Notoriously Nefarious- The Rise of a Neu Reich

by Sergio Black

  Nefarious coils close to the Raven and prepares to launch himself at the detention center in a moment’s notice like a human wrecking ball. Nefarious looks down at his pet and meets the Raven’s eyes which resemble his own, and greatly approves of his house animal, for he feels that outside of Winsor Magnus, it is the only other creature that can understand the power of pain. Sweeping his line of vision outward, he admires the fierce wings that look like a hundred stacked butcher knives. Nefarious taps into his 3rd eye that manifests through a 5th-dimensional wormhole forming over his right shoulder. He backchecks No.3, who still lays slathered on the Raven’s tail feathers. Nefarious can’t help the prickling sensations that ravish his skin like a lover’s toxic touch, thinking of the deathly reunion between the Mad Doctor and himself...

  Nefarious feels a power ripple in the Universe powerful enough to garner his attention. The veins in his body glow brightly then center to his eye, Poof! The vessels in his corneas explode, sending tears of blood down his cheeks. The Eye of Vergina sputters to life momentarily, his vision vastly blurs then everything fades to black like dawn’s final ember. ‘An ascension? This powerful, but how? I can feel…’ The energy of a thousand stars that courses through Nefarious’ veins now begins to explode from his pores like a multitude of cherry bombs. Feeling lightheaded, Nefarious fights to keep both eyes open, robbed of cognizance, nothing can ever be what it was...

  ***

  The Mad Doctor stands over Nefarious, slapping him to attention with a homely smile. “Wakey wakey, eggs, and bakey!” Nefarious peels both eyelids back, his equilibrium slightly unsettled, through hazy vision he fights for focus before his irises hone into perception, looking down his half-naked body. Nefarious lays strapped to a stretcher, imprisoned in a white blank cell, the only source of light coming from a dingy overhead fixture that swings ominously. Nefarious looks forward, attempting to see beyond the two-way panel before abandoning the effort. For the first time since his ascension, he feels physically human. Rolling his head to his right shoulder, both eyes fall upon the Mad Doctor who grins with stupid enthusiasm before shouting in Nefarious’ face with enjoyable menace.

  “Welcome to Desolation Row! The place where all Superiors who reside within these Panic Rooms get tested on, then ultimately die! I know who you really are and who your parents were. You will suffer the same horrendous fate. You may have ascended and look much different but I have tracked you your whole life. I let you live so I could enjoy watching you suffer. I was the sole reason the High Heretic let you go. Now, before we begin, any questions?” Nefarious lunges forward and chomps hold of the Mad Doctor’s ear, and thrashes like a rabid dog with a rabbit, feeling the crunch of cartilage, the fracture of skin, and the gooey texture of acrid blood that fills his mouth; the glorious taste of Andrew’s pain elates his palate like sweet mango nectar. The Mad Doctor raises his hand and swipes wildly, digging his crusty nails into Nefarious’ face, his efforts all but futile. “AHHH! WAHH! Get him off my fucking ear!”

  Lisa Ann stands in a standard SS grey frock and matching leggings as she watches the outburst of sudden violence, shying her head away, she simply opens the door for security. The hefty security guards who sit in the other room behind the two-way mirror, stumble over one another’s fat stomachs, to push their way through the narrow exit of the small observation room. Hanging a left, the security guards stampede through the open door and make their way to the bed. The guards reach for their collapsible batons that hang from plus size utility belts, and wrap their sausage sized fingers around the steel handles, pulling them loose, they extend the batons with a sharp SHANK! SHANK! SHANK! The guards continue to smack Nefarious in the face with loud THUDS! Nefarious ignores the physical injury dealt by security and giving one last grunt, he rolls his head to the opposite side, ripping off the top portion of the Mad Doctor’s ear, he chews the rubbery flesh like he was eating jerky and swallows with an over exaggerated GULP! followed by an AHHH! and the smack of satiated lips. The Mad Doctor’s jerking momentum pulls him backward and he falls to his butt, his whole-body trembling as he tries to cup his bloody ear to no avail, the warm blood seeping through bony fingers. He’s in a fit of such rage it could rival the anger of an adolescent child.

  “EHHH! You’ll fucking pay for this, I’ll rip out those defiant eyes from their sockets!” The guards circle around the Mad Doctor and have difficulty helping him to his feet due to the excess of blood gushing from his open wound which slicks the floor like Castor oil. Once they have a firm hold on the Mad Doctor, they assist him to his feet and brush past Lisa Ann, escorting him from the room to seek medical care. The last guard to exit is a pasty, sweaty, white man wearing a black ball cap with SS GUARD emblazoned across the top and a 2XL uniform. He looks to Nefarious then to Lisa Ann with some obvious concerns.

  “You gonna be okay, Miss?” Lisa Ann turns her head and meets his blue eyes.

  “Yes. I’ll be okay. Someone should watch him, he’s unpredictable. Just take care of Doctor Rush.” The guard nods.

  “Okay, Miss, just, umm… just, don’t get too close. That one there, he’s dangerous.” The security guard closes the door, a small click ensures her and Nefarious are locked in together and they’re alone. Lisa Ann stares at Nefarious a second too long and can’t help but think of how handsome he is. The eyes, in her opinion, are the most mesmerizing hue of amethyst she’s ever befallen, she would almost describe them as being uncut by nature. Nefarious pays all his attention forward, dissecting Lisa Ann as she studies him, but he probes her with a plague of familiarity.

  “So… you’re the ascension I felt…” The words ground Lisa Ann out from her brief flight to cloud 9. Staying silent, she careens her eyes to the floor, avoiding Nefarious’ hypnotic eyes. Nefarious feels a seed of anger rooting in his stomach at the show of insolence, for he is not one to be ignored. “Look at me!” Lisa Ann is so caught off guard by the outburst, she almost jumps out of her Neu German uniform, and tilts her head back, just enough to meet Nefarious’ eyes. Nefarious loses his breath and can only utter one word… “LILY?”

  Lisa Ann discerns obvious confusion as she starts to pore over Nefarious’ face, trying to make sense of the one singular word he has just said, then it hits her like a freight train. “LILY,” only one boy called her by that name. “You’re- No, you can’t be him-” Lisa Ann refuses to believe her own logic and panics, leaving the room in a hurry, she slams the door shut on her way out. Lisa Ann catches her wind from the bizarre turn of events that made her question the basis of her existence. She puts her back to the small corridor, sinks to her butt, and lets out a breath of air. Bottled up confusion takes her like an avalanche on a downward descent. Lisa Ann begins to breathe heavily before choking and eventually breaking into uncontrollable sobs. “That can’t be the boy in the wheelchair. I don’t even remember his name. But those eyes, those piercing eyes. Oh, how could I ever forget them…”

  Inside the room, Nefarious relaxes the best he can, having flashbacks of himself and the girl he only knew as Lily. The star-filled nights they spent together pretending to be kings and queens of imaginary worlds where the population was treated with equality, kindness and where prosperity would blossom like perennial lilies. The pandemonium begins to take hold of Nefarious, finding himself at somewhat of an impasse, deciding what to do with his only childhood friend. A spitting image of Eden. Coincidence? So many questions… So, few answers. Nefarious is interrupted, derailing his train of thought, by the cell’s heavy door creaking open. Six physicians in white lab coats pile through the doorway in a manner that seems somewhat rehearsed. Entering the small room, they wheel between them an old, rusty crash cart. Each doctor varies in size from 5ft 6in to 6ft 6in, their identities all but a mystery as they’re obstructed by Donald Trump masks. The doctor in charge is a lengthy man standing every bit of 6ft 6in with a protruding pot belly that strains against his black N.S.W.P. buttoned down physician’s coat, and on his head, he wears a red hat that simply reads: MAKE NEU AMERICA GRE
AT AGAIN! The doctor wearing the abhorrent hat rolls the crash cart forward that holds a variety of items including, scissors, gauze, needles and sedatives, and parks it right next to Nefarious’ bedside. The doctor speaks through a voice modulator that replicates Bill Clinton’s pompous voice but would normally be that of a thick southern accent from the deep south.

  “How are we feeling today, Mr. Warstar? Let me be the first to say it’s such an honor to meet you, my colleagues and I are the Plague Doctors. God, it’s really good to meet you, the Notoriously Nefarious is what they’re calling you now on Fear Neus Network and on their sister station, Fear Neus International. The fact that you have managed to evade capture for so long and have caused so much chaos and devastation is an absolute achievement. Just thinking of the addition, you could have made to the Neu Empire is absolutely staggering. In latter retrospect, none of that matters now, you can just call me Dr. Feelgood. Get it? Because I’m a Doctor who’s gonna make (Myself) feel good.” Dr. Feelgood shucks his shoulders and snaps his fingers, before laughing at his own cheesy joke like a washed-up comedian who thought he was funnier than he actually was. Nefarious lets out a sigh at the idiotic two-liner and refuses to speak. He lazily careens his eyes to Dr. Feelgood, silently thinking what everyone else in the room thinks, ‘MORON.’ Dr. Feelgood clears his throat. “Tough crowd. Anywho, you don’t have to talk to us, Mr. Warstar, that’s fine. We don’t need your words nor consent to continue. First things first though, Andrew is pretty messed up after what ya did and he feels that ripping the pride outta ya would do everyone including yourself some good. He wants that haircut; thinks it’ll help take the wild outta ya.” Nefarious’ eyes narrow, and he stares at each of the doctors as if daggers will explode through their skulls.

  “Fools... touch me and I’ll do much worse than take an ear.” The Plague Doctors look at each other then bellow in unison.

  Dr. Feelgood slaps his thigh and falsely wipes a tear from his mask like he was a washed-up actor on New York’s theatre stage. “Oh, God, Mr. Warstar, that just tickles my gut. It’s cute that you might think you’re in control of the variables that determine the outcome. Just hold still, don’t make this harder than it ought to be.” Dr. Feelgood steps forward, and evaluates Nefarious with careful novelty the way one would a horse, but is careful to avoid Nefarious’ teeth. Dr. Feelgood lets his right-hand scramble over the numerous objects on the crash cart with the intent to psychologically torment Nefarious. Like a famished snake, Dr. Feelgood strikes and snatches up a red pair of scissors. He attempts to grab Nefarious’ thick hair but misses his wild locks as Nefarious leans his head outward, dodging the over eager hand. Dr. Feelgood lets out a frustrated sigh and leans back, then looks over his shoulder to his colleagues who murmur around uselessly like Hollywood’s sycophantic entourage.

  “Grab ‘em.” The Plague Doctors look to each other then hesitantly encircle Nefarious’ bedside as each of them grab different parts of his face, forcing him still. Dr. Feelgood looks down to his plague associates. “Got ‘em?” They look to each other then nodded. Nefarious’ eyes grow wide as he tries to fight against forceful hands with all the strength he can conjure. Dr. Feelgood leans across the bed and grabs a silky lock of Nefarious’ hair then snips the strands that are pulled taut. CHINK! The scissors bend outward then snap in half as if they were nothing more than brittle twigs caught between coarse fingers. Dr. Feelgood raises the scissors close to his blue eyes and inspects them precariously, twisting and turning them about.

  “Incredible. Simply incredible, Mr. Black. I’m now curious as to what the tensile strength of your hair is.” Dr. Feelgood looks up to his coworkers. “Any suggestions?” His entourage look from one another before a bald, rail-thin doctor with blue eyes and a beak nose speaks up.

  “An electric saw maybe?” Dr. Feelgood and his plague associates all nod their heads in agreement. Dr. Beak-Man leaves the room and returns almost as quickly as he’d gone, with in one hand a 4-pound cordless blue Worx saw. Dr. Feelgood nods and smiles beneath his mask, “Yes yes, good work, Dr. Beak-Man.” The skinny man chuckles and takes this opportunity to metaphorically suckle his bosses' balls.

  “Well, you know sir, not anyone could have suggested it, I am just glad to be a valuable member of the team.” Dr. Feelgood heard enough babbling.

  “Yea yea okay, if you would be so kind as to not slob on my knob, I would greatly appreciate that, okay.” The other doctors who seethed with envy just seconds before, now fight to stifle their laughs. Dr. Beak-Man hands off the blue saw to Dr. Feelgood, then lowers his head and takes a few steps back. Dr. Feelgood looks around the room. “Let the record show that this is an industrial saw and our second attempt to tame this beast known as public enemy numero uno, Notoriously Nefarious.” Dr. Feelgood flips the switch from OFF to ON, located on the under belly of the saw, he grasps it with his left and pulls the trigger inside the rear of the handle. The saw roars to life, Wren! Wren! Wren! Dr. Feelgood stands to the side and grabs Nefarious’ hair… Nefarious sits back and relaxes, thinking to himself silently, ‘You fools really think this time will be any different?’

  Dr. Feelgood presses the saw forward expecting it to easily slice through Nefarious’ hair, the saw makes a loud WREHHHHH! before it smokes from friction. It busts free from the slot, and ricochets off a wall, then soars right past Dr. Feelgood’s head just as he hits the deck, CHK! Dr. Feelgood turns around to find that the blade has buried itself deep inside the skull of Dr. Beak-Man. He stands gaping and sputtering as blood runs down his forehead. He teeters forward before collapsing on the floor. All the Plague Doctors look at Nefarious, who smiles in satisfaction, his eyes conveying pleasure. Dr. Feelgood speaks up with trepidation in his voice. “I think that’s enough for now, we will reconvene later when we have a better solution.” The Plague Doctors can’t stumble out of the room fast enough, slamming the door behind themselves with a subtle click. The rattle of the handle ensures the door was locked on their way out...

  The Mad Doctor’s eye swivels in random directions as he and Lisa Ann stand in a small conference room with a two-way mirror. They are shocked as they just witnessed the undesirable events unfold, his wounded ear taped and patched with fresh gauze pads, seeping and palpitating as if it had its own heartbeat. The Mad Doctor shakes until he boils over with frustration. He forms a hard fist until his knuckles whiten, then pounds his decaying fist on the silver table set in front of them, shuffling and kicking in an attempt to turn it over, his pitiful efforts result only in overexertion.

  “Damn him!” The Mad Doctor aborts his sad attempts at sabotage and keels over, resting his weight on both knees, he lifts his right hand and places it on Lisa Ann’s shoulder, using her body to steady himself upright. Out of breath, he grabs the inhaler from within his peacock coat and places it to his quaint lips then releases Zanamivir into his lungs, CHT! Lisa Ann can’t help but flinch at the sound of exhaling medicine. She’s even more disturbed by his ever-growing erratic behavior. It’s very apparent the Mad Doctor is becoming derailed, the signs are obvious: he smells like pig shit, and it was obvious he hadn’t changed his clothes when they returned from Attica. Lisa Ann avoids his gaze and looks to her newly acquired low heeled, black shoes, she feels the Mad Doctor’s ugly leer drilling into her skull. “Any ideas, Lisa Ann?”

  Lisa Ann nods meekly, not 100% sure if she wants to aid Andrew in what he has planned next. She looks at him and can’t help herself from eye hawking his careening eye. Andrew is not ashamed about many things but he can feel Lisa Ann gaping at his imperfection. “What are you staring at! I asked you a question!” Lisa Ann shifts her gaze to his good eye.

  “Sorry, nothing, I was lost in thought. I think you should try the Spear, it’s a plausible attempt if you’re only looking to cut his hair. That’s all you want to do, right, is trim his hair, right?” The Mad Doctor never breaks his fixation but just nods in agreement, and smiles evilly.

  “Mhmm yes, of course. Run a few tests and further sample his blood. Noth
ing more. But, by God yes, Lisa Ann, that could work! Come, Lisa Ann, we must retrieve it from my ARK!” The Mad Doctor turns away with sinister intent and walks through the side exit with Lisa Ann closely behind. The exit opens to a small corridor that has white doors on either end, the left room leading to Nefarious’ cell and the other leading to the N.S.W.P.’s main hallway; the duo goes right, barging through the door that delves into the N.S.W.P.’s main hall. The Mad Doctor and Lisa Ann walk in silence, passing rows upon rows of rectangular doors that open to small panic rooms designated to contain Superiors of all levels.

  Normally a panic room would be used to keep one safe from a volatile situation like a break-in, robbery, etc, but these Panic Rooms were called as such because they were retrofitted to create torment and cause holy terror of the worst kind. Lisa Ann has the feeling the Superiors within the cells are not treated very humanely and the N.S.W.P.’s cause is nothing as was propagated by Fear Neus Network, Fear Neus International, and other mainstream media. To the rest of the world, the N.S.W.P. is seen as a professionally run lock-up center, prepping Superiors for re-entry to society or to be inducted into one of the many ranks of the Nations Kill Squads, depending on the level of power an individual employ.