Disclaimer: I own nothing. All Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters and Sucker Punch characters are the property of their original owners.
At the back of their small procession walking through the dimly-lit corridors of the Lennox House for the Mentally Insane sometime in the early 1960’s, a lustful orderly was enjoying the view. Despite having all the sexiness of a potato sack, the rough cloth dress worn by the young woman meekly following the other orderly ahead in front still stretched tightly over the first-rate ass of this blank-faced bitch. From the looks of things, she was going to be one of the numb inmates who didn’t react to anything, much less cause trouble. That made her a prime candidate for a little tapping of whatever orifice--
Lost in his vile thoughts, the orderly shifted slightly in his path, taking him closer to the corridor wall on his right. He next extended his pace a bit to crowd up closer to the girl and look over her shoulder in preparation for checking out her tits. During all this, the orderly’s right sleeve brushed up unnoticed against the cell door the trio were passing by.
An immediate reaction came from the inhabitant lurking in that specific cell:
The three people in the corridor reacted identically, all of them violently flinching away from that savage snarl. Backs slammed into the opposite corridor wall, to be fearfully pressed against this. Sweat breaking out over their bodies, the girl and her guards stared in shared shock at the cell door.
This heavy steel portal seemed to be literally vibrating from the unrelenting, animalistic growl coming from behind there. That sound was subconsciously evoking in every human there the primal memories of their ancestors’ existence, well before the discovery of fire and using tools. In that long-distant age, nature was indeed red in tooth and claw when it came to a certain two-legged species only a few dozen generations out of the trees. These shambling creatures trying to survive a very dangerous world had then just enough intelligence to be dimly aware of how much their approaching fanged death was going to hurt them.
As one, the orderlies reached for their truncheons. Trembling grips with damp hands clutching these clubs gave them both just a bare measure of comfort. The orderly furthest up the corridor and also thankfully the farthest away from the door stuttered through dry lips, “J-- J-- Jesus Christ, Mike! Why’d you set him off?”
Desperately trying to control his bladder, Mike whined over the head of the girl huddled between them, “I didn’t mean to! Look, Stan, let’s just get the fuck outta here and deliver this cunt to Doctor Gorski!”
“Damn straight!” husked Stan. He sidled away along the wall for a few steps, before reaching out to brutally grab the frail shoulder of the cowering girl who hadn’t moved a muscle. Yanking her along, Stan maintained his vicious grip to then frog march into an uncertain fate the latest inmate of a mental institution with a decidedly evil reputation.
Mike was of course right at their heels, as all three people fled down the corridor.
Still shivering while being shoved headlong at a frantic clip, the delicate beauty who’d soon be known to all as Babydoll tried to deal with being so roughly jerked out of her stupor. This dazed state had lasted ever since her parents’ deaths and all the other tragedies thereafter. These unfortunate events had ended with her being committed by a wicked stepfather into the greatly-suspect care and treatment of the county medical authorities.
Now, despite her overpowering terror, she was beginning to notice things again. Such as the floor plan of her new prison, a cupboard for keys to the hallway sliding steel doors, and much else…
Back in the cell, a shaggy head which had a white horizontal streak along the lank hair on the side of his skull was again laid down to rest upon the stained concrete floor. Slowly halting his maddened snarl, a filthy man clad only in an equally grimy straightjacket curled up as best as he could with his legs shackled together.
Beginning to return to his interrupted slumber, an enraged grimace shown past an untrimmed, matted beard and a hollow crater for a left eye didn’t shift in the slightest. The inmate listed under the asylum records as “Identity -- Unknown” closed his remaining eye and tried to escape the only way he could now, into a deep, restless sleep.
Except, an instant later, Xander Harris was wide awake and staring intently at the door of his cell. He’d been doing it so long that an actual effort was needed to relax his facial muscles from their near-permanent mask of fury. But now, the expression upon his visage was one of actual…puzzlement?
Without hesitation, Xander squirmed forward on his stomach, ignoring the cold concrete rubbing against his raw skin. He didn’t stop moving until his nose was pressed up against the flap of the lower door slot where the orderlies dispensed through this the double metal bowls containing his daily slop and water. Not that anyone dared to actually reach into his cell. Instead, those pricks used their truncheons to push the flap open and then shove the bowls in there. A small hole had been punched in the rims of both bowls, with a string knotted there to each. After clumsily slurping by his mouth alone what bare sustenance Xander received, these strings were used to hastily remove the bowls, all without the door being opened.
Anyway, Xander took a thorough sniff of the somewhat cleaner air coming through the cracks in the door slot. This was why he’d made his painful way there, since he was almost due for his monthly hosing down. This usually occurred around then, or when the patrolling orderlies couldn’t stand any more the stench issuing from their prisoner’s cell. Hey, let them try to go to the bathroom in chains and a straightjacket. Not to mention there for damn sure wasn’t a toilet, or even a pot or bucket. Just an open drain he had to squat over, once he’d done the contortions necessary to get up on his feet.
Right now, Xander was willing to kill for a single sheet of Charmin Ultra.
On second thought, he was much more willing to kill a lot
of people over a lot
That definitely included having pails of bleach tossed into Xander’s general direction while he crouched in a corner opposite the drain hole, his back to the door. Next came getting sprayed with pummeling force by ice-cold water from a hose held by an uneasy orderly backed up by a half-dozen other hospital assistants wielding axe handles to keep him from lunging at all and sundry.
Wimps. So far, he’d only managed to bite off just one
finger throughout the entire hectic process.
Xander dismissed those thoughts, to instead concentrate on what he was smelling from outside over his rank aroma. Taking long, slow breaths through his nose, the New Council associate tried to think past the crushing sensation in his brain caused by far too many occupants presently ensconced in there.
At last, the man’s face worked, for him to next utter in a harsh, grating voice the first word he’d let escape from his lips for close to six months: