Post by Xara Lor-Van on Jun 23, 2013 12:22:30 GMT -5
Winslow Schott liked pretty things. Pretty things that were warm. Pretty things that smelled good. Pretty things that felt good to touch.
No-one understood how much Winslow loved his pretty things and he knew that people would come and try to take them away.
That’s why he hid them underground, far away from the prying eyes of the police and the others with their bright lights and their questions. They didn’t understand that he loved his little dolls – he loved them more than their teachers, more than the police – why, he loved them even more than their parents did.
And they loved him back; after all, if they did not, why would they come with him? Of course, Winslow had use his special toys to entice them… but these things were gifts. And the chemicals he put in them didn’t harm his little friends. No, rather it made them happy and eager to play. Eager to give him cuddles.
And that was the part that Winslow liked best of all, laying on the bed with his pretty little things, safe in the deep, dark, underground cavern.
Sometimes, when the chemicals began to wear off, some of his little friends thought that they were in a dungeon… he had to keep them locked up for their own safety, after all but Winslow did his best to decorate their rooms with toys, dolls and pink sheets.
Sometimes, his little friends were naughty, though. And that’s when Winslow had to punish them. And he knew that sometimes they were naughty because they liked taking his punishments as much he liked giving them.
But today was not a punishment day. Today, he was with a new, special friend, recently arrived. Like all of his little companions, he had cried and looked for his mommy and daddy for a while. But now that he had had enough of Winslow’s special soda to drink, he had forgotten all about them.
And now the exciting games could begin, where Winslow would show him how much he loved him…
A low rumbling sound interrupted the game! It was incessant and getting louder. Winslow was furious – he leapt off his bed and – in his fury – threw his new toy across the room. It hit the wall and slid down – broken! He wondered if it could be repaired… but no matter if not… there were always more toys for The Toyman.
Winslow put his robe on and scuttled to his computer monitors. He could see a woman… a grown up woman… walking through the tunnels that lead to ToyLand. She was dressed like that big, overgrown boyscout Superman. Winslow hated Superman.
“Oh, no, no!” he cried. “I’m not going to let you spoil my games!”
He pressed a button on the computer panel and flames erupted from hidden nozzles in the tunnel walls. Winslow cackled with glee as the napalm infused jets swarmed all over the woman’s clothes, skin and hair. She would melt, melt like a plastic doll…
Winslow shrieked in fury as she kept coming, the flames having no effect on her. Like a human torch, she walked on, oblivious to the fire. “If heat doesn’t work….” he hissed, pressing another button.
This time, liquid nitrogen squired forth, litres and litres of it, coating her from head to toe. She slowed… still walking, but every step was slower and slower till finally, she shuddered to a halt and stood, gleaming like an ice sculpture.
She would decorate his tunnel for eternity, Winslow decided…
The ice coating shattered to a million pieces.
The woman dusted frozen crystals from her strange bio-armour and walked on.
Winslow was afraid now. He ran to his toy locker, his robe flapping around his naked form, his bare feet slapping on the floor.
Winslow reached in a pulled out his Shock Gun.
There was a shriek of rending metal and stone as his foot-thick armoured door began to buckle inwards… Winslow’s eyes widened as the metal tore like so much paper.
Impossibly loud, the door crashed inwards, sliding down the small flight of steps that led to ToyLand.
He raised the Shock Gun and fired.
A beam of energy shot from the barrel, but the woman was gone.
“Wha…” Winslow gasped, looking around, bringing the Shock Gun to bear.
But she was nowhere to be seen.
Winslow took stock of the situation; he knew from experience that now Toyland had been found, they would come in their droves. And, if he was caught, he would be sent back to Arkham in Gotham for “treatment” as they called it.
Winslow didn’t like Arkham. He didn’t like the Joker and he didn’t like the games that the Joker played.
Better to flee now.
There were always more little friends.
Winslow pulled a pair of striped pyjama trousers and grabbed a hold-all… it was full of money, and he’d need that.
Looking around for the woman, he realised that he should not fear her. No, it was she that feared him. She was gone… nowhere to be seen.
Laughing, he ran down the corridor from which she had come, making his way to freedom.
It was then that he felt a slight burning pain in the base of spine. It was nothing… but the ground rushed up to meet him and he cracked his head on it.
Winslow tried to get up, but he couldn’t move his arms or legs. It was as though he was…
“Paralysed,” a woman’s voice sounded close by. An English voice?
The woman who wore Superman’s clothes crouched by him. Her face was beautiful but cold… dead… the green eyes holding no emotion. “You should not have attempted to flee, Toyman,” she continued. “I was forced to use extreme measures to stop you. Your injuries, however, are permanent, irreparable and incurable…” Winslow wanted to scream at her, but his tongue felt too big for his mouth.
Was it getting darker in here?
What was she saying now… He listened harder.
“You will by now have noticed that along with your motor functions, your sensory organs are beginning to falter. This is by design. Your prison, Toyman, will be one of the mind. A life sentence from which you can never escape. Fitting for one a creature such as yourself.”
Winslow tried to scream at her…. Strangle her… hurt her.
But he could not.
The last sound Winslow – The Toyman – Schott’s ears ever processed was the pathetic and ineffectual gurgling from his own throat.
**
Xara looked down at the piece of human waste at her feet.
Had she – she wondered – let emotions get the better of her? The correct course of action would have been to apprehend the Toyman and hand him over to the police. But… her x-ray vision scanned the dank, filthy underground prison… the children he had kidnapped were in living nightmare.
She could not –not did she wish to – imagine the degradations that the psychopath had visited upon them.
Xara withdrew the Kryptonian crystal from her belt. It pulsed softly in her hand, warmth and full of motherlove. It would, she knew, heal the bodies and the minds of the innocent souls that the Toyman had sought to corrupt.
She looked back at him, tempted for a moment to terminate him. But she realised that leaving him alive, trapped in the desolate hell of a broken body was far worse.
She moved into the underground prison and tore the door from the first cell.
The Terran girl inside looked at her, fear writ large on her face. “Please…” she whispered. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Xara regarded her for a moment. Then she smiled. “You are safe now,” she said. “My name is Xara. I am friends with Superman,” she pointed to the Sigil of El on her chest. She knew that Kal-El was a symbol of hope to the earth people, a man who they looked up to, aspired to… an example of everything that was good in them. The child – at the mention of his name and the sight of the “S” on her chest relaxed.
Xara opened her arms and the child crawled towards her, burying her face in Xara’s neck, sobbing her heart out and – disgustingly – leaving her mucus on her skin. But for all that, holding the child was not unpleasant.
The light from the crystal glowed, its power soaking into the girl’s skin, into her body, into her mind.
It would heal her – as it would the rest – and all of this would be a forgotten dream.
But for Xara Lor-Van the nightmare of what she had uncovered in the darkness of the dungeon and the darkness of the Terran soul was burned indelibly on her mind’s eye. A mote she would carry with her forever.
No-one understood how much Winslow loved his pretty things and he knew that people would come and try to take them away.
That’s why he hid them underground, far away from the prying eyes of the police and the others with their bright lights and their questions. They didn’t understand that he loved his little dolls – he loved them more than their teachers, more than the police – why, he loved them even more than their parents did.
And they loved him back; after all, if they did not, why would they come with him? Of course, Winslow had use his special toys to entice them… but these things were gifts. And the chemicals he put in them didn’t harm his little friends. No, rather it made them happy and eager to play. Eager to give him cuddles.
And that was the part that Winslow liked best of all, laying on the bed with his pretty little things, safe in the deep, dark, underground cavern.
Sometimes, when the chemicals began to wear off, some of his little friends thought that they were in a dungeon… he had to keep them locked up for their own safety, after all but Winslow did his best to decorate their rooms with toys, dolls and pink sheets.
Sometimes, his little friends were naughty, though. And that’s when Winslow had to punish them. And he knew that sometimes they were naughty because they liked taking his punishments as much he liked giving them.
But today was not a punishment day. Today, he was with a new, special friend, recently arrived. Like all of his little companions, he had cried and looked for his mommy and daddy for a while. But now that he had had enough of Winslow’s special soda to drink, he had forgotten all about them.
And now the exciting games could begin, where Winslow would show him how much he loved him…
A low rumbling sound interrupted the game! It was incessant and getting louder. Winslow was furious – he leapt off his bed and – in his fury – threw his new toy across the room. It hit the wall and slid down – broken! He wondered if it could be repaired… but no matter if not… there were always more toys for The Toyman.
Winslow put his robe on and scuttled to his computer monitors. He could see a woman… a grown up woman… walking through the tunnels that lead to ToyLand. She was dressed like that big, overgrown boyscout Superman. Winslow hated Superman.
“Oh, no, no!” he cried. “I’m not going to let you spoil my games!”
He pressed a button on the computer panel and flames erupted from hidden nozzles in the tunnel walls. Winslow cackled with glee as the napalm infused jets swarmed all over the woman’s clothes, skin and hair. She would melt, melt like a plastic doll…
Winslow shrieked in fury as she kept coming, the flames having no effect on her. Like a human torch, she walked on, oblivious to the fire. “If heat doesn’t work….” he hissed, pressing another button.
This time, liquid nitrogen squired forth, litres and litres of it, coating her from head to toe. She slowed… still walking, but every step was slower and slower till finally, she shuddered to a halt and stood, gleaming like an ice sculpture.
She would decorate his tunnel for eternity, Winslow decided…
The ice coating shattered to a million pieces.
The woman dusted frozen crystals from her strange bio-armour and walked on.
Winslow was afraid now. He ran to his toy locker, his robe flapping around his naked form, his bare feet slapping on the floor.
Winslow reached in a pulled out his Shock Gun.
There was a shriek of rending metal and stone as his foot-thick armoured door began to buckle inwards… Winslow’s eyes widened as the metal tore like so much paper.
Impossibly loud, the door crashed inwards, sliding down the small flight of steps that led to ToyLand.
He raised the Shock Gun and fired.
A beam of energy shot from the barrel, but the woman was gone.
“Wha…” Winslow gasped, looking around, bringing the Shock Gun to bear.
But she was nowhere to be seen.
Winslow took stock of the situation; he knew from experience that now Toyland had been found, they would come in their droves. And, if he was caught, he would be sent back to Arkham in Gotham for “treatment” as they called it.
Winslow didn’t like Arkham. He didn’t like the Joker and he didn’t like the games that the Joker played.
Better to flee now.
There were always more little friends.
Winslow pulled a pair of striped pyjama trousers and grabbed a hold-all… it was full of money, and he’d need that.
Looking around for the woman, he realised that he should not fear her. No, it was she that feared him. She was gone… nowhere to be seen.
Laughing, he ran down the corridor from which she had come, making his way to freedom.
It was then that he felt a slight burning pain in the base of spine. It was nothing… but the ground rushed up to meet him and he cracked his head on it.
Winslow tried to get up, but he couldn’t move his arms or legs. It was as though he was…
“Paralysed,” a woman’s voice sounded close by. An English voice?
The woman who wore Superman’s clothes crouched by him. Her face was beautiful but cold… dead… the green eyes holding no emotion. “You should not have attempted to flee, Toyman,” she continued. “I was forced to use extreme measures to stop you. Your injuries, however, are permanent, irreparable and incurable…” Winslow wanted to scream at her, but his tongue felt too big for his mouth.
Was it getting darker in here?
What was she saying now… He listened harder.
“You will by now have noticed that along with your motor functions, your sensory organs are beginning to falter. This is by design. Your prison, Toyman, will be one of the mind. A life sentence from which you can never escape. Fitting for one a creature such as yourself.”
Winslow tried to scream at her…. Strangle her… hurt her.
But he could not.
The last sound Winslow – The Toyman – Schott’s ears ever processed was the pathetic and ineffectual gurgling from his own throat.
**
Xara looked down at the piece of human waste at her feet.
Had she – she wondered – let emotions get the better of her? The correct course of action would have been to apprehend the Toyman and hand him over to the police. But… her x-ray vision scanned the dank, filthy underground prison… the children he had kidnapped were in living nightmare.
She could not –not did she wish to – imagine the degradations that the psychopath had visited upon them.
Xara withdrew the Kryptonian crystal from her belt. It pulsed softly in her hand, warmth and full of motherlove. It would, she knew, heal the bodies and the minds of the innocent souls that the Toyman had sought to corrupt.
She looked back at him, tempted for a moment to terminate him. But she realised that leaving him alive, trapped in the desolate hell of a broken body was far worse.
She moved into the underground prison and tore the door from the first cell.
The Terran girl inside looked at her, fear writ large on her face. “Please…” she whispered. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Xara regarded her for a moment. Then she smiled. “You are safe now,” she said. “My name is Xara. I am friends with Superman,” she pointed to the Sigil of El on her chest. She knew that Kal-El was a symbol of hope to the earth people, a man who they looked up to, aspired to… an example of everything that was good in them. The child – at the mention of his name and the sight of the “S” on her chest relaxed.
Xara opened her arms and the child crawled towards her, burying her face in Xara’s neck, sobbing her heart out and – disgustingly – leaving her mucus on her skin. But for all that, holding the child was not unpleasant.
The light from the crystal glowed, its power soaking into the girl’s skin, into her body, into her mind.
It would heal her – as it would the rest – and all of this would be a forgotten dream.
But for Xara Lor-Van the nightmare of what she had uncovered in the darkness of the dungeon and the darkness of the Terran soul was burned indelibly on her mind’s eye. A mote she would carry with her forever.