The Universe's Mixer

Hannibal stood at the window of the room he had long ago rented from Norman Bates. He could not see Arkham Asylum from this very spot, but he knew instinctively where it was. His mind was focused there, though his eyes were not.

The City had taken him in and kept him prisoner. For what purpose, he still did not know. He was fairly sure that there had been many many others in there with him. He had never once seen any of them, but he had heard them. He would be willing to swear that he had felt River, though the absurdity of that would cause him to never speak such out loud.

Doctors and nurses had kept him on drugs that didn't stay in his system like they wanted them to. He was still quite aware despite what they'd put into him, and remembered his stay completely. He was very unhappy with being kept so, but could he harbor ill will toward The City itself? Such a rudimentary and unfathoming being as it was? It was clearly not keeping all of them indefinitely. Hannibal himself had captured bodies for use in study, and other things. Could he then turn around an in a hypocritical statement say that he could not be used for the same goals?

No.

But that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

He had awoken here, in Bates Motel, as if nothing had gone awry. In his bed, staring at the ceiling. With no memory of the time between the asylum gates and the door of his room. Perhaps there had been no time between. Perhaps he had been placed here as surely as he had been taken from here.

The reigning problem for Hannibal currently was River Tam. He could not get back in to Arkham, no matter what he tried. Walking in proved useless, climbing the gates yielded nothing. Despite knowing there previously were comings and goings from the asylum, he could not go in where he had been before. There was some sort of barrier, he thought. Something pushing him away. He was not one to continue where he knew it was useless, so he had turned his back on the place. Angrily, he'd returned to his room here. Where there was no other guest, where there was no Norman.

To wait.

It started when he woke to the sound of the door of his room opening. Orderlies, Crowley assumed. Probably came back to give him more of that glorious sedative that made him sleep. He’d mostly behaved, even when the sedative and drugs wore off. It was strange that they let them wear off. Stranger still when a second orderly entered with a bucket and a sponge and started wiping the script that surround the doorframe, off.

Curious. Since the gradual wear of the drugs eased, Crowley understood where he was. He didn’t understand why he was there, but he sat up on his bed, mostly annoyed that his glorious sleep had been interrupted but now curious as to what was going on.

( There was little harm in asking, so he did. )

When Lorne got back to his room, there was a nurse waiting there. He started to explain to her about ditching the iv, leaving out the part about the singing cat, but she handed him a file folder and his purple suit and hat, and told him he was being released.

"Mr. Lorne," she'd said, "you're free to go. It seems today is your last day with us."

Lorne had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He thanked her, called her sugar, and set about getting dressed and making sure he had everything he'd arrived with. He was still fuzzy on how he'd arrived here, and without the iv, Lorne remembered that Arkham was something out of Batman.

That was troubling.

But as soon as he tied the knot on his very expensive, very Italian, very bright yellow silk tie, Lorne forgot all about that and felt like a whole new demon. He hoped Jake and Jennifer were alright, but he didn't know anything about anyone else here. The iv had seen to that. Lorne simply felt carefree and ready to go. Maybe find Angel.

He took the paperwork off the bed, putting the purple fedora on his head with a flourish, and noticed a little object under the folder, and a note.

The object was a phone, but when Lorne turned it on, it was much fancier than the ones he was used to. It had tinier buttons, and a keypad like a keyboard. When he turned it on, it directed him to an internet page.

"Egad," the demon mused. "What'll they think of next. I have tiny internet!"

He immediately tried to contact Angel Investigations, but the number didn't exist. Also troubling.

"Ehhh. Rats."

Lorne grabbed the note, on his way out of his room now, a slight spring in his step even if there was a big of worry in his heart. He opened it, and couldn't help but wonder.

It was an address. It directed him to go to the address as soon as he could.

Lorne really wished he had tall, dark, and forehead with him right now. What if someone wanted to hurt him? Lately that'd been happening a lot. First Geo's crew, then Holtz blowing up the bar.

Once out the front door of the asylum, Lorne found a cab waiting. He handed the cabby, who, bless his heart, didn't bat an eye at Lorne's green skin, the address.

"Ohhh. Sweet! I love this place," the guy said.
"Yeah? What's there to love?"
"Oh, you'll see, buddy. You'll see!"

Willing to at least trust that he wouldn't get hurt, based on the warm, happy vibes he was getting from the cabby, Lorne spent the ride in anticipation. Where was he going? Why the new phone?

"Here it is," the cabby said, pulling up to an alley.
"An alley?"
"Nope. Down and to the left. See the red light?"
"Sure do. Hey, thanks for the lift."
"Not a problem. Arkham pays us really well for giving you guys rides. Take care."

Lorne nodded, getting out of the cab and looking around at the alley.

"Down and to the left we go, then..."

Lorne found a key in the door. It had a green letter 'L' keyring on it. Lorne figured that meant to turn it. He hoped he didn't explode.

"Oh. My. Stars. And also I think someone else's stars."

Lorne pocketed the key, looking around at an exact copy of Caritas. Exact. Except without vampire hunter damage. He went straight to the bar, humming, and started to fix himself a Sea Breeze. The phone in his pocket started to ring, and the ringtone was the theme to 'Cabaret.'

"Hello?"
A voice on the other end informed him that this place was his, and meant to be a sanctuary. Just like the one in LA had been.
"That's just fine with me, peaches. Just one question. Who's this?"

The line went dead.

16 days. Max must have made quite a mess by now. That damn dog probably had chewed up half of the supplies, and someone was going to pay for it. It took two weeks, but Frank had figured a way out.

The insane girl that talked to invisible friends was nice enough to give The Punisher a doctor's pass card. It was not in itself a means to escape, but it did provide access. Access to supply rooms, to stairwells, and most importantly to privacy. While not his typical loadout, Frank now had a scalpel made into a spear, several bottles of heavy sedatives, syringes and most importantly a map of the place in his mind.

The Punisher walked calmly through the common room trying not to raise any alarm. He pressed his back against a door marked Staff Only. The electronic lock opened with a faint click and he fled into the service corridor. A muffled oompfh could barely be heard in the next room as an orderly was treated to nap time by a spinning heel kick.

It was now or never.

In the beginning, there was nothing.

A sea of black, both opaque and velvety. No light, no shine, no breath of life.

Until a hand dared protest and it grunted as it slapped itself onto the absent floor and heaved its body up. With a gasp for breath, Paprika tossed her head up and grabbed onto the floor with a second grip. She felt as if her legs were fluid, as though a heavy wind or an inky sea was moving them and tugging her away from the black rocks.

But she pulled herself up and grunting again, she forced her upper body onto the surface and crawled forward. And when she could feel her legs, she pushed her knees onto the ground and forced herself up.

When she looked up, a slam echoed into the darkness, and she gasped as she hurried forward, crying, "Wait, wait!!" making a dash towards oblivion. She mustn't have ran for a long time, she knew, but dreams were strange places with a bizarre time pace. Before she knew it, the wall was upon her, and she slammed onto it with an audible thud but she didn't give up. Raising her fist, she slammed it against the surface in front of her. ( Open up! I said, open up-- )