For the first time ever within Jericho's mind, the voices were all completely silenced. It had brought him great pain, and he knew they were still there. They were always were. Probably always will be. . For years, they guided him. Or more, as he'd come to realize, he had been guiding himself. The manifestations of inner knowledge from an unknown source, had left him. No longer could he simply anticipate his next move, or the nature of his opponent. The medication they'd givened him silenced his mind. It had never been so clear.
A hospital. Oh how I loathe hospitals. It's like Bedlam all over. But with more handcuffs.
At first, it had been frightening. Not knowing what happens next? Not knowing when your opponent attacks? Not knowing if they have powers, let alone what they are. He'd never really been afraid before. He was always so sure of himself. Once he learned how to sift through the insanity? To master it and use it to one's advantage, were as another person with the same such ability simply ended up cornering in a corner? That had been Jericho's advantage. Until yesterday anyway. A little bit of prescribed medication and he was like others in many ways. Although a crucial difference, was that Jericho wasn't human. No matter what the DNA tests say. DNA didn't determine what you were.
The advantage of those tests however was that Jericho wasn't a mutant, or metahuman. As far as the doctors said, he was only a man with a diagnosis of an extremely severe case of schzioprenia and symptoms of psychopathy. And so, he got the same treatment. He was not restrained with some power dampening or magical dampening devices. As if Gothic city could afford such a thing. The prison was barely on it's last legs. Innmates with enough money literally walked out, and it was more used as a place to keep crazies and vigilantes. It was a joke. The police were just another gang, but what more they could do? The city was a no man's land. They either became corrupt, or watched families they had, kids they supported die. Watch their life crumble.
Gothic was a cancer, and Jericho knew, there were hardly many conventional cures to any cancer. A cancer can be treated in many ways, and one very common way. It would be better for the body ultimately.
"Uh, Mr. Hammond, you may want to see this." The nurse had said to the doctor, after reviewing his X-Ray. The explosion had killed numerous people and police officers, but Jericho just happened to be standing in just the right position to survive. Not too far to evade it entirely. But just the right distance to be put here. He had some internal bleeding, spinal and skull injuries from being tossed back into a car, and he was recovering well. However, the doctor's had found something, something odd.
A foreign object.
How it got there, it was a mystery, and they were still trying to gauge what the cylindrical object actually was. It was argued whether or not they could have a surgery, or if he even did indeed deserve it. They decided not to waste the money, decided that he would just have to live with it. If he died, he died, and that was that. It didn't matter what the books said. Not anymore.
And so, that night, Jericho woke up, looking at his hand. The hand can't come off. He needs it. So he'd better get started. They will soon return. His teeth went to work on the cuffs. For around 3 hours. Marks began to appear, and he decided was a good time to pull. He was weaker now, before, he could have simply broken the cuffs. But now, he had to weaken it first, however, a bit of leverage helped, and he was still stronger than many a hundred pounds heavier. The chains snapped and he was free. And with time to spare. He had to be quick.
Jericho moved about through the hallways seamlessly, having studied this prison years ago enough to know all of the blindspots of the camera sweeps. He didn't question why he told himself to do this all that time ago. He simply did it. He was able to reach an equipment room and scurry back to the room, where he'd lay in the bed and go to work.
The door opened as the nurse came in to check on the patient, seeing how he was doing. He was finer than she expected it seemed, considering he was standing right in front of the door about to walk out a soon as she entered. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Her throat felt, frozen. Jericho seemed to know this and took advantage of this, grabbing her and forcing her into the room as he'd shut the door behind himself, leaving only him and her.
Her eyes trailed down to what Jericho was holding, it looked to be the object picked up in the X-Ray, with large amounts of blood on his hands, blood that she had come to the conclusion was his. Crimson ran down his abdomen too, and stained his clothes. All over the bed too.
She trembled in fear at the psychopath. One who had taken much life, and killed. Who had Orphaned children. Who seemed to sporadically kill police, criminals and "ordinary" people alike. And yet, if he wanted to kill her. He would have. He hushed her, and instructed her very carefully. Her time was limited, and she only had so much time to escape before it was too late. Before it was to begin. He gave her time, and told her what to do, where to go. Where to hide until it's all over. Assuming this goes where he thinks it does. Whether or not she follows, is up to her. He walked out the room. His lean, toned arm clenching a small scalpel as an improvised weapon as he began to move once more.
I wonder where they put my face....