‘Back To The Asylum:Part One’ by Ahmed Nader Gretly


News came like a stampede. The distributors were able to recruit about thirty members, which meant thirty bottles of Blue. Some of the remaining bottles broke, and some were actually injected by potential members, but these members could not handle the process of Blue settling in their bodies. Nonetheless, the distributors and the new members headed towards The Doctor’s laboratory at the Cesspool Asylum. The cops already knew The Doctor worked at the asylum, but they had no clue that his lab was there.  Mordecai Rogers knew exactly where The Doctor’s lab was, and it was a matter of time before he led the cops inside the building. The asylum was under heavy surveillance, like we’d expected; they even evacuated the building from all the nut-jobs. Coppers surrounded the odd-shaped building, and the building itself was on lockdown. That did not stop the gang because The Doctor had another way in, which was by using an old tunnel system that led directly to his lab. The problem was that there were three cops standing in the street where the entrance to the tunnel was located. The plan was to get in, get the chemicals and notes, and get out. The new recruits created a diversion in front of the asylum by opening fire onto the cops, which led the men standing over the entrance to the passageway to move to the front of the building. The Doctor, The Painter, Martin, Ella, and Ape-man snuck inside, and closed the door behind them. The gang succeeded in acquiring the items The Doctor needed, but catastrophe struck when they were making their great escape out of the asylum. Ape-man was the first to come out of the tunnel’s door, he was shot in the head the moment he pocked his furry head out into the open. Martin closed the door right away, locking it tight so no one would be able to enter.  Ella ran and locked the door that led the way to the underground floor that had the lab. That was when The Doctor called us from a telephone inside his lab, and gave us the grave news. They were trapped with no way out, and it was our mission to save them. We all knew it was a suicide mission; I knew from the beginning that this whole operation was insane, but then I made the realization that this was an old man’s last attempt in doing something about our rouge government. Surprisingly, I did not feel anxious, especially after Butch showed Mary and I the arsenal he had in the trunk of his car. However, this did not change the fact that we were out numbered. I thought about all that as we made our way through side streets and dirt roads to get to the building where our friends were held captive. Butch did not really have a plan, which was the only logical plan in that type of situation. He said that we’d go there, and fight till our last breath, that if they really wanted us dead, we’d give them the fight of their lives. He kept repeating that we’d give them hell; we’d make them strive to kill us, for it was the only way. Two miles away from the asylum, Butch turned off the lights, and parked the car in a ditch. We got out of the car, and started packing anything and everything that was inside the car’s trunk. Guns, rifles, hand grenades, shotguns, and knives, anything that could or would cause harm to a person.  Butch, Mary, and I made sure that everything was locked and loaded, and then we made for the asylum. After walking for some time, we hide in a field of high grass ten feet from the building, right outside the metal fence that surrounded the asylum. Butch took out his binoculars and scanned the area.

“About thirty coppers scattered all around, and the bodies of the new recruits, some coppers’ bodies too.” He said “This is gonna be good.”

“How is this good in any way, Butch?” Mary asked.

“Coppers are stupid,” He chuckled “No matter how scattered they are or what they’re doing, they’ll run like sheep when they hear an explosion. Their curiosity gets the best of them, and they run towards the source of the bang!”

He took out three C-4 bombs, gave each one of us a bomb, and told us to plant each one of them, one on the east, one on the west, and one in front of the asylum. He was in charge of planting the one in front of the building because it was the trickiest. Mary planted her bomb on the east side because that was our location at the time, and I moved towards the west to plant mine. It was easy enough because the high grass surrounded the parameter of the building, except the front. I planted my C-4, and snuck back to our original location, where Mary and I waited for Butch.

“This is insane.” I said.

“Yeah, I know.” Mary said “But we’re insane, and all of this seems logical for some reason.”

“I guess you’re right, and even if we get killed, what of it?”

“Don’t say that, okay? Please don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry.”

We heard a rustle in the grass, and Butch appeared from the shadows. It was dark, but we could see the blood on his hands.

“We gotta hurry,” He said “Had to knife two coppers to plant the bomb; they’ll sound the alert any minute.”

“What now?” Mary asked.

“Simple,” Butch said “We’ll fire up Cali’s bomb, then run towards the gate in the middle of all the commotion. Next, this bomb right here, after that, we’ll run like hell towards the asylum’s main entrance, killing anything that moves on our way. The moment we reach the entrance, we’ll fire up the bomb at the front of the building, which is thirty feet away from where we’ll be standing. Finally, we’ll kill the rest of them, and save our friends.”

“Okay,” I stared at Butch while his plan settled in my mind “Umm… Interesting plan.”

“Got a better one?” He asked.

“No, no I don’t.”

“Let’s go then.”

I held the detonator in my hand, and looked at it for a moment. We all stood, and got ourselves ready to run. I pressed the button, and in less than a second, the sound of the explosion echoed through the night. I could not believe my eyes, all the scattered cops began running towards the fire on the west side of the building. We sprinted towards the front, where there was no hiding place whatsoever. The main gate stood in-between two metal columns, and the bodies of the cops Butch had just killed lay on the ground. Mary hid behind one column, Butch behind the second, and I crouched next to Mary’s feet.

“You know,” I said “If we get out of this alive, we should get married.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Mary stared down, looking into my eyes.

“I wanna marry you, Mary.”

“I-I can’t believe this,” she stuttered “Yes! I’d love to marry you, Calisto Gretly.”

I stood up, put my hand on her cheek, and kissed her, wrapping one arm around her slender waist.

“This is a lovely moment and all,” Butch said “But we have coppers to kill here.”

“Sorry, Butch.” I said.

“I’m not.” Mary said, grabbed my head, and pulled it towards her face, kissing my lips with an immense amount of passion.

Butch chucked, and then motioned Mary to light up the bomb on the east side. She looked at me, and then got her shot gun ready. Butch took out two hand grenades; I held my revolver in one hand, and a semi-automatic in the other. She pressed on the detonator, and the bomb exploded. Mary blasted the gate open, and we began shooting. Bullets flied here and there, and I could see the pig-faced coppers falling, running in sheer panic, and trying to kill us. Till this very day, I do not remember what really happened in that scene, but by some divine miracle; we found ourselves in front of the asylum’s entrance without even a single scratch. Butch fired up the bomb at the gate, and after that, there wasn’t much left to shoot. I was surprised to see the entrance locked, because in my head, I thought the coppers had entered the building in search of the people who locked themselves inside. We made our way inside the asylum, and the memory of my last visit to this place projected itself upon my mind. Butch, Mary, and I ran through these maze like hallways, making lefts and rights until we reached a stairway that lead us to the floor where our friends were locked down. We stood in front of the door, and knocked, but nobody answered. We knocked again, and waited a few minutes, but still, nobody came to the door.

“Something’s not right.” Butch mumbled.

“What’s going on here?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” He said “But something stinks.”

Butch took a few steps back, and kicked the door with his giant foot, but the door did not budge. He tried several times, but got the same result. I pointed the semi-automatic at the doorknob, and fired three bullets.

“Smart move, kid,” Butch said, but I could head the concern in his voice “You should do this for a living.”

He slowly pushed the door open, holding his gun with both hands. He stepped on the threshold, pointing his gun in front of him. Butch took a step inside the room, and I heard a gun blast. The back of his head exploded, and his blood sprayed on my face. Butch The Butcher fell to his knees, and then on his back, with his glassy eyes staring at the ceiling.


About Ahmed Gretly

Ahmed Nader Gretly. Construction/Site Engineer, fiction writer, poet, psychopath, researcher, a book addict, and a daydreamer from Cairo, Egypt. Currently doing Construction Project Management, MSc, at Heriot-Watt University, Edinburgh.
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