The Nine of Clubs

Two large men in white lab coats dragged him down the hallway by his arms.  All he could do see was stare at the pale blue tiles that filled the building.  Looking up periodically he'd glance at the green walls.  These walls, these floors, they were his world.  All he had could ever remember, lied withing these walls

"Which one do we have here?", asked the receptionist from behind the reinforced glass window at her desk.  

"It's Subject Number Nine", one of the men had said as they approached the receptionist.

"Again", added the other man, gripping Number Nine tightly by his plain white shirt.

"What happened?", inquired the receptionist looking at his torn white pants and matching shirt.  The shirt had a number nine printed on the right side of the upper chest.

"One of the doctors watching over this one administered the wrong medication"

"And?"

"He wasn't properly sedated and attempted to escape."

Number Nine hung just above the floor suspended by the two men that held him tightly.  Refusing to loosen their grip.

Each subject was to be given medication that met their specific needs.  Subjects such as Number Nine needed heavy sedatives, strong enough to kill most humans, just to keep them docile enough to prevent them from lashing out at everything and anything around them.

"Which doctor was assigned to look after him?", asked the receptionist flipping through some papers.  "He'll have to be punished for this inconvenience."

"You needn't worry about that", replied one of the men.  "Doctor Davian is dead. As well as 3 members of our security staff and two other doctors."

"The bodies just keep piling up", said the woman, bothered by the loss of life.  

"It took five of us with high intensive tazers to finally bring him down."

"Hmm, well, he's developing quite nicely. Give him two more doses then throw him back in his cell, and for the love of god make sure the next son of a bitch assigned to look after him doesn't screw things up, it's hard enough finding adequate staff to run this hell hole"

As the door to his cell was closed Subject Number Nine was encased in darkness.  Inside as well out. It covered his body and the people whom he was subjected to ensure that it encased his soul.

Everyday was a horrifying blend of activities.  Shock therapy to enhance muscle stimulation, cat scans to monitor brain wave patterns.  And always endless injections of unknown substances throughout his body.  The pills he was forced to choke down were always to be expected, every hour on the hour.  Exposed to a large variety of diseases that he was fortunate, or as he saw it, unfortunate enough to survive, had built up his immunities. Forced to run on treadmills while hooked up to so many assorted machines he resembled a machine more than a human to monitor all his vital signs  Any humanity he had come to this layer of hell with, had long since been stripped from him.  As well as any memories of anything other than his current domain.  

He prayed every night.  Never knowing who he was praying to.  Perhaps asking God why he forsaken him to this eternal suffering, or to the Devil asking if he could be admitted into his inferno for hopes of finding a more tolerable damnation.

As he lay on the damp concrete he closed his eyes and willed his mind to take him somewhere else.  

Pop.  It had sounded like someone had popped a paper bag filled with air.  Listening intently in the darkness he heard it again.  Pop. Again. Pop, slowly building up in speed and sound.  It grew louder.

Bam.  Sounding as is someone was down the hall banging metal bars together he pressed his ear against the steel door. A large explosion emanated from somewhere very close to him and he fell to the ground from the shock.  The walls shook and groaned under the impact of some very powerful detonation.  A second blast ripped through the wall to the right of the his cell door.  A dim dusty light began to filter in through the hole in the rubble and painfully reached his eyes.

It was time for his hourly dose of medication and now the effects of the sedatives has begun to wear off.  Stepping through the rubble and out into the hall gave light to a scene Number Nine had never witnessed before.  The green walls were cracking and falling caving in under the weight of the damaged structure.  The pale blue floors were littered with heaps of lifeless bodies, inmates as well as staff members and chunks of concrete.

Stepping through the obstacles Number Nine could see the men that had not long ago returned to his former confines.  He turned the corner and followed a hallway he believed would lead him to an exit.  The explosions were continuing to echo through the corridors and hallways, each time shaking the building throughout its foundation threatening to bring it all down.  Finally reaching an exit he noticed the body of the receptionist.  She didn't show any signs of trauma from the blasts and had an eery smile that spread across her entire face.  She looked some sort of ghoul.  

Blinded by his first exposure to the sun in god knows how long he fell to the ground.  He admired the green grass and blue skies that he could vaguely remember having seen long, long ago.

As another explosion sent him reeling to the ground Number Nine quickly left the area near the exit and proceeded to climb a large grassy wooded hill.  From the top he watched in shock as the final bombs withing the building were detonated and the entire complex was leveled to the ground.  

As the fog of debris and dust settled it was apparent that nothing remained of the building or any of its inhabitants.  

"Admiring my work are we?", came a cheery voice from behind Number Nine.

Startled he looked for the owner of the voice and saw a man, or what appeared to be a man sitting in a tree above him.

"It took me weeks to set up those bombs.", said the man with a grin on his face.  "And it was entirely worth it.

His green hair and pale white skin made him something of a spectacle to Number Nine.  He had never seen such a colorful person. The Green Vest and Purple coat were far different from the all white garments Number Nine was used to.

"I'm sorry", the colorful man said.  "We haven't been properly introduced.  You can call me, The Joker"

As the last words left his mouth The Joker gave an evil grin that concerned Number Nine.

"Well you know who I am.  Now who are you?", inquired The Joker now sporting an inquisitive smile.

"I'm...", he fought for words not having spoken while in captivity unless you can count his occasional screams of anguish and pain. Exercising his vocal cords, he managed to reply in a very rough voice.  "They call me...Subject Number Nine."

"Well we can drop that 'Subject' crap, you're no lab rat anymore", The Joker said with sympathy in his voice.  "We can keep the Nine part, I like that.  I've recently begun forming a little club Number Nine  and I'd like you to join it.  You can be the Nine of Clubs, hoho, yes the nine of my club."  The Joker finished his sentence with a chuckle amused by his own play on words.  

"Here you are.", The Joker said handing a playing card to Number Nine.  It was the Nine of Clubs, his new life had just begun.

The Joker left The Nine of Clubs staring at the playing card on the grassy hill.  Sirens from firetrucks could be heard off in the distance.  Trying to comprehend what had just happened and what it would mean for his future, he stood on the hill, taking it all in.

"I'll keep in touch", was the last thing The Joker had said.