Therefore, We Eat

Chapter 1

A Beautiful Death

Unedited test chapter for a concept.

In which no prison can hold the mad for too long.

Danny supposed that playing hero was probably, most certainly stupid. He supposed that if he had not decided the world needed another one, that if he had not decided that the Justice League couldn't handle it, that he may have just been alright. Of course though, he was stupid, and Sam thought the idea was cool, and Tucker was just supportive of anything. So here he was. In a prison of all things.

Danny could remember those old Don't Vandalize The Buildings or You'll Go to Prison Forever, videos they'd show in school alongside the If You Do Drugs You'll Die, presentations, and he never—not even in his wildest dreams(nightmares)—imagined he'd end up in jail.

In prison.

In Arkham.

-0-

There wasn't a lot of things in the world that really honestly scared Danny. Yeah, he had fears, but they weren't normal ones. He was afraid of the government, and the Justice League, and his parents, and himself. So he'd pretend that he didn't have such silly, irrational fears like those, and instead lied about a fear of spiders and clowns—he did have a problem with circuses though. You'd never be able to drag him back to one of those—because that was easier then actually admitting his fears.

He had sealed himself in the darkest cell in the entire building that he could find. In the furthest room, down the longest hallway in the isolation area. So he'd be isolated. Like he deserved. Danny didn't bother to think about how he didn't chose this. About how this was just a holding cell until he could be driven off to Greenland just to be back at another—. No. He wasn't going to think about that right now. The cell was nice actually, in fact he didn't even have to deal with the other prisoners—he ignored how they weren't allowed to be near him in case he attacked or something—and the guards didn't come near him since he was so far away. It was nice. He could appreciate it.

-0-

Danny's arrival went something like this.

It was the dark of the night. He could tell from the supernatural, almost buzz in the fresh almost forest smelling air, that it was nearing the Witching Hour—3:00 AM—his eyes glowed dimly in the back of the truck. The Witching Hour was more then an old folk tale, as Danny had learned. When ever he was up around three in the morning he got a sort of buzz through his veins. Like drinking alcohol or taking too much pain medication. The desire, the need to perform his obsession would almost double. Sometimes it was hard, especially on the bad days when all he could think about was his obsession, all in life—death?—that mattered was it.

He could rather easily recall the one time had an especially bad, obsessive day. The Witching Hour had come, and the already supernatural buzz in his head and veins from the strong obsession day, seemed to almost double. He had spent most of the night nervously darting along the sky making sure the town, his town, was okay and safe. That had not been an enjoyable night.

They were driving along some sort of city road, he knew that much—it was smooth and every once in awhile Danny could could hear the zinging wooosh of a car racing past the van he was in—and for once he was actually happy. The pod they—they, them, those ones, The G. I. W.—had decided to lock him in was prone to julsting his body rather violently. He was standing up right. His feet bolted down in a way so that if he really tried, and pointed his toes he could just barely brush up against the metallic bottom of the pod, Danny's arms were bolted down by his sides and his neck was held in place, forming an uncomfortable lump in his throat. He knew that any pothole or lump in the road would not be fun. The skin around his wrist and ankles was torn and raw, the light, sweet scent of ectoplasm filled the truck.

The truck lurched suddenly, and Danny was forced forward, the iron clamp around his neck choked him, stinging his bones and burning his flesh, he let out a cry that sent flickers of pain up his throat and was muffled by the circular muzzle clamped around his mouth. There were two more bumps; the power filtrator bracelets around his arms and legs and neck buzzed lightly, glowing a faint green as they began to filter his output energy into electricity to power the truck, and the pod. Danny could already smell the tangy, citrus and sugar, scent of ectoplasm—his—working to attempt to heal him.

The bracelets were his design vaguely. He had had been forced to explain how to turn ectoplasmic energy into electricity and normal usable energy, since it was dangerous and the agents didn't want to risk and important people. So somewhat, he knew how it worked, and currently it was literally eating away at his body. Which was not very pain free experience.

The truck ran over two, much more smooth almost artificial bumps in the road, which Danny blearily realized were probably speed bumps. They were going somewhere. A few of the other boxes and containers shifted as the road began to tilt them upwards, Danny's back was forced up and against a the rather hot back of the pod, which slowly began to overheat him in his already weak form.

His eyes rolled in his head unwillingly, and suddenly there was a click, and the door on the furthest back wall opened, exposing the entire truck to the bright light of the moon. Danny could hear the muffled sound of people talking, along with the dark blurred outlines of bodies moving towards him. The world shifted, and Danny drowned in the black.

-0-

Everything was decently okay. Maybe. He was sat in the corner of the cell, it had been exactly four days, thirteen minutes, and forty-two seconds since he had arrived. So far, the experience was mostly boring, if not a nice break. He personally blamed knowing the exact time on spending too much time with Clockwork, but then again in his life, he never knew. The lights flickered out casting the room into an ereathal darkness, and Phantom groaned. When it got dark his eyes automatically glowed brighter, activating his slight night vision and allowing him to light the room in a green haze. Unfortunately for him, this was still energy output, and that meant that the collars and bracelets were still taking his energy, and powering something. He didn't know what.

The world seemed to be in a haze, the faint green casting him into a world of repetitive stinging, rhythmic pulsing. Danny breathed deeply, cold air surrounding his body as he moved to stand, bracing his weight on the wall he swayed. It was probably a beautiful night out. He always loved the stars. Unfortunately for him though, there were no windows and he hadn't had the chance to go out into the yard since he was deemed as far too dangerous. Basically, they didn't want anyone seeing him as human, and so he didn't get to go outside. Really though, he didn't mind that much. He'd rather not interact with the characters of the prison for as long as he could.

It was sometime at night now, since they turned off the lights at night as Danny had learned. Which he personally took great pleasure in. Back at the facility they didn't really turn off the lights. He had been able to keep track of the time for the first few days at the facility but after he started passing out, he couldn't really tell anymore. After all, you couldn't count seconds while asleep.

Danny was determined not to fall asleep, and so far he hadn't, but even now he could feel the exhaustion pulling at his frame. Tugging, trying to coerce him on to the small bed in the corner. It had only been around four or five days since he had come. They didn't have any problem shoving him into the dark basement cell, where he could hear everything. The humming of lights, keys jingling, and the god awful stench of what went on above him.

Danny sighed, the weight of his past decisions heavy on his back. He wanted his mom and his dad and his family back, he wanted to go home. Danny leaned up against the wall, his head tilting up to stare at the ceiling of the stone room.

The world burst into light as an explosion rocked the building.