Unhinged


   Darkness. To those accustomed to the pampering light, it is a hell. Robbed of their pathetic sight, they stumble and crawl like worms wriggling on hot pavement. Inle had no such impairment. To him, the night was an advantage. Leaping from a rock ledge, he landed silently two stories below. Rising to his feet, he began to take in his surroundings. Silence. Dead, still air. The musty smell of decay. He frowned with one side of his face, the other frozen in a permanent sneer by a wicked scar.
   The Black Rabbit base was deserted. Though Inle knew his victory in the DABR would have repercussions for the clan, he never suspected they would move the headquarters. Walking into the mouth of the abandoned cave, Inle sniffed the dry air, searching for anyone's scent. Nothing. No one. Inle frowned again. His mission had failed before he had even left. Turning around, he began to head towards his extraction point.
   *Thud*
   A normal human wouldn't have heard the sound as it echoed through the vast Abernathy of the base. Inle, however, did hear. Turning around, he quickly ran to the source of the noise.
   *Thud*
   It came again, louder this time. Suddenly realizing where the sound was coming from, Inle picked up speed as he followed a familiar path.
   "Damn it," he said to himself as he turned another corner, nearly skidding on the smooth earth. At last, Inle pulled up short at a large, steel door embedded in the bedrock. He reached out with his hand and felt the cold metal.
   *Thud*
   Inle could feel the vibrations through the door this time. He was definitely in the right place. He grabbed the circular locking mechanism with both hands and turned with all his strength. The squeal of the of rust told him that the door had been closed for a very long time. As the door slid open on rusty hinges, a body in a straitjacket fell forward through the door, hitting the ground hard. The first thing Inle noticed was the smell of blood coming from the room and the body.
   "Clanbrother Inle!" the body joyously cried. Rolling onto his back and hopping up to his feet, the man ran right up to Inle and began surveying his scarred cheek. Inle could smell that the blood was coming from the man's forehead.
   "Who hurt you, Clanbrother Inle? Do you want me to steal his sole or his soul?" the man asked.
   "He's already dead, Mephistophilus," Inle said. "Why did they lock you up this time?" Mephistophilus began to beam at the question.
   "They told me to-" he laughed.
   "That's all you need to say," Inle sighed, realizing anything they told him to do was trouble.
   "Such potential," Inle thought, "If only it were more than potential."
   "How long were you in there for, and do you know why they left you?" he said aloud. Mephistophilus cocked his head in contemplation.
   "Hmm... long enough for the bat-out-of-hell-aries to die die DIE and the food and water to go dry dry dry," he replied, his emotions rapidly changing from contemplation to rage to sorrow. He nodded towards a small radio wedged in between two pipes, one labeled food and the other labeled water. "And nope ope."
   "When was that?"
   "About fifty-two quarter-days ago, give or take a few dime-days," Mephistophilus said, running over to the pipes. He then arched his back and slammed his head against them. "No matter how hard I hack and smack and hack and smack it won't come back!"
   "Yes, well, it's fortunate for both of us that I found you," Inle said, throwing a leather sack to the ground in front of Mephistophilus. "I brought you some new clothes, as well as food and water; the rest of your things are probably still in your cell. Get dressed." Mephistophilus immediately picked the leather sack up with his teeth, threw it into the air, and allowed the strap to fall over his shoulder.
   "All done!" he cried like a child that learns a new skill. Inle pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He had forgotten how hard it was to deal with Mephistophilus. "I have a job for you." Had he had the strength, Mephistophilus would have torn himself out of the straitjacket and thrown his arms in the air. Either way, he didn't have to. The jacket was no longer tied, probably hadn't been for days.
   "What? What is my job, Clanbrother Inle? Destruction, fire, locusts, murder of the first born?!"
   "My new employers happened to overhear me mention you, and they think you'll be perfect for their plans.
   "I like planes and plans and pans! What do I have to do?!" Mephistophilus cried, grabbing Inle by the arms. This time, Inle smiled, his scar giving it a far more sinister look.
   "You just have to do what you do best... go crazy."