself back to standing; artworks scattered from the desk, dancing like a kaleidoscope. Surrounded she had become, her antics drawing the attentions of the majority of the room. The rest, off in their own little worlds, did not seem to care. Others now had fingers pointed, eyes transfixed upon the newcomer, the panicked troublemaker.

^{“A new girl…”}

^{“Is she a new friend?”}

^{“Stranger.”}

^{“Teehee… She’s wrapped up like a present!”}

^{“Under her skin… Under her skin…”}

“Can I cut your ‘air?” queried another voice, a whisper so close that the breath was upon her ear. This time Scarlette froze, turning her neck slowly to see. A woman’s face was awfully close to her own; so close that she could make out every little detail. A fair, silk-skinned siren with deep purple eyes and a raggedy, unevenly cut mop of raven hair broken only by a peculiar silver-blonde streak which followed her parting, from the upturned fringe and sweeping back over her crown. “I’ll make you look real pretty. Like a porcelain doll.” She smiled. She giggled girlishly, running a fingertip across Scarlette’s neck. “You’re already real pale, so I won’t ‘ave to make you go white!”

This sensation – not of the fingers, but of something else – was oddly familiar. Another flash of memory triggered, painting the image of a black star that expanded rapidly. Her forehead tingled, her body tensed. All a sudden, the woman from across the waves spun and swung her manacled hands at the spatial intruder. The speed was high, the strength waned, but more than enough to knock a man out.

And yet, with just a fraction of a second to spare, the doll-lover ducked out of harm’s way. Not just ducked, but actually shifted her stance in such a way that the swing passed her by with half an inch to spare. Like a dance, it was as if it had been rehearsed over and over until perfection.

“Woah! Woah, easy!” A uniform intervened. One hand grabbed her shoulder, the other her arm, restraining her. Still, Scarlette twisted and writhed, trying to break free. There was an emotion coursing through her veins, a familiar and yet alien emotion, its name was fear. How many times had death made her bones rattle? Nary a once, for Death’s embrace was a blessing she could happily accept. No, it was not that which she feared. Right now, her body was running off of instinct, pure and unadulterated, and to that end every move she made was as illogical to her as her presence upon this abysmal isle.

^{“Calm down!”}

^{“Let go!”}

“I won’t tell you twice,” the officer – a blonde woman with once darker complexion paled by the climes – said sternly. Her grip was tight, but not hurtful, and it certainly seemed more as if she was trying to ease her down than straight up wrestle her into submission. Even so, the struggle went on. “Calm down!”

^{“You said it twice… hearing problems?”}

^{“Not now, Lecter!”
More struggling:
“Some help, please…?”}

“Fine,” a gentleman huffed, not too far from the action. Actually, as Miss Grimm-Rosa discovered, said gentleman – well-spoken and rather neat – was a part of the colourless clad crowd. Other uniforms had approached, working to disperse the audience, some needing calming and others merely redirected to other activities. However, none intervened, save for this ‘Lecter’ fellow. Swiftly he moved, entering the captive’s vision. He was of moderate stature, wearing shadowy stubble of ash blond, and his so slightly balding head was laced with thin, greased strips of blond.

Eyes of yellow peered into hers.

“What’s gotten you all hysterical, newcomer?” he asked quietly, following the turns of her head so as to maintain that deep, piercing eye contact. It was an unnerving gaze, though not as markedly so as the empowered glare of her own mother’s orange irises. Rather than dominating, it seemed probing – it seemed analytical. He clicked his tongue. “Please, let the Wardens do their job – relax and rejoice! Ah, after all, my dear,” he grinned like a Cheshire cat, bowing, taking a hand in his and gesturing towards his compatriots with a grand sweep of the palm. “We’re all mad here~!”

^{“I’m not crazy,” Scarlette spat:
“You’re all monsters! Go away!”}

^{“Monsters, are we…?”}

Lecter’s gaze turned mournful. Scarlette shook her hand out of his grasp. With a stomp to the foot, she managed to force a falter in the captor’s bind, breaking free. Again swung The Red Terror, this time upwards and forwards with fingers spread to grasp the man’s neck. Fear formed within those yellow ovals of his and from that fear bloomed ecstasy. The murderous maiden’s heart raced pleasantly now, memories of her past homicidal acts flooding into her bones, renewing them. Body strengthen, mind eased, spirit in rapture, the feel of her fingers upon the stranger’s neck drew a small smile on her face as she pushed him to the floor, sitting on his stomach.

A tall, gaunt woman screamed, piercing the air with shrill tones that reverberated throughout the building. A rough-looking, barrel-chested and mask-wearing man tensed visibly. A diminutive soul, stubby and formerly preoccupied with drawings, jumped and scurried under one of the tables. A skinny male, looking rather scarred and grotesque, awoke from a snoring slumber with a start. Others reacted frenetically this time, spreading actual chaos. Within seconds, the corners were packed with bodies scrambling for safety, some bawling their eyes out or clawing maddeningly at the walls. The panic only served to intensify what Scarlette was feeling. First a chuckle, then a heave, and then…

^{“Hiiiiiiiiirororororororororo~!”}

^{“Ack! That laugh…,” Lecter spluttered:
“It’s really… really… adorable!”}

^{“Hiiroro–,” she choked. “W–What…?”}

“Eh!? How the heck do you find that adorable!?” yelled the female officer. She had been about to strike the strangler with a truncheon of sorts, unbeknownst to the would-be target, but the subsequent recoil at the floored man’s remark had made it so Scarlette had halted her attempt at asphyxiation. “I thought Billy’s scream was frightening, but that laughter’s something else… Sorry!” With a muffled thud, the tool struck the murderess on the noggin. Not hard, but enough to shock her further and make her wrench her fingers entirely from Lecter’s neck to try and protect her own cranium. No sooner had she raised said hands than the warden had grabbed the iron links, using them to haul the hysterical horror from her would-be victim’s body and guide her to sit on a nearby bench. The baton stayed at the ready. “Chief… Who the hell is this woman?”

^{“Her name’s Scarlette,” Johann Carter answered:
“Scarlette Grimm-Rosa. She’s a new patient.”}

^{“Pfft! Just like them not to call first…”}

“They couldn’t have if they wanted to,” piped up the familiar voice of Hawke, wandering upon the scene with a hammer and steel chisel in his hand. “Ol’ Bryan, remember?” Scarlette made to stand, but was rooted by the pressure of both Carter’s and the female officer’s hands upon her shoulders. Instead, she had the time to observe a strange occurrence. As if in response to Hawke’s comment about the deceased mollusc, many a man and woman about the room frowned, slumped or shed a tear. Was a single Den Den Mushi really that important to all these people? Further questions plagued her thoughts, but soon attentions were drawn back to her binds as Hawke begged the question: “Are you sure you wanna break ‘em off her after all that commotion?”

^{“Nope.” Carter. “We’re only breaking the links, not the cuffs.”}

^{“Don’t you have keys?” The female asked:
“I thought we had a whole stack of masters of them?”}

^{“We do, but these are more recent.”}

“Iron links, huh? Figures that they’d go budget on us in the end – newest lot probably aren’t even concentrated.” Hawke blinked, turning to Carter, who was now working on positioning Scarlette’s hands on a table he had pulled closer. The Ability User watched absently, letting her mind trance. “How did you know how recent they are…? How do you know we haven’t got a key?”

^{“I read the serial number,” Johann nodded:
“That and, I’ve had enough time to memorise all the codes.”}

Hawke snorted with laughter, wheezy laughter.

“And you’re sure we don’t have a key?” Breaking from her absence of mind, the psychotic siren queried, like a child asking an innocent question without any real understanding of what was being spoken of. Both of the smaller uniforms looked at her cautiously – they knew right to take care in the presence of a Devil Fruit. Worst of all, none of them had seen – none of them had likely even heard of what the Tane Tane no Mi could do in its current owner’s hands. Carter went to speak, but hesitated. It was not she who noticed, however, but another – the screaming woman from before loomed close like a shadow.

“He lies…? He lies,” she whispered, almost tauntingly, as she shuffled into Scarlette’s view. Tall and lanky, nearly eight feet of woman with a beanpole build and dressed in a slightly patchwork dress of off-white hung like a phantom in the air. She was almost skeletal, which made the seated siren appear rather voluptuous in comparison, and possessed a long and taut visage. Pronounced cheekbones and a tall forehead further defined mournful, indigo eyes set deep in their sockets, and lengths of slightly curled, dry chestnut hair cascaded across her shoulders and upper back, almost reaching her knees.

^{“Aw, Billy, c’mon,” Hawke said, aiding Lecter to his feet:
“There’s no need to be like that, is there…?”}

^{“Liar~! Liar~! Pants on fire~!”}

“Rr…” As a childish boy’s voice sang, its owner crawling out from under a table and approaching, another soul groaned and plodded towards the gathering of uniforms. The former was no taller than three feet, with stubby proportions that reminded the banished berserker of her Homunculi. He even walked a similar waddle, though he was not at all as featureless as they. A rampant, frizzy mop of auburn sat over and framed his smiling, freckled façade. Large eyes of olive glistered with deceptive naïveté in the firelight.

The second, stocky and strong, had a horrid tendency of dragging his feet as he moved. He even seemed to cup the air with his hands as he moved, slow and steady as if treading water or wading through shallows. Unlike the rest, his face was covered by a mask – a rather simplistic papier-mâché adornment that looked to have crude gills cut into it and sat slightly askew upon his head. Dirty, damp and straw-brown hair hung about his head, whilst eyes of amber gazed solemnly through the unevenly cut holes. Both wore standard attire for the locals, though the former’s were clearly cut down to size and the latter’s top had been torn asunder to expose a bare chest.

^{“Rruhu,” the masked one gargled.}

^{“Truth~! Tell her the truth~!”}

“Hmm. You all seem so intent on it,” the Chief Warden sighed, but smiled as the congregation grew. Alongside the younger woman who had offered to cut the stray’s hair now stood the coarse-faced gentleman, short and ashen hair looking as mottled as the blotchy and lumpy skin of his visage. He had watery blue eyes, lips so thin that his mouth practically disappeared when shut, and a crooked and bulbous nose. He matched the stockier sir’s height, but not the build, for he was scrawny and bony and ruddy of complexion. His shambling walk and weary eyes gave the impression of sleepwalking, not least of which as he used outstretched and claw-nailed hands to try and feel out the world around him.

^{“The truth is a lie, a lie is the truth,” the mottled one murmured:
“Is this… a dream? Is this… the real life? Is this just–?”}

^{“Rruhrruh!”}

“It’s alright Voorhees,” the woman officer reassured, still clutching Scarlette’s shoulders. All the handcuffed one could do was watch as the various faces observed her now in more detail. She tried to do the same, but could only really see the obvious. They had disfigurements – the masked one had sets of scars like claw marks upon his neck. Or, they were otherwise very eccentric in their behaviour, proven as the shortest one took a green wax crayon and began trying to scribble on the tallest woman’s maxi skirt. “Krueger’s just woken up again, is all.”

^{“I had a bad dream again,” the named one uttered:
“I saw red lightning… and then the sky split apart.”}

^{“What happened then?”}

“I fell asleep, Sweeney.” There was silence on the air for a moment, so still that the rain once drowned by business could be heard gushing through drainage pipes and the creaks and groans of the building as ice expanded created an eerie orchestral arrangement.

Chang! The silence was broken suddenly. Miss Grimm-Rosa was startled as something sparked softly. Sure enough, Chief Warden Johann Carter was now trying to sever the ties that bound her wrists together, lining up the links and chisel and bringing down the mallet like a judge would a gavel. It was unnerving, to say the least. But it was also relieving. The jury was out – some semblance of freedom was this woman’s sentence.

“Grimm-Rosa, was it not?” Lecter questioned. Carter chipped at the iron again.

^{“Yes…,” she answered:
“But Scarlette’s my first name…”}

“Really…? How peculiar… Ah, pardon us! Where are our manners? Let me introduce you! I’m Lecter, Hannibal Lecter. These fine women are,” he gestured to the taller and the shorter, “Loomis Billy and Todd Sweeney. The little brat is Charles Ray – most of us just call him ‘Chucky’ for reasons you may find out soon enough!”

As if on cue, the small one turned and hurled the crayon he had been using to try and mark Billy’s attire straight at Lecter’s head. The rather dandy man did the unthinkable, tilting his head just enough so as to completely avoid the waxen projectile crashing into his temple. It was a good job he did, too, as the last time Scarlette had seen something move that fast after being thrown, it had been able to pierce flesh with ease. Unfaltering, and the assailant apparently uncaring, Mister Hannibal continued.

“The man behind the mask is Jason Voorhees. Not much of a talker, unfortunately. Michael Myers is more of a conversationalist than he is. Have you met Myers? Giant of a man, dark eyes, likes to look down from above?” Recalling the encounter not all that long ago, memory helping to reduce the shock as Carter continued to chip at the iron rings, the dark-haired demoiselle nodded certainly. “Excellent! You two are acquainted already! And of course, this man here is Freddy Krueger. He may or may not be asleep when you need him and awake when you don’t, but it’s best to ask him either way.” Lecter, who had moved around the group, gave the grotesque and lanky man a pat on the shoulder. He actually went on to introduce others, but their names and faces blended into the background as a miracle transpired. With one loud crack, iron chains broke away from the strange bracelets of suppressing mineral.

Scarlette was free.

V
Release, Demon

Chocolate eyes stared in wonderment as she moved her arms apart. Without restraint, she could do as she pleased, move how she pleased. But more importantly, the breaking of her wrists’ binds had brought with it a sense of safety. No longer did she feel paranoid about her surroundings. If people had a problem with her, she now actually had both hands to defend with. Maybe it was the combination of that and the fact that some of Mullyssa Nemo’s patients were now known to her by name, but either way she felt at ease.

Slowly, she eased the woman officer’s hands off her shoulders and stood, flexing fingers and stretching her arms. Muscles unwound, joints clicked. A soft moan of escaped her lips as her shoulder muscles loosened. A prison of flesh it may have been, but her body was enjoying this semblance of freedom as much as her soul was.

^{“Now,” Scarlette smiled, turning to Carter:
“They said something about the truth?”}

Johann nodded, stowing the iron links, hammer and chisel. Both Hawke and the nameless woman pursed their lips, looked at each other, and then back to the Chief Warden. Both of them had picked upon something in Miss Grimm-Rosa’s voice and behaviour that had not existed before – something they had not seen for as long as she had remained bound. Hidden within her intonations and innocent tilts of the head was a certain charm, unnerving as it was. It was like a child’s query, sweet and knowing enough to understand the lie. The kind of charm that made parents quaver with guilt.

^{“Hawke, Ellis,” he said, “stay with the others.”}

^{“Alright, Chief.”}

^{“Will do.”}

“Scarlette, will you follow me?” There was an ominous shade upon Johann’s face – a grim and serious pall that made his query seem very final. At first, she was hesitant to oblige, but as she looked to the others, they all nodded. Chucky pushed the backs of her legs, as if trying to get her to move, while Voorhees grunted and pointed towards the far end of the room. There stood a doorframe; single as opposed to the doubles through whence she had passed, but the door itself had long since been ripped from its hinges. The goliath with blue eyes began to walk slowly towards it. Another light shove to the back, this time by the long hands of Miss Loomis, secured Scarlette’s pursuit of answers to questions she had never realised existed.

Beyond the doorway was a small corridor with several bedrooms on either side. Some of them had doors, but others simply had shower curtains nailed securely into the doorframes to serve the same purpose of privacy. In some cases, said curtains were literal curtains, or moth-bitten bedsheets. Johann turned a corner at the hallway’s end. When she caught up, the curious killer did the same.

It was a stairway, several flights worth of steps running back and forth as they ascended, and any gaps from which somebody could jump being sealed by tough, wrought iron bars and a thick netting. Candlelight sconces cast an odd light, but windows presented themselves at the peak of every other flight, revealing barred and barricaded glimpses of the outside world. To be honest, the innards of Block A were far more fascinating than the sodden, freezing canvas world beyond the bars.

“Just a little further,” Johann reassured her. They had reached the highest floor, six storeys above the entrance. Not that one could call it a floor in its own right anymore. The roof was cracked and completely eroded in many a place and icicles formed by the bitter rainfalls had already forged strange crystalline pillars that connected floor and ceiling. Various drainage systems tried to keep as much of the moisture away as possible, creating a glaze that lined the edges of the exposed portions. Makeshift barricades had been built up, limiting the area of this pinnacle that was accessible. Nonetheless, all that was needed was this little observation point. A once large window had been completely shattered, leaving an empty frame out of which they looked.

^{“Can you see that building, Scarlette?”}

^“Yes…”

Without the obscuring fog, much of the isle was somewhat visible as little more than silhouettes of jagged outcrops and mountainous hills. Balls of shimmering light were scattered here and there amidst the hills, bright as the watchtowers by which she had passed. But the focus of Carter’s comments to come was the massive structure, worn and decrepit, that towered above all else. It was many a storey tall – a central point of the isle built into mountainous terrain so deep that no entrance area could be seen at its lowest reaches. Some sort of chasm sat to its right.

“That used to be the main building here on Mullyssa Nemo, long ago,” the Chief explained. “Now it’s a place where you should never go if you can help it. Remember what I said about devils, Scarlette? The others won’t speak of it, but there’s a man who dwells at the very summit of that building. Like you, he came here as a patient. But his madness is far beyond anything the others exhibit. It’s been eleven years since he took that place as his own ‘castle’. I’ve never seen him come down, personally, except for one time.”

^{“What happened?”}

“About three years after he locked himself up there, I went to visit him – to try and persuade him to come down.” Johann frowned. “He climbed down to meet me, but he’d changed a lot. Three years of solitude. Can you imagine what that can do to a person? I’ve seen it in some of the others, but with friends around, they soon ease up. Chucky was like that, actually. He used to be ten times worse with throwing things than he is now. But, that man. He used to be very quiet, but then when I went to visit, he’d changed a lot. He was a completely different person. He acted like he ruled the island, as if he was the one in control of it all. When I tried to convince him otherwise, he attacked me.” As if reminiscing about that moment, he scratched lightly at his collar, right of the neck. All of a sudden, he smiled brightly. “I got out alright in the end, of course.”

Silence lingered. Scarlette stared at the main building.

^{“Anyway, simple as that,” the Chief Warden broke the quiet.
“Do a favour, will you? Never go anywhere near that place.”}

^{“…Keys…”}

“Hmm… I can’t be sure, but there were plenty of bits and pieces left behind in the main building. It’s almost impossible to climb it, anyway. The inside’s in a bad way. I wouldn’t try it, especially not in your current state. Even if he did have the key, he wouldn’t give it to you. Anyway, enough about this place’s glum old backstory and dodgy characters,” Johann chuckled. “You’re probably hungry, right? We should get some food, find you a room and let you rest up…”

^{To Be Continued…}

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{OOC}

[/i][/b]

_{Scarlette Grimm-Rosa (960018)
Chief Warden Johann Carter (2e9fbd)
Warden Hawke (d5e056)
Warden Ellis (8bdb84)
Michael, Myers (461e58)
Todd, Sweeney (a207c9)
Hannibal, Lecter (8ca831)
Loomis, Billy (426386)
Charles, Ray (‘Chucky’) (c47022)
Jason, Voorhees (11a759)
Freddy, Krueger (8b1247)
Lieutenant Commander Pug (c5997b)}

[/ul][/spoiler][/font][/sup][/blockquote][/div][/div][/div]