Mr. Humor and Mr. Serious escape from the Dark Asylum

Mr. Humor sat in the corner staring at the ceiling. He usually did this to make the guards think he was dead so that they'd rush down there and give him a visit. Its always a treat to get visitors! especially when you are in the High Security Wing. But today was different. Today he was just doing it because he was bored. Everyone he wanted to bother were either away from the asylum, transfered to a new wing, or killed by him on "accident". The point is he was bored and it seemed he was going to stay bored for quite some time.

The sirens blared as the giant reinforced doors opened. The asylum was getting a new inmate in the High Security Wing. It was rare to get new inmates in The Wing, especially one that has to go through the reinforced doors. They usually only let big machinery go through those doors. Maybe theirs a malfunction with the sirens and it actually is just machinery. Since Mr. Humor had nothing else better to do he decided to take a stroll through the air vents and get a better view at what this "thing" was.

Had nothing else better to do. I might write more. I hope you liked!

^^^^ Addition

Mr. Humor scrambled through the air vents in the direction of the heavy gateway. The area used to be used for holding large planes before it the complex was converted into an asylum, and this area specifically became the High Sec entrance.

One would wonder how a man could so easily slip into the air vents in the world's highest security bedlam, but in all honesty, the Wardens had simply given up trying to contain Mr. Humor. There was no device in existence that could hold him. 'And besides, he always comes back,' was their excuse for letting him run amok. No one knew why he did, but then again, it was an insane asylum.

So, after worming his way across half the complex, he finally reached the source of the grinding machinery. The great metal portal was only now finishing its grind open. Wheeled in on a trolley and surrounded by an armed guard was a man of average height who gave off a palpable aura of calmness, and for lack of a better word... seriousness. He was wrapped up in a straight jacket, but contrasting with his aura was an almost silly brown wide brimmed hat and a black gas mask obscured his face.

The men quickly rolled him out of the hangar and into one of the hallways. Mr. Humor went down an adjoining air duct and followed them.

Before long, they reached the man's cell. The heavy metal door was opened, the man tossed inside, and a series of complex looking locks slammed into place. The guards, satisfied that they were done with their charge, made their way out of the ward.

Mr. Humor waited a bit... a very short bit. He clambered into the shaft section that went into the new 'patient's' room. With a tug, he removed the vent and dropped into the cell.

Mr. Humor drops from the air vent, gathers himself together, and then runs into the shadows. All was silent.
Then Mr. Serious demanded "Who are you and what are you doing in here!".
Their was no response and then out of the shadows rang a voice. "You don't recognize me? Why I am hurt, Cupcake. How could you forget your old business partner? JACOB MARLEY!!!!"
"Cupcake? My name is not Cupcake! Look, get out of here before I throw you out!" Mr. Serious begins to walk into the corner where he saw Mr. Humor run off and hide in but was stop by something grabbing him around his head and blinding him.
"Guess Who" shrilled Mr. Humor as he rode Mr. Serious like a broncho around the room. Mr. Serious grabbed him by the sleeves of his straight jacket and threw him off.
"GET OFF OF ME YOU IDIOT! How did you manage to get behind me!"
"Wouldn't you like to know" giggled Mr. Humor "You need to chill, Cupcake. You need to go with the flow."
"STOP calling me CUPCAKE!"
"Fine then, What would you prefer me to call you...Cupcake."
"My name" he began "is Mister Serious".

The reinforced doors had finally been sealed shut.

How do you do the Spoiler thing?

The Warden of the Dark Asylum watched the exchange between the new prisoner and their compulsive poltergeist. Not that it really surprised him, but it was odd that the serious one was so nettled by Mr. Humor. Of course, neither were the strangest he had seen. He had been here so long that the guards had started referring to him as the Dark Asylum.

Of course, for all intents and purposes, he was. There were secrets here, secrets he had kept in check for nearly fifty years, secrets he was in communion with. Over time, buildings like these built up their personality, a combination of the bits and pieces left behind by those with screws loose. He knew every nook and cranny of the ancient metal fortress, so well that he seemed to teleport around the facility, surprising the newer guards and amazing the more experienced ones. Sure, there were other wardens, but they acted as his subordinates, none of them coming close to him in experience.

Either way, this had to stop. He doubted the guards could catch Mr. Humor, but he would send them in nevertheless, to scare him away. The intensity around this new character was great, and he didn't want to set him off until he had a firmer grasp of his specific quirks. As was the case for most of the inmates here, the normal psychological evaluations were useless.

As for the catching of Mr. Humor, that would fall to him. It was a game they played, a game he came ever closer to winning. Although, he feared the day he actually managed to catch Mr. Humor. Something in his gut went ice cold every time he thought about finally laying hands on the creature, but the game could not be put aside. Mr. Humor would run, and the Dark Asylum would chase.

As he gave the orders to the guards, he reached under his desk and pulled out his rifle. An atypical choice for the tunnels of the mostly underground facility, Some would say crazy.

The Dark Asylum began laughing to himself. Crazy. Crazy! One had to be crazy when dealing with men like this! You had to think how they did, so you could predict them.

"Whoooo, I really am too old for this." The Warden combed back his thinning white hair as he stepped through one of the secret passages out of his office, vanishing like a phantom.

Spoiler:

"HUUUMMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOORRRRRRR!" The voice shook the room. Mr. Humor sat and look at the door, a little startled by what he just heard.
"Tombstone isn't back, is he? I thought he wasn't going to be back for quite some time."
"So your name is Humor, huh? Well Mr. Humor don't you fear this Tombstone fellow any more! We could probably take him down if we just do what i say, ok?"
Mr. Humor smiled "Take Rocks down? Why would I wanna do that? He's my bestest friend in the whole world!"
"COME OUT NOW BEFORE I FIND YOU AND BREAK YOU IN HALF!"
"Best friend, huh?" retorted Mr. Serious.
"What can I say, the guys a card! Now, if you'll excuse me" Mr. Humor then jumped back into the air vent and fled away.

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Spoiler:

Tombstone's a man of few words. And when he did speak it usually included you being broken in half. He's always angry, very muscular, and about 9 foot. He was famous for his "suit of armor". Unlike most armor it wasn't made of steel or iron or something flashy like that. No, instead it was made of rock. Another thing that made him stand out was the fact that he was 1 of the 13 special inmates that got to actually help Dark Asylum keep control.

"ROCKS!!! How have you been old chum? You look thinner, been losing weight?"
Tombstone grabs Humor by the throat.
"DON'T you 'Rocks' me. Do you know why I'm down here? Do you have any idea why i'm in this hell you call home?
"Well it's pretty obvious, Rocks." Mr. Humor's smile began to grow "You're down here so that you and me have more time to hang out! Oh, it will be fun! we can roller skate, go see a movie, maybe hit the local clubs and find you a woman. Ladies love the armor. It makes them think you can protect them or something stu-" Tombstone throws Mr. Humor against the wall. Humor began to gasp. "So what's Doc up to? Been a while since he sent someone else to do his dirty work."
"Even when you can't breath you still talk" chuckled Tombstone. "Well I wouldn't say Doc sent me to take care of you. He wants you all for himself. I'm sent to wrestle up your friend. Show him how things are run around here. Now if you'll just let me do my job, that would be terrific."
"Oh, dont worry Rocks. You won't need to worry about me for quite some time now. Now go on and do your job." Tombstone stared Humor down for a while, then decided he meant it and began walking to the Maximum Security Wing.
"Doc is coming to find me, eh?" Mr. Humor muttered to himself. He turned toward one of the cameras and began to shout "Well lets play ball, Doc! I'm up for a little game!"

And so the game begins...

The Dark Asylum watched as Humor took off. It didn't really matter that Stone had told Humor that he was coming, surprise didn't really work on a mind as broken as his.

Either way, the game resumed. Asylum knew where Humor was headed, he always started in the vents, as he preferred them. So, Asylum made his way down to the boiler room, and turned the heat up, and up, and up. Some of the other prisoners might get a little toasty, but the temperature in the vents would be far too high for anyone to survive, except perhaps Stone. Now that Humor would be forced out into the open, Asylum was ready. He looked around, noticing some of the . . . things . . . that haunted the boiler room were growing restless, and made his way back up through the use of a technique that most physicists would balk at.

These cold walls of iron and stone pressed in as the Dark Asylum pulled a compass from his coat, noting its orientation before returning it to its dark origins and taking off down one of the many empty corridors.

"Hah, you bugger, lets see how you navigate now that the heat is on!", Asylum began shouting at the area around him. He made certain, however, not to shout at certain walls, as some of them might have taken the opportunity to shout back.

"Hot hot hot hot Hot HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT!!! HOT! HOT!!!! cold, HOT!!!!!!" Mr. Humor was scurrying through the air ducts as fast as he could. He was in desperate search for a way out. He continued onward until he ran into an air vent which he promptly kicked open and fell into the room. He pulled himself together and examine where he was. Turns out he managed to make his way to the Armory.
'Look at all these guns,' thought Mr. Humor 'so many choices, so little time.' Most people would question why there were so many guns in the insane asylum in the first place, but most of those people also didn't understand that the asylum had more in it than meets the eye. Mr. Humor found a bag and started filling it with guns and then made his exit through a door he found. Little did Humor know that the other side contained a few guards. They spotted his straight jacket and realized that he was an escapey. They all grabbed their guns and pointed them at Humor.
"Freeze buddy, you are not suppose to be in here"
"How did you figure that out? Now stop blabbering and help me with this bag."
"The only help you're getting is back to your cell." said another guard.
"Wise guy, eh? Alright how bout we do this. You help me and I wont kill you all? Sound fair?"
One of the guards chuckled, "How are you going to kill all 20 of us when there is only-"
Humor shot him.
"Correction: how are you going to kill all 19 of us! Anyone else wanna play the hero?"
The guards were all to busy staring at their dead companion to respond
"Good, now you grab one side, you grab the other side, and you guys clear the hallway, you got that?"
"Yes sir," then they began doing their specific task.
The guards and Humor dragged the bag into the hallway. That's where Mr. Humor spotted The Dark Asylum.
'Hmmmm, I should be safe since I'm among these-,' One of the guards fell over dead. '...or not.' The only noise you could hear was The Dark Asylum trying to reload.
"Good shot Doc, but not good enough. Next time try aimming." Humor digs into the bag and pulls out an RPG. "See you in Hell, Doc" He laughed manically and fired the gun at The Dark Asylum.

He misses

The Dark Asylum drops his gun due to the blast and begins to laugh "And you were complaining about MY aim."
Mr. Humor knew that he could probably fight The Dark Asylum there and then, but as they say in Rome, the chase is better than the catch. So he grabbed his newly acquired bag and ran off.

Humor was alone in the hall. He just now realized that he was no longer be followed by Dark Asylum. He began walking and realized that he wasn't familiar with this part of the asylum. He spotted a crow and halted. A chill went down his spine for he now recognized where he was. He walked back slowly and tried to hide himself from the birds vision. Once he felt safe, he pulled a gun out of his sack and aimed it at the crow. Humor was getting ready to shoot it but then the bird fluttered away. Mr. Humor was irritated, but remained calm. He moved closer and got the bird in his sights again. The crow began to fly away and caw rapidly. Humor quickly fired a shot and killed the bird, but it was to late. Suddenly a flock of crows started swarming in the hallway and circling where their dead brother lay. In the middle of all this Mr. Humor saw a man knelt down by the dead bird. Then the birds began to fly away as quickly as they came, leaving the man behind. This man was Necrophobia

Necrophobia was a slender man. He wore brown stitched-up clothes with a matching mask. He had a noose for a belt and a pouch attached to it. Although he may not look like much, he was feared among many in the asylum. If Necrophobia didn't like you he had three ways of disposing of you. One was to swarm you with his army of crows. His crows were his eyes and ears. You mess with a crow, you mess with Necrophobia. the second way was through his toxic fear gas. Nothing is greater than being killed by your worst fear. Last but not least, his scythe. Necrophobia rarely used the scythe. The scythe was saved for "special" victims. the scythe unleashed a whole new meaning to pain and suffering and was only usable by the creator, Necrophobia.

"Ornithophobia is the fear of birds, did you know that?" Necrophobia examined the bird with his yellow glowing eyes then up at Humor. Humor remained silent.
"Do you have such fear? Or do you just enjoy killing my pets?"
"Listen Strawbones, I'm real sorry about the bird, but I didn't come here for a hunting trip."
Necrophobia stood up and pulled out his scythe, "then why kill my pet?"
"I need your help."

Spoiler:

The stitching in Necrophobia's mask audibly strained as he contorted his mask into some sort of twisted smile. "You need my help? How could I possibly help you? Or, more importantly, why would I help you? All you do is stir up the kainotophobia in this place with all the trouble you cause. Do you want to change this place? I don't think you do. Maybe your Macrophobic. Are you tired of sitting in that cell of yours?" Necrophobia lowered his head and laughed. He spoke as he drew his head up to meet Mister Humor's crooked gaze. "Maybe I shouldn't jump to conclusions. Please. Tell me. Why would I help You?"

Three days, seven hours, forty-six minutes, sixteen seconds, and time had stopped. The thoughts themselves were faster. Mr. Serious stood in solitary confinement, the room too small for him to sit, forcing him to lean alternately on the walls. It had been an age since he last heard his heartbeat, longer since he had taken a breath. He had sent an impulse to his arms to impel their movement. The pulse was likely half way down his spine at that moment.

He knew everything in his world. The thread count of his straightjacket was surprisingly high, at 823. It was also fastened improperly. His cell door was heavy carbide steel, immovable by a man Mister Serious’s size, but a lack of maintenance had left one of the lower-mid bolts weakened by rust and had partially wound its way out of the socket. If removed, the door would probably fall off of its own hinges due to its great weight. Every strength begets a flaw.

There were two guards outside. One had a weak heart tending towards arrhythmia. The other one had a fairly slower reaction time than Mr. Serious, based on his constant stream of failures with dexterity tricks.. Three days of silent analysis will teach you things.

He was ready. It was time to meet up with his coincidental acquaintance, Mr. Humor. Time snapped back into its normal pace, and Mr. Serious began to cough violently, so much so that his head slammed into the door in front of him. At the same time he began to jerk his arms back and forth.

Alarmed by the burst of noise from their otherwise silent prisoner, they began to unlock to door. Just as it began to swing open, Mr. Serious kicked his boot out, slamming into the weakened bolt. It snapped with a twang that was immediately followed by several sharp snaps and the heaving of metal as the door fell forward. Following the door was Mr. Serious, his free arms now trailing the long sleeves of the straight jacket.

The first blow was a pommel strike to the chest. The guard’s weak heartbeat immediately failed him. He fell to the ground as his body ineffectually tried to regulate itself. Mr. Serious turned towards the slow one. He had no business in his profession. A blow to the temple left him alive but unconscious.

Mr. Serious examined his handy-work. Given that he wasn’t much of a fighter, he felt rather pleased with himself. It had only taken roughly three days of analysis to pull it off. His musings were interrupted however by some heavy steps coming down the hall.

A large man in a heavy suit of stone armor was approaching. That was unexpected. “Halt,” he ground out. Mr. Serious did not. He had an acquaintance to catch up with, after all.

Dark Asylum pulled out his compass again, checking it one last time, only to be taken aback by the results. The needles, all of three of them, were spinning wildly, and he began to worry. He put it back into his pocket and made a few more jumps deeper into the facility. He was getting close now, Humor couldn't run much farther without getting into the unknown places. If he went there, he probably wouldn't be coming back. To his relief, however, he heard the voice of Humor coming from around the corner. He readied his rifle and burst around to the hall beyond. He took a moment to set his sights, but as he pulled the trigger a crow flew by his head, throwing off his aim. Then he noticed Necrophobia and flinched inwardly. This was bad.

Humor began to run off, leaving the two of them together.

"Why are you up this far, Necro? Shouldn't you be tending the lower levels?"

The scarecrow of a man stopped smiling and gestured at his birds."They have been out and about, and from what I can see, your going to develop zeusophobia!" He began to smile again.

"What do you mean?" Dark Asylum raised his rifle, but the man didn't answer. He spread his arms wide, the crows forming a whirlwind around him, and he began to advance on the old man. Dark Asylum hesitate for a second, then was gone, vanishing up a secret passageway. Things were indeed more serious then he thought, and he would have to take dramatic action.

He made his way up to the kitchen, began walking towards the back. A few of the cooks seemed puzzled at his presence there, but otherwise kept preparing food. Dark Asylum picked up an apple before arriving at his destination, the freezers. He made his way to the end of the row, to the only freezer with a lock on it. He quickly reached around and unplugged it before handily undoing the lock. The door swung open, revealing a human form covered with ice. Dark pulled out a set of matches, and lit one, touching it to the persons flesh. It spread readily, almost too readily.

Thing is, Stone has a brother, and just as the world was bourn of rock and fire, so too would be the doom of the escaped prisoners. The Dark Asylum began to laugh as the flaming giant that was Furnace stepped out of the freezer.

AND THE MAGNITUDE OF YOUR FAILURES SHALL ECHO THROUGHOUT ALL YOUR YEARS.

Mr. Serious stumbled in his mad flight, leaning against the brick wall to catch his breath. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It must’ve been cold and humid, as he saw condensation dripping down the grey stone walls. He could only guess. He couldn’t feel cold. He didn’t feel tired either, but the sudden rise in his heart rate and jerky sluggishness of his movements warned him that he was reaching his limits.

It was time to drop the charade. Mr. Serious shrugged off his straightjacket, revealing a white dress shirt and black tie underneath. A moment later, the gas mask was removed. It was the face of seriousness incarnate: strong jaw, calmness, and lacking any emotion.

The excess weight dropped, and his breath regained, Mr. Serious sprinted off into the darkness searching for his old friend.

Tombstone marveled at the door lying on the ground. He knew he probably couldn't catch up to the runaway so he wasn't even going to bother. Tombstone put the door against the wall and began to walk away. He stopped turned around and went into the cell that earlier contained Mr. Serious. He slid the door in front of the cell and began to meditate. Tombstone rarely got to meditate and when he did most people knew not to bother him. He closed his eyes and let his mind go.

____________________________________________________________________________

Mr. Humor wasn't really keen of what he had to due, but his options were slim. He walked through a door into The Museum of Weaponry, or that is what the people at the asylum called it. It contained all the confiscated items from the inmates and showed them on displayed. Many famous weapons lied in that very room. Mr. Humor didn't really care about all the weapons, he just wanted the ones that belong to him. After a few minutes he found them in a glass display in the middle of the room. There was a little Plaque that said:

"Mr. Humor's Mr. T and Big Bang"

He smiled at the remark and broke the glass. He grabbed the guns and went on his merry way.

____________________________________________________________________________
Tombstone abruptly stopped meditating. He sensed something. Something big. Something he disliked. Something burning.

"It really is rather bland, just sitting around like this, waiting for this places phobias to flare. I'll think I'll have some fun. Lets start with Nyctophobia." Necrophobia twisted carrying his scythe off his shoulder and through a mass of cables, and a layer of the stone wall they were attached to. He stared rather grimly at he lights, however dim they were in the depths of the asylum that refused to lose power.

"I guess it would be a little less fun if it were that easy. Let's go have some fun my pets, and see if we can't turn off these lights while we're at it." Necrophobia dropped the blade of his scythe to the ground with a solid metal clang, and followed the massive black clouds of birds as they flew down the hallway.

Let's see if we can't find a few Ligyrophobes while we're at it." The massive murder of crows all let out a massive screech, and continued their report as they flew into the darkness. Necrophobia’s scythe slid behind him, dragging out a terrible high pitched screech between the clangs of the blade bouncing every time it caught a rough section of the stone floor.

What Mr. Humor really needed was a rat. Someone who knows everything and was willing to give it up for a few bucks or possibly free. He walked into the Cafeteria and started walking to a table in the far left corner. three men sat there, but only one was of interest to Humor.

"JIMMY BOY! How's it going? I haven't seen you since 1999 when you snitched me out to the cops! Thanks for that by the way"
Jimmy began to choke up, explaining his actions to his cohorts.
"Don't listen to this guy, I don't even know him." Both of the guys began to get up and walk away.
"YOU GOTTA BELIEVE ME! GUYS!?!?!?" Jimmy found himself alone with Mr. Humor.
"Whatcha do that for? I was gettin' some valuable information."
"Can it, Jim, tell me what you have heard about me and my Brothers."
"After the stunt you JUST pulled, forget it?"
"Jim, if you don't tell me what I want to know," Humor pulls out his double barrel shotgun "I will shove this so far down your throat you'll be coughing up shotgun shells for the rest of your life"
Jimmy raised his hands in the air as if he was being mugged.
"Aye, take it easy Humor, I'll tell you what you wanna know."
"Good!" Humor but the shotgun away.
"Alright, the scoop is this, You'sa plannin' on calling the Brothers together for a big shindig about playin' the biggest "prank" on DarkAsylum ever. Brother two is plannin' on cuttin' power to distract Darky boy from seeing whats going down. I personally don't think'll work. Dark might be crazy, but the damn bastards good."
Mr. Humor found this comment amusing
"Only children are amused by smokes and mirrors, Jimmy boy. Necrophobia isn't shutting the power down to "distract" DarkAsylum, he's doing it to get rid of his power. Darky boy is only as good as his place. If the asylum goes out, then DarkAsylum goes out. Alright, so any scoops about little old me?"
"The last thing I heard about you was that you were gettin' sent to High Security. I heard someone say the words "Brother three", but they wasn't talking about you."
"That's good...and what about Brother one?"
"Agent Virus? I've been seeing his agents creepin' about the place, but theres been no talk about him."
"That seems like how Big Brother always played his games"
"How'sa your Brother a negro and you white?"
Humor just stared at him "Jimmy, you are probably the STUPIDEST person I know. We are not blood brothers you retard. You know what, I'm not even going to waste any more time with you."

Humor headed for the door. Humor got all he needed to know. Except for a one tiny thing. What is Big Brother up to?

Dark Asylum felt the scythe cut through the wall and shivered in fear. He would have to stop Necrophobia as soon as possible, there was no telling what damage he could cause, or how the asylum would react. For all intents and purposes, the asylum shouldn't care about the power grid. It was much older then the new technology that had been installed in it decades ago, but like a new organ being implanted in a body, the asylum had grown . . . attached . . . to its new assets.

If Necrophobia wanted to take out the power, he would be headed for the generator room. The wires were now useless as power conductors, the asylum had taken over management of the lighting, but it would take another hundred years before it mastered the machinations of the generator.

Of course, it was learning. Dark had not needed to put fuel in the generator for years, so when Necrophobia attempted to destroy it, the consequences could be apocalyptic.

He pondered this as he walked down the hallway, the flaming giant striding slowly behind him. With each step it took, the floor melted beneath it, but a distance off behind them the stone flowed like water to fill in the prints. Already, Furnace was starting to run hot. It would only be a few more hours before he began to spiral. Dark would just have to take care of this before that happened.

With a boom like the universe shattering, two figures stood in the hallway before him. One appeared to be an armored wizard, whilst the other a half-dragon barbarian. The dragon began to take long sweeps at the armored one, who dodged them easily. Aslyum raised his rifle, preparing to fire, when the two of them dissipated.

He paused for a moment, feeling the memories beginning to slip away. Before they vanished, he grabbed hold of them and pulled them into his deep memory, for later study. He resumed his path, until he reached the end of the hallway.

He stopped before a stairway leading down, pausing for a moment to think upon the events as a whole. This situation brought back memories . . . memories of screaming and electricity, of pain and fire, of something from a past life. He pushed them away. The dread of what would happen if the asylum sustained permanent damage spurred him into action. He descended the staircase, heading down deep into the bowels of the crypt that was the heart of the Dark Asylum.

Meanwhile, back at the office, the other wardens began to have an inkling of what was going on. One of the more experienced ones that had been with the old man for several years realized that something paranormal was happening. This was not just Mr. Humor playing around, there were several people loose in the facility. He issued a lockdown, and the guards began to dispatch, starting the process of returning all of the prisoners to their cells. He wasn't worried about them escaping, he just needed to be sure that the hallways were clear for when things got . . . serious.

The sirens blared down in High Security, ruining Tombstone's meditation. Furious with the disturbance, he smashed through the reinforced doors. Tombstone began charging down the halls to find the office. As he made his way to the office, he realized that these were not just any sirens, they were the warning sirens of a lockdown. But why? Only Humor was loose and he gets loose all the time. There must have been something else going down as well, but what? Tombstone came to a stop when he found that he had ran into a dead end. Best idea was to hunt Humor down, even if Humor wasn't the problem, it would still be fun beating the stuffing out of him.

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"Attention all inmates and guards, this is Warden Humor speaking, with an important announcement. We have a spill in Isle 6, please send clean up crew...make sure you have a body bag because you are going to need it. In other news, the Asylums lost to the Humors with an end score of 100 to 0. Boy, does that Dark guy suck or what?! Anyway, hang on to your seats kiddies, because there is a new sheriff in town and he's loaded, isn't that right, Tom?" The muffled noises of a bound up Tom are barely heard on the mic, but they were loud enough to get the guards to understand Humor's message. "Any fowl moves and Tom here will be swimming with the fishes! I'd love to stay and chat, but I have more important things to attend to. Don't fret though, I'll be back soon! Humor out."

Dark Asylum let loose a roar as he finished the final rotation of the lock on the door. It snapped open with a loud clang that echoed up and down the stairway. As the large door swung open, the cold, damp air from the underground depths began to drift in, before meeting the heat surrounding Furnace. The two currents met each other and began to swirl about the two standing there, as if the air itself was involved in some kind of battle.

Asylum stepped forward into the darkness, mumbling to himself.

“Curse you humor, why did you have to pick now, of all times?” The intercom message was irritating, but not unexpected. Humor had been in the office before, but the inmates needed to be kept under control, some of them were quite dangerous.

He would have to work that out later, at this moment he needed to insure the safety of the generator. The pair of the progressed down a flight of ancient and cracked stairs before it leveled out to a path that wound its way down through a dark chasm. Asylum looked down over the side, the light cast by furnace not even beginning to reveal its gloomy depths. He began to trace his way down through the depths, heading deep into an area that had existed since long before the construction of the actual building.

Asylum felt something fly by him and rolled, coming up with his rifle ready. He fired at the source of the projectile, but it was useless. The wraith stood before him, its vaguely humanoid form glowing with some inner evil. Its dull face and shining eyes were locked on to Asylum. It was an ancient thing, a thing that he normally tried to avoid. But now was not the time for subtlety. He gestured in its direction.

Furnace sprang into motion instantly, lunging at the thing. It side stepped him, moving out over the chasm, floating in space. Furnace reached down and picked up a large stone, the rock melting even as he threw it at the assailant. The physical substance did nothing as it passed through it, but the heat disrupted it, causing it to be even more blurred. Furnace continued to throw projectiles, but to no avail, the wraith was aware of the danger and easily dodged the projectiles. It seemed to grow even more coherent as the air around them began to whip about, growing colder and colder as a vortex began to form around it. The fire around Furnace began to dim as it was blown away by the cold evil of the apparition. The fire giant dropped to its knees, his skin becoming visible once again.

Furnace struggled, spurts of fire shooting out from his like solar flares, but none of them ever grew close enough to trouble the wraith. Looking back and forth between the wraith and the flicking flame, the Asylum began to search the pockets of his coat, fumbling around as the temperature dropped even lower. Eventually some glinted silver in the light as he removed it from a pocket and charged towards the form of Furnace. The wind buffeted him, nearly sending him over the side. He manage to grab hold of a nearby outcropping, pulling himself along. Eventually he stood next to Furnace, who’s heat, even now, still managed to sear his skin. He bent forward and put the necklace around Furnace’s neck, and suddenly his fire burst into existence once more, for from the necklace hung a silver cross that shone in the darkness.

Asylum could have put it around his own neck, procuring the immunity for himself, but he remembered something from long ago, from when Furnace was mostly human. The giant of a man had feared one thing and one thing only, dying cold and alone.

Now with the shield protecting him from the wind, his rage built once more and he let out a roar, fire streaming from his form and towards the wraith. It resisted its cold darkness standing up to the now holy fire for but a moment, before it was consumed in flame.

Furnace looked over towards Asylum as the silver cross grew hot and melted into his form, his fire taking on a golden hue. For an instant, Asylum thought he looked almost like his old self, and he heard a single emanation from the giant.

“Thanks.”

Asylum nodded and the two of the continued down the path, approaching the area where the generator had been installed those many years ago.

Humor sat behind the monitors watching Furnace and Asylum's crusade into the generator room. Those relics and cheap tricks may work against a mild dose of Necrophobia's gas, but the deeper you go, the more haunting the experience. Humor didn't care, why should he? He had control over the asylum...for the most part. The main controls were in the office allowing Humor to do what he pleased. The only thing was that these were not the only controls. the asylum was still a puppet to its true master. Asylum always had a spare pair of strings hidden somewhere which Humor intended on cutting, but not quite yet. Right now Humor was just searching for someone. He turned to the computer sitting next to the monitors and began searching through the inmates. He stumbling upon one that intrigued him.
"No, this cannot be. She can't be here." Typing in a few commands and within seconds this inmate was free. Humor hadn't seen her in ages. A pupil of his, taught her everything she knows and tried to kill her afterwards to see how much she learned from him. Anyway, that was not who he was searching for. He kept on scrolling until he found what he was looking for.
"WHAT?!?!?!? THIS CAN'T BE!??!" Humor frantically read and reread the text that was in front of him:

Agent Virus: Released for good behavior.

"GOOD BEHAVIOR!?!?!? Hell, if he was good behavior then I must be inmate of the year!"
Asylum must have known that he was going to search for him. It was the only logical reason for why Virus was not in the asylum. Furious though calm, Humor searched for his acquaintance, Mr. Serious. Nothing showed up, but that was probably due to the fact that he was recently transferred in. It did not matter, for Humor was soon going to get the information that he wanted.

Mr. Serious barged through the door.
"Mr. Humor, I ask that you stop your shenanigans and step aside. I'm now in control of the asylum."
Humor laughed at him.
"OH NO! PLEASE, someone help me! The big bad Mr. Serious is here to hurt me! Stop while you're ahead, kid. I run the shows around here and-"
Mr. Serious pulled out a revolver and pointed it at Mr. Humor.
"Surely you can't be serious?"
Mr. Serious smirked and said, "Dead serious."

Spoiler:

Mr. Serious stood there, his face a mask that made granite look expressive. He gestured with his gun for Humor to drop his. After a moment, then bald man begrudgingly dropped them. Still keeping the gun pointed at Mr. Humor, Serious worked his way over to the computer. With one hand, he began rapidly typing commands into the mainframe.

As the minutes slowly ticked by, marked only by the rapid tapping of keys, Mr. Humor began to become impatient. Being held at gunpoint was boring. "What are you doin', warden?" eventually burst out of him, in a manic blurt.

Mr. Serious turned to regard Mr. Humor, his hand still tapping away at the keys. "You don't remember this place?"

"Whatta ya mean remember this place? I've been locked up here for years," was the blathered response, slipping out between his madman's smile.

"Huh," Mr. Serious took on an air of the contemplative for a moment. He seemed to have come to a decision. "It doesn't matter. We're leaving this thing. But before we go, I'm crippling it. Some things cannot go completely unopposed. I'm currently setting the furnaces and generators all far beyond their standard operating parameters, then I'm going deep into the asylum to make sure its hurt. You coming?"

Mr. Humor thought about it for a moment, as much as he ever thought about anything. It sounded like fun, and he hadn't been out of the asylum in a long time... and he needed to find agent Virus.

"I'm in," he said, finally.

"Good," said Mr. Serious as he tossed the gun to Mr. Humor. Upon closer inspection, Mr. Humor realized it was a bar of soap covered in shoe-polish, and began his characteristic whooping laugh.

As Mr. Serious turned around, Mr. Humor spoke in a mirthfully condescending tone, "The asylum, you talk about it like its alive."

Mr. Serious didn't turn around. "It is," he said, as he walked out the door.

“Agoraphobic, Aichmophobic, Necrophobic, you’re all too easy!” Necrophobia’s scythe pulled through the bar inches away from one the inmates. Most were cowering in the farthest corners of their cells, their eyes practically welded shut. Anyone who wasn’t was wailing, afraid or bleeding in Necrophobia’s wake at least. There was an iron clang as a door flew open and slammed into the wall. “Cacophobic, Atychiphobic, too easy.” A beautiful woman strode into the hallway. Her standard issue asylum garb did nothing to hinder her image. She looked godly in contrast to necrophobia’s twisted form, and the hellish, tormented hall behind him. “Gerascophobic? No? Maybe you’re just Glossophobic. Either way the party is starting without me," A crow landed on the end of necrophobias scythe. "and I have placees to be, so move aside.”

Spoiler:

"LOOK OUT! HES GOTTA GUN!"
The guards aimed at Mr. Serious ready to shoot. Underhandedly, Mr. Humor swung out his Tommy gun and mowed them down.
"Is this really necessary? We're not here to kill everyone, we are here to escape."
"Eh, Speak for yourself. This is one of the few times I get to be creative when I'm killing." The sound of someone walking down the hallway were heard in the distance. Mr. Humor noticed a painting on the wall. "OOOH, I have an idea!" Mr. Humor turned the painting so that it was slightly crooked. He grabbed Mr. Serious by the collar and pulled him into the broom closet across from the painting.

The guard walked by and stopped to fix the crooked painting. Mr. Humor blasted his first shot into the door, blowing it into smithereens. The second shot was used to blow the guards head straight off of his shoulders.
"BOOM! HEADSHOT! BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!"
Mr. Serious looked at the now headless guard, "Your humor disgust me."
"Lighten up, Cupcake! We're half way to the generator, I have my weapons, Darky-boy can't stop us because he is to busy with Strawbones, AND I know where I can get my hands on a duplikat!"
Mr. Serious look puzzling at Humor, "duplikat? Isn't that used for cloning the guards? Why would you need that?"
Mr. Humor grinned, "glad you asked! Think about it, unlimited ammo, unlimited guns, unlimited glasses, unlimited bombs, unlimited money, unlimited ME! UNLIMITED EVERYTHING! And all I need to do is steal one little device from Darky."
"We are not taking any side trips. We are going to the generator and that is FINAL!" Mr. Serious was tired of Mr. Humor's shenanigans, he just wanted to get out of there and back into the real world, or at least his world.
"Don't worry, Cupcake! It's in the generator room, we'll just go in there, blow everything up, and leave! Simple as 1,2,3!"

15 guards later, Mr. Serious stopped. "Do you hear something?"
"Like what?"
"Sounds like the galloping of a..."
"Of a what?"
"Of a horse."
"REALLY!?!?!?!? DO TELL!!! Well then, I guess Scarecrow is serious about not having trick-or-treaters this year. I guess we are just going to have to tee-pee his house!"
"What are you blabbering about?"
The galloping grew louder and louder when suddenly the source of the noise was seen down the hallway. It was a man on a horse, in one hand he had his cavalry sword waving in the air and in the other a Jack-o-lantern. He wore a cape that flowed behind him as he gained speed. He was the Headless Horseman sent to kill those that tried to interfere with Necrophobia. And that is exactly what he planned to do.

15 guards later,

The woman was glowing, or so it seemed. Her eyes where perfectly endless burning pools, which bore holes through Necrophobia's form. She spoke softly, just as you would expect someone with her beauty to, and the motion of her hand, brushing away the monstrosity as she walked by Necrophobia flowed perfectly. "Ceci ne vaut pas mon temps"

Necrphobia's mask creaked as it stretched, a twisted smile creeping across his face. He raised his scythe and turned. " I hope you're not Agliophob...ic" All that was behind Necrophobia was a hallway strewn with blood. "Allodoxaphobic, most interesting. No matter I have more important things to deal with."

Humor shot wildly at the figure charging toward them. He knew bullets wouldn't stop him, but it would slow him down. The horseman let out a ghoulish laugh getting ready to slice off the head of Mr. Serious. As the blade hit Mr. Serious, the horseman sublimed away into nothingness.
"Well that was anti-climatic," Humor puts away his tommy gun, "Shall we continue on our journey?" They continued down the hallway. They could see the door now. Only a few more feet and then they'd have to face their fears.
________________________________________________________________________

A body flew across the room, crashing into the wall and then on to the floor. Tombstone picked up another inmate.
"WAIT!?!?!??! YOU PROMISED THAT YOU WOULDN'T DO THIS IF WE TOLD YOU WHERE HE WAS!!!!"
Tomestone smirked, "Change in plans." Tomestones slammed the inmate across his knee as if he were a stick. He then left to the generator. He was ready to smash that little bugger once and for all.

Spoiler:

The sound of his heavy breathing echoed off of the rounded ceiling as Asylum took his rest outside of the generator room. Around him the lights hummed softly from their mountings in the natural stone of the cave, providing a stark illumination that outlined the crevices of his face. His expression was grim as he looked over at Furnace, who stood guard farther ahead of him, the stone softly sizzling around his feet. From what he could tell, Asylum assumed he was the first one here, which gave him the advantage. Now that he had recovered, he proceeded through the doorway outlined in a ghastly green light, and into the generator proper.

It was a sight to behold. The massive turbines spun incredibly fast, their motion being fed by steam from pipes that snaked throughout a room the size of an amphitheater. The roar of their gyrations drowned out all thought, but the most truly breathtaking part was the power core in the center. It had once been the chamber to a nuclear reactor, but already the building itself was beginning to absorb it. The area where it connected to the floor was a smooth stone joint, as if the flesh of the structure had begun to grow on to the metal, and the surface was dotted with cracks that appeared to have partially sealed themselves in spite of the lack of proper maintenance.

"Furnace, go sequester yourself somewhere, we want to surprise our guests." Asylum yelled above the generators as he climbed up one of the many catwalks in the room. The fire giant complied, moving farther away from the door and taking up a position behind one of the large metal wheels. Asylum settled himself and primed his rifle, preparing to fire.

After what seemed like an eternity, he spotted a figure through the door. He set his sights and pulled the trigger.