From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe

“Those with the greatest awareness have the greatest nightmares.” Mahatma Gandhi
Dead the Bunny
Player: @Angel Silhouette
Origin:	Psychic Manifestation
Archetype:	In transition
Threat Level:	X
Personal Data
Known Aliases:	The Bogeyman
Species:	Indiscernible
Age:	6 months
Height:	Unknown
Weight:	Unknown
Eye Color:	White
Biographical Data
Nationality:	None, not a registered citizen of any country
Occupation:	Bogeyman
Place of Birth:	Ziggursky Correctional Institution
Base of Operations:	Etoile Isles
Work in Progress.

Work in Progress

You may be wondering why this is not following the standard format in any way shape or form aside from the box on the right, and wondering why it is basically a story with top level namespace. The reason is that I really don't want Dead to have a standard entry. I really would like for him to have more of an old Marvel Comics hero profile. Back in the 80s, I used to collect a marvel comic that was devoted to doing nothing but summating the various characters in the universe, heroes and villains. The entries had some basic info, like you see in the box to the right, but everything else on the page(s) was just backstory. Another reason I want to do that is that I really don't want to pin down his abilities here, as he is supposed to be a sort of horror story antagonist and thus mysterious except for the story that goes along with him.

The Nightmares of the Wicked - Unfinished, subject to change.

The things we fear most in our waking lives are always free to follow us into our dreams, but the things we fear most in our dreams are never capable of following us back to our waking lives. Our nightmares, no matter how frightening, are imprisoned within the cages of our dreams and our Id.

But what if they could escape?

Zack awakened feeling very cold. He lifted his head and stared at the light streaming in through the window of his cell door and wondered what time it was. He blinked away the sleep and realized that his blanket had fallen to the floor. As he began to roll over to reach for it, he saw a shape in the darkness crouching on the other bunk.

"Matthews?"

The shape moved its head to look at him.

"The hell are you up to, meat? I swear, if you're doin' somethin weird, I'll shiv you right now!" As he squinted, his eyes began to re-adjust to the low light and the shape crouching on the bunk next to him was very clearly not Matthews.

"Wh- what the hell?" He scrabbled backward on his bunk, trying to push himself through the wall behind him. His eyes completely adjusted to the darkness, he could see the creature quite clearly. It was shiny, like a bug, and had tiny white beady eyes on a head that looked like a cross between a man, a rabbit and a spider.

Zack held still, praying that it would stop looking at him. Its eyes narrowed and it worked its jaw; there was no mouth that he could see, but he could hear it smacking. There was a loud, meaty pop and it looked as if it dislocated its jaw, then another as it turned its head to look back down at its feet. He allowed himself a quick glance to follow the creature's gaze and saw Matthews beneath its huge, clawed feet, struggling to breathe. Snapping his eyes back to the creature, he saw that it was doing nothing else; it just crouched on top of Matthews' chest, staring into his eyes.

Zack reviewed his options and concluded that even though he couldn't stand Matthews, he knew for sure that he didn't like this thing, and if he could get it to let him up it would be two against one. Besides, he thought as he scanned the room for something to throw, Matthews has got to be a better cell-mate than a bug monster.

Finding nothing in sight, he slid his hand between his bunk and the wall, keeping his eyes on the monster across from him. He began feeling around for the shiv he had made out of melted styrofoam when he saw the thing's big rabbit ears twitch. He froze. He wished he could hold his breath and that his heart would stop beating so loudly; he was sure it could hear it hammering away in his chest. He waited motionless for what felt like hours before he allowed himself to continue groping for his shiv. Every moment that passed caused his anxiety and frustration to grow. He was on the verge of panic when he finally found the makeshift weapon as its point tore into the heel of his palm. He inhaled sharply through his teeth and, distracted by the pain, reflexively snatched his hand back. He cradled his hand to see how badly he had been cut as the realization crept over him like a lengthening shadow. His eyes grew wide with horror and, with as little movement as possible, he raised his head to look at the other bunk. He hoped against hope that the creature had not heard him; though, even without seeing it, he could feel its eyes boring holes into him.

The next few moments felt like a lifetime. As Zack's eyes met the creature's, he froze; unable to move, unable to breathe. His heartbeat thundered in his ears and he felt as if bugs were crawling all over him, under his clothes and in his mouth. He wanted to scream, call for a guard, call out to God. He clenched his eyes and remembered the Lord's prayer as tears began to trickle down his cheeks. He opened his eyes, hoping that everything was just a hallucination from that fruit mash Murk had fermented in his toilet bowl, that it would be gone and it would just be Matthews in that bunk; instead, the thing was still there, and still staring at him. It laid its ears down and narrowed its eyes at him. Then there was a terrible sound, like the squeal from a pot of boiling lobsters, and Zack could feel his dinner welling up into his throat. The creature leapt towards him, its clawed fingers reaching for his throat; he shut his eyes tight, put his arms in front of his face and waited for the inevitable.

Zack jerked awake and sat bolt upright, looking frantically around the cell. Nothing; nothing but Matthews asleep in his bunk, writhing and kicking from the nightmare he had just shared with everyone within sixty feet. He sniffed the air and cursed Matthews' very existence, he had both soiled himself and vomited in his sleep again. Cursing under his breath, he stood up and walked to Matthews' bunk, staring down at him with hatred burning in his eyes. He wanted to strangle the homely little bastard, or at least beat him to a pulp, but he knew that it would only result in debilitating pain and paralysis for himself; Matthews was the most powerful mutant psychic the Zig had ever seen.

_________

The next day, crowded off to one side of the enclosed courtyard, several residents of cell block Z congregated behind a support column.

"Look," muttered Zack in a low voice, "we gotta do this soon, I don't think I can take it any more." He looked at the gathered faces earnestly. A few nodded agreement, whispering vulgar affirmations of the idea, but Murk and Jimmy shook their heads. "Whassamatter with you two? You guys suddenly develop a conscience? Goin' straight?"

"Not loike vat at all," Murk's voice was like dragging your head down a gravel path, "I ain't never killed nobody before, an' I don't plan on startin' now; vat's not my M O, mate. I may puts 'em in da 'ospi'al, but I leaves 'em breavin' at least; I ain't gonna be no part 'o vis bisness. I'm up for good be'avior in free monfs."

Zack clenched his jaw and chewed over Murk's declaration; if he ratted them out, there was really nothing they could do to him. Murk was not only one of the largest inmates in Z block, but he was practically invulnerable. Zack knew the only thing he could do was bluff and hope to God that Murk bought it. "You better not rat us out, Murk!" he hissed, "You cross us and we'll make sure you never get that 'good be'avior' you're lookin' forward to!"

Murk looked down at the finger Zack had shoved in his face, "You like vat fingah?"

Zack pulled his hand back quickly, shooting Murk a dirty look, "What about you, Jimmy, you suddenly findin' yourself a set'a morals? I know for a fact you ain't buckin' for early parole."

"No way, Zacky, I just ain't gonna mess with no head-case." He shook his head again, "I likes my brains just like they is, now. I ain't riskin' 'em on nothin' as hare-brained as this."

"Whaddya mean 'riskin your brains', Jim?" Tarbones asked.

"He's a psychic, right? If he can put dreams like that into our heads n'stuff when he's asleep, what's he gonna do to us when we try an' jump 'im?"

Suddenly a few members of the gathered inmates had appointments they had to keep and wandered off, muttering excuses.

"Awww jeez, Jimmy! Look what you did!" Zack put his hands over his face and leaned back against the wall.

"I gots an idear." The voice sounded like a 45 rpm record at half speed and seemed to come from all around them. One by one they all jumped nearly out of their skin as they discovered whose it was. Standing right next to them the entire time was the man everyone called Brick, because that's what he looked like; six and a half feet of brick to be precise. He tended to walk around in his underpants; no one knew why, no one wanted to know why, but it made him easy to overlook because he blended into the walls so easily.

"Mother Mary and Joseph, Brick! You nearly scared the life out of me!" Zack clutched at his chest, "Don'tchu know it ain't polite to go sneakin' around and eavesdroppin'? Since when did you learn to talk, anyway, stoneface?"

"Been here tha whole time, meatstick, not my fault you an idiot."

"Why you-" Zack stopped short, held back by Murk's giant hand; he looked back at him to see him shake his head 'No' before letting go of his shoulder. Zack made a show of straightening his perpetually dishevelled jumpsuit, "So what's this idea of yours, then?" he grumbled.

"Hit 'em wit a rock." Everyone stared at Brick for a moment before a lone snicker was heard, causing a ripple of laughter to spread across the group.

Zack wasn't laughing, "Great plan mungo. A rock, why didn't we think'a that? That's much better than grabbin 'im in tha showers an slicin' 'im open with a shiv, ain't it guys?"

"You forget, sugarplum, I gots tha cell right under yous. I wants him gone as much as yous do."

Zack shuddered visibly at Brick calling him sugarplum, "Where we gonna get a rock, lugnut, we ain't even 'llowed to go outside."

Brick reached down and picked up a two and a half pound weight from the near by weight bench, "Folla me."

__________

Matthews frowned as he read Freud's 'The Interpretation of Dreams' for the third time. Sweat beaded and trickled from his forehead as he flipped back and forth between chapters, nearly ripping the pages in his haste. He hadn't noticed that the tables around him had suddenly been vacated, nor did he see the crowd gathering. He did, however, notice a flash of movement off to his left and looked up just in time for the weight to ricochet off of his forehead. His world spun and he couldn't tell if he was falling or flying until the back of his head met the floor. As the world swam back into view, his vision was obscured by the familiar shape of a man with rabbit ears. He reached toward it, "Dead... De-" but the shape was gone; replaced with the shadows of his fellow inmates, silhouetted by the artificial light.

"Izzee dead?"

"Nah. Not yet, anyway."

"Well let's do it before he wakes up and does somfin' wif our heads."

There was a sharp pain in his ribs and he could hear a loud crack as they snapped. 'Why?' he cried out in his mind, 'What did I do to deserve this?' More pain and snapping from the other side, 'Why am I even here, I didn't do anything wrong!' His arrest and subsequent trial flashed before him. He remembered all of the false evidence and testimony, his ineffectual council, and his mother crying as the judge read the verdict. A sharp pain in his right temple snapped him back to reality just long enough to see the faces of his tormentors before his world flashed white and was gone.

By the time the klaxons sounded, it was too late, Matthews was barely recognizable as human. The crowd surrounding him scattered and mingled, disassociating themselves with the situation before the guards arrived, and complied obediently to their orders once they did. Despite the blood on their shoes, each claimed their innocence as an onlooker; there was no way to discern who did what in the video footage of the attack and by the end of the day, the only punishment that could be doled out was solitary confinement for all.

That night the solitary wing was full, but there were more prisoners present in the yard than there were cells, so some enjoyed a temporary reprieve. The punishment was considered light by all, especially the guards, and the only ones happy about it were the inmates. That night they enjoyed the first peaceful sleep they'd had in weeks; though for some, the sleep was more peaceful than others.

__________

Zack awakened with a start, "Wha!?" He looked around the room, trying to blink away the darkness. "Who's there?" He hissed, raising himself onto an elbow.

He heard it again, someone was whispering something he couldn't understand. His eyes darted left and right and sweat began to form on his brow; he recognized the voice. "M- Matthews?" his mouth and throat were suddenly dry, "Is- Is that... You?" He tried to swallow.

The whispering stopped and the wet pop of a joint dislocating, then relocating punctuated the silence.

Zack closed his eyes and began to whisper, "Our father," he began, "Who-" but he couldn't continue. There was a sudden, crushing pressure on his chest, forcing him down into the bunk as he felt a pair of cold, hard hands wrap around his throat and claws digging into his flesh.

"Rise and shine, Zack." O'Hanlan rapped on the door with his baton, "Open six oh one!" he shouted down the corridor. Mackey nodded and released the lock on the confinement cell door. Hearing the click, O'Hanlan waved a thanks to his colleague and drew his eyebrows together upon hearing the sound of a wet plop. He snapped his head sideways, unaware of what to expect, but never could have prepared himself for what he saw. His eyes grew wide and his jaw hung slack; the sound of his baton clattering to the floor echoed down the corridor, drawing Mackey's attention away from the re-run of "Positron Knows Best" he was watching.

"Patty?" he called out to O'Hanlan who was standing stone still in front of cell 601, "Patty!" He picked up his radio and tried again, "PATTY!"

"What's up?" came the voice of Johanssen.

"Something, not sure, Patty's-" He drifted off as he saw pool of dark red forming around O'Hanlan's feet. "Emergency! Emergency! Get a medic and security team to solitary wing Zulu, NOW!" He holstered his radio, grabbed a beanbag gun from the locker and dashed down the corridor.

Mackey was halfway to the cell when O'Hanlan began to scream; he stumbled backwards and collapsed against the cell door behind him and covered his face with his arms. Slowing as he approached, Mackey chambered a round and eased his way around the pool of blood to where he could see through the open doorway.

"Mackey! MACKEY!" The radio snapped him free of the shock at what he saw.

He pulled the radio from its holster, "Yeah..."

"Report! What's happening!" It was the warden.

"Call the M.E., sir."

__________

The warden would have liked to have kept the situation under wraps, but the guards' radio chatter made that impossible. By lunch time, the entire east wing knew and rumours were already forming about vengeful ghosts and monsters in the ventilation system. A lot of it was laughed off by the prisoners as scare tactics, imagining the guards were trying to frighten them since they couldn't punish them for the incident the day before, though most could see the tension in the guards' strides. The next morning brought word of three more deaths in the solitary wing, each as messy as the first, as well as the resignations of four of the guards who tried to identify the remains.

"Mulligan. Hey! Mulligan!" Brick called out to the approaching guard.

"What's up, Brick?" Mulligan stopped in front of open the cell.

"What's goin' on sweetcakes." Brick reached out to stroke the guard's cheek. "I ever tell yous I loved yer accent?"

Mulligan recoiled in horror, "None 'o that, y'hear! You keep them big rocky hands t'yerself 'r I'll..." He pondered what he could possibly do in retaliation.

"'R you'll what, sugarplum? Hit me wit yer stick?" He let out a slow, gravelly chuckle and shifted his big, rocky lips into a grin. "I'm only kiddin' anyway. Hey what's the dope, Mickey?"

"It's Mulligan t'you, rockhead, an I'm not supposed t'be talkin' about that; you're not even supposed to know about it!"

"Aw come on, Mully, pweeeeze?" He put his palms together and tried to force his stone face into a puppy dog stare.

"It's Mulligan and," He took a step backward and looked around, "okay but ye didn't hear it from me." Mulligan looked around again before leaning closer, "Y'know them stories y'heard of the solitary wing, Brick." Brick nodded. "Well it's all true, I seen it meself. Blood ev'rywhere, Lord I've never seen such a mess. T'was like somethin' ate 'em right up an' then spit them back out again, tis the God's truth, I tell ya." He shuddered "I tell ya Brick, tis not a sight mortal men should ever have 'ta see. But ah; don't tell no one I told ya."

"Cross my heart an' hope ta die, Mullman." He scratched a big X over his chest and raised a hand up.

"It's Mulligan, and y'd better not, 'r I'll confiscate Murk's stash o' scrumpy." He smiled when that straightened the rockman's posture a bit.

Brick blew dusty kisses at the retreating back of the guard and turned around, "Ya catch all that, Bones?"

The weedy little man sitting on the bunk behind him nodded, "Yeah, scary stuff, I'd better go tell Murk to do somethin' with his stash."

He rolled his big eyes, "Not that, numbnuts, talkin' 'bout the other stuff."

"Oh yeah, creepy stuff, whaddya think it is?"

"I dunno. I dun' think I wanna know." He looked up at the ceiling and frowned, "In fact I'm prayin' it ain't what I think it is."

________

Despite the resignations of a number of guards, the borough of Brickstown remained blissfully unaware of the carnage within.

- to be continued.