Commission: The Break Up (Doom Patrol)

[Story Listing]

Summary: A couple reaches an impasse that they can't overcome together, and they go their separate ways; alone and heart-broken, they experience life-changing experiences, transforming into freakish outcasts of society. Commissioned by an anonymous user.

---

Sylvia should've been relieved that Cliff had been moved out of intensive care and into a more general ward, but the lurching feeling in her stomach remained. She felt like she had swallowed a boulder. She procured an assortment of scented flowers and paced down the hallway at a pronounced pace, her high heels clicking along the way. She adjusted her red cloche hat as she stumbled upon the door the receptionist told her about.

Room 214. Cliff was in here. She paused, steadied her nerves, took a deep breath, and rapped at the door with her knuckles.

"Cliff? It's Sylvia. Are you awake?" She called out carefully.

"...Yeah." A gruff voice responded from the other side of the door. "Door's unlocked."

Sylvia took that as an invitation, centered herself, bracing for the worst, and opened the door slowly; the quiet creaking of the hinges announced her presence.

A man lay there, restrained by a bevy of gauze and bandage wrappings. His arm was slung in a brace, and both of his legs were suspended by cables. A pair of weary brown eyes stared longingly to the wall opposite his bed, peering out from a mess of bandages that covered up his burned, scarring skin.

The ghastly sight sent a shiver down Sylvia's spine, and the look of trepidation and horror on her face was palpable. Cliff, for his part, tried to avert his eyes so they wouldn't meet Sylvia's, but his movement was pretty limited.

"Cliff..." She whispered hoarsely. The bouquet of flowers she clutched in her hand tumbled quietly to the floor.

"Y'know you didn't have to visit." Cliff murmured. "I don't think I'm really presentable for any company, hah..."

"What... what the hell happened this time, Cliff?" She approached with careful steps. She wanted to avert her eyes, but her duty as his closest confidant compelled her.

"A loose wooden board wrenched itself ajar during the motorcycle jump spectacular, did a forward tumble square into a ring o' fire and the exhaust pipe of a truck." His cast foot rocked as he attempted to wriggle his toes. "Shame, really. The kids out there were really gonna see something spectacular..."

"The kids!?" Sylvia blurted. "What about you!? You can barely move!"

"These great United States o' 'Murica got the best collection o' doctors in the world, Sylvia." Cliff muttered, shifting slightly in his uncomfortable restraints. "You don't gotta worry. I'm in good hands. Plus they worked on me 'nuff, they know exactly what makes me tick, heheh- ahem, hahgh!"

He tried to laugh at his own reassurances, but pushed himself into a raucous coughing fit. Sylvia grimaced as his entire bed rattled and shook.

"Looks worse than it is, babydoll." He forced a smile as he cleared his throat a couple more times.

"Th-the doctor said you broke practically every bone in your body..." She muttered, that dwelling sense of dread welling up once more.

"Bones heal. Skin calluses, burns scar." He attempted a shrug. "My spine and skull's completely intact. Thank my lucky stars I was wearin' a helmet, huh? I'll be outta here in no time."

"That... that's a huge relief." Sylvia sighed. She wanted to feel relieved, but she understood Cliff's intentions at this point. She detected no sense of remorse in his voice, just a sense of impatience.

There was an elephant in the room the two had been dodging until now, and on some level, both of them acknowledged this fact.

"But..." Sylvia took a breath.

"There's that 'but' again." Cliff groaned, wincing slightly as he fidgeted in his bed.

"This needs to stop, Cliff. This... this whole daredevil thing." She gestured to his bed. "You can't keep living like this."

"I'll get patched up in a hurry. I lived, right?" He turned to Sylvia. "I'll be fine. You don't gotta worry your pretty little head over me-"

"But I do worry!" Sylvia blurted out, her arms slamming to her sides. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, Cliff."

Those sorrow-filled words hung heavy in a hospital ward, housing that single patient and the woman who loved him. She let those words hover, gulping back her unease as she pressed onwards.

"I worry about you, Cliff. There was that sojourn in the Amazon, you were gone for half a year. And every time they show your stunts on the television, my gut churns because I think maybe, maybe this is the last time I'll see you before, before you go up in a ball of flames! When does it end, Cliff!?"

Cliff considered her words quietly, before slowly turning to the far wall.

"Sylvia... you really don't get it, do you...?" He muttered.

"If I don't, then tell me! Why do you keep flinging yourself, mocking death every time!? It's insanity!" Her voice had risen to a shrill cadence.

"Swaying on the verge of death, like walkin' a tightrope... that's the one time I ever feel truly alive, Sylvia." He was still, contemplative. "If I gave that up, then it wouldn't be much different than dying, would it?"

"No!" She leaned against his bed, lowering herself so she was at eye level with Cliff. "You... you nearly died today, Cliff! That's dying, that's something you can't walk back from! You need to come home, to someone who loves and cherishes you!"

"If you're asking me to renounce who I am, then..." He lowered his head. "I think it best we go our separate ways."

"What??" Sylvia's jaw dropped. "Cliff, I... I love you. I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy..."

"It doesn't work both ways, hun." He shook his head. "I set myself on this road a long time ago, and if you can't accept that part of me... well, it'd be better if you moved on."

His eyes narrowed, wincing as he uttered those cold words. Sylvia clutched her chest, her hand grasping his blankets.

"N-no..." She whispered. "Cliff, you can't... you're breaking my heart..."

"I'm saving you from a lot more heartbreak later." Cliff cut her off, a stern look in his eyes. "You need a man who can support you. Who won't run off on you to chase his dreams. I... I can't be that man."

He swallowed back his own welling sadness. The look of a despairing woman hovering over him was enough to put more than a chink in his iron-clad heart.

"If I went and retired, disappeared with you... I wouldn't be happy. You wouldn't be happy. And the kids, the ones who look up to me, they'd lose their hero." He looked to the open window, sunlight streaming in. "I need to be there for them. To show people that nothin's impossible, if you're willin' to work at it."

"...You... you'd get yourself killed over spending the rest of your life with someone who loves you, and wants to hold you and... and to keep you safe..." Sylvia's voice croaked as tears welled up at the corners of her eyes. She was trembling, kneeling down to pick up the bouquet of flowers she had brought with her.

Her cheeks red, and eyes swelling with quiet tears, she swallowed back her sobs and gently placed the bouquet by the windowsill. She fidgeted; she understood that this was over. That they should go their separate ways.

"Goodbye Cliff..." She cooed, opening the door. "I won't forget you. B... break a leg out there."

"I wouldn't be trying very hard if I wasn't." He chuckled, feeling tears of his own soaking into his bandages. "...goodbye Sylvia."

She nodded, feeling herself on the verge of tears. She made sure to close the door behind her...

...Before she collapsed onto her knees, sobbing into her cupped palms. It was over between them. In the end, they couldn't provide happiness for one another after all...

---

Despite the heartbreak that Sylvia endured, life goes on. It had been half a year since their breakup, and Sylvia had very important work to do at a major nuclear power plant. She was a safety inspector, responsible for ensuring the myriad safeguards imposed to protect the welfare of the workers and civilians. She took her work seriously; there were a lot of misgivings with nuclear power, after all, a lot of rubbish she refused to pay mind to.

She focused on her work to distract herself from Cliff. Today she was scheduled to examine the wastewater treatment facility,

Carrying a clipboard with her, she checked off the considerable list of bullet points: ensuring everyone was wearing safety gear, ensuring there were barricades to stop people from falling, and ensuring that the control consoles were in good repair. She made sure to bring her own hazmat suit as part of her inspection.

It was in the middle of her current check that she noticed a newspaper, with a particular headline in boldface.

She recognized the name. A look of dread rose to her face. With a pale expression and a slow, trembling hand, she reached for the newspaper and scanned the headline:

CLIFF STEELE DEAD!

Perished tragically in a NASCAR pileup!

The memories came flooding back all at once. The horrible premonitions she always had whenever he was on the road, out doing daring do. She was right, and she hated that feeling, now more than ever.

"Oh God..." She broke down at the console. "I couldn't save him... I couldn't save him...!"

She sobbed, wailing as her elbow pressed a red button, labeled "SHAFT C EJECTION". The man operating the booth didn't notice the slight motion, more concerned with comforting the sobbing woman.

"M-Ms. Rutger, did something happen? Please, head to the break room, we can finish up here later!" He insisted, hoisting her up by the arms to smile comfortingly into her reddened eyes.

She nodded weakly, her mouth trembling. She needed to sit down, get this hazmat suit off of her, and maybe take the rest of the day off. Her thoughts were consumed by memories of him.

She staggered off, at a slow pace, dazed, her mind wandering, filled with visions of her ex. She didn't notice how one of the walkways was raising, detracting, as a result of the button she pushed. It took her a couple seconds too long to catch the blaring of a horn, she had been so distracted.

And as she raised her head upon finally realizing something was wrong, her foot failed to find solid ground, and she tipped over the side, flipping over a retracting railing. She screamed as she flipped through the air, falling fifteen feet until she hit the water with a painful splash!

Her hooded helmet had slipped free, revealing her long brown hair. She gasped as her head broached the surface. The water was warm, almost hot to the touch; it was partially radiated, the runoff of water used to cool fuel rods! She panicked, flailing, looking for a ladder to escape to. Her body was already beginning to experience strange tingling sensations.

But she paused as a large valve opened up above her. She gawked upwards at the pipe, wailing as a torrent of green-glowing water gushed forward, dumping on top of her and pushing her deeper into the tank!

She tumbled into the underwater depths, the clarion sound of the alert muffled by the water. She shivered, her body trembling. The water she was assaulted with was SEARING HOT, and her hazmat suit practically melted overtop of her. Dazed, she didn't perceive how her body's tingling intensified, a buzzing sensation rushing over her entire form.

Strand by strand, her long brown hair shed itself from her scalp; strands of body hair melted away, practically eroding as her pores closed up. Her hair fluttered away, before disintegrating in the wastewater. Her eyelids fluttered as she saw her hair disappearing in her peripheral vision.

The buzzing sensation drifted to her limbs. She raised her hands in front of her, noting with horror as her fingernails melted away, plucking off one by one. She began to hyperventilate, the buzzing surrounding her intensifying.

And then a new sensation materialized in her core...

Fwoomp! Her eyes widened, her limbs locked at her sides as her chest and belly rapidly expanded--no, inflated on its own like a giant beach floatie! She found herself rushing towards the surface on her own accord, wiggling her fat little arms as she held her breath.

She shot to the surface, bobbing atop the green-hued waters. She exhaled a sigh of relief, her body letting out a squeaking noise as it seemed to deflate on its own. She gawked her head upwards, wondering if help was on the way yet...

Holy crap what happened to her!?

She turned into a freakin' mutant!

What's the protocol here!?

Is she contagious!?

My God, it's a freak of nature...

The men in hard hats regarded her with fear and apprehension. She looked down over herself, examining her form.

She gasped in horror, looking at her hand in clear vision. It had taken on a glossy, absurd shade of bubblegum pink! And it was smooth, rubbery, and elastic to the touch. There were no bones anymore, just rubber... and some air from her inflating episode, judging from her grossly huge hand, her fingers resembling giant foot-long sausages!

A cursory examination indicated her entire body had taken on that shade of pink. She was latex rubber, head to toe! The water protected her modesty, but she caught her reflection in the water, despairing at her smooth, bald head and her black, soulless eyes!

She glanced up again in terror, noting that security was on its way. She trembled; they weren't going to help her, they were going to lock her up, to keep their dirty little secret from getting out. She'd be a lab rat freak for the rest of her days!

She needed to escape, now. But the only way out was... through the sewage.

She swallowed, and dipped her head underwater, her massive limbs acting as flippers to force her through the water. She followed the current of water, towards a pipe at the bottom. It was only a couple feet in diameter. She hesitated, wondering what she would do if she got stuck...?

She steeled her nerves and pressed on, allowing the forces around her to suck her in. First her arms stretched forward, then her torso, and then her legs in a single, boldly stretch; she winced with the sensation of her body being stretched taut, nowhere near her breaking point.

Everything went black. She felt her body tugged along, bending around corners, stretched into a single connecting thread at points as the water picked up speed. She must've stretched out over twenty feet at points.

But eventually...

Squelch...

Her arms did little to brace her fall as she practically oozed out of a pipe at the end, plopping face-first into a pool of radiated toxic sludge. Her body piled up like a pile of spaghetti, splotches of ooze sliding off her smooth, latex skin as she stirred, trying to pull her face up.

As her body slowly creaked back to its normal proportions, and as she felt the toxic ooze sliding down her sleek, naked form, she hugged herself, her arms coiling around her chest. She brought her legs up to protect her crotch, her ebony eyes wincing as tears built at the corners of her eyes.

"I'm a freak..." she sobbed into her chest, her elastic body creaking anxiously as it yielded to her tightening grip. "And I'm alone..."

---

Though the death of famous stuntman Cliff Steele was reported worldwide, the facts of the matter were greatly exaggerated to the general population. In actuality, he hadn't died, though he had gotten about as close as one could get. And it was easy to figure that he did die, based on the footage and photos that tabloids published of his scattered, splattered remains.

But he wore a helmet! His brain was intact well enough, as was his spinal cord. And that was all a daring scientist needed to restore his humanity... albeit in the nigh-indestructible, mechanized body of a steel-plated robot, equipped with all manner of gadgets and gizmos.

This was the grizzly origin story of the superhero Robotman, a founding member of the Doom Patrol, though it wasn't common knowledge at all; actually, the importance of secret identities had been impressed upon him, so it wasn't something he typically went on blabbing about. Cliff was a guy who kept his cards close to his chest, and an unchanging robotic expression made for a good poker face.

Which is why the letter he had received at his old apartment was so strange. He hunched over the kitchen table, his looming brass figure poring over the contents of the letter. The scent of a propane stovetop firing away didn't register to his inert sense of smell.

"You want your brain food sunny-side-up or scrambled, sugar?" A woman at the stove—one Rita Farr, a member of Doom Patrol like him—turned to him, garbed in a tongue-in-cheek apron: it read 'I LIKE MY BUTT RUBBED AND MY PORK PULLED'.

Cliff didn't notice right away; it took him a moment to determine that she was talking to him. He straightened up in a hurry, his metal joints creaking as he let out a slightly muffled "urk". His head turned to the apron; he would've squinted if he could.

"Yer actually wearin' that, Rita?" Cliff scoffed. She shrugged in response.

"Lance would be sad if I didn't." She shrugged. "And it keeps the cooking oil away from my Sunday finest."

Right. Lance was into his ironic Christmas gifts. Cliff shrugged, his body creaking, as his attention turned back to the letter.

"What's that letter, anyway?"

Cliff cocked his head up, hearing Rita from behind him; his other senses had dulled since his roboticized conversion, but his hearing and sight were just fine. He turned his head, finding Rita's head bobbing behind him, stretched across the kitchen along a ropey neck.

"H-hey, can't a guy get some privacy??" Cliff sputtered, hunching over his letter; this bashful maneuver invited a smirk from Rita, her neck creaking as she inched closer.

"Well now I'm even more curious~" She giggled menacingly, squinting as she rolled her head from side to side, swiveling like a cobra. "One of those 'dames' you're so fond of?"

"Yes! That's what's so weird!" Cliff exclaimed, rustling the paper. "Jeez, just let me think about this a tic..."

"O-oh, I..." Rita grimaced, a soft frown creasing her cheeks. Her neck retracted, her head plopping back onto her shoulders. "I didn't know you were seeing anyone..."

"I'm not." Cliff cut her off curtly. "Women don't go for a guy who ain't any good at cuddlin' or the like. And well... less said about the bedroom the better..."

He'd clear his throat if he could. Rita turned his back to him, an empathetic look crossing her face; Cliff was crass to a fault, but she did regret touching on a nerve so brazenly.

"This gal, she... she's from a long time ago." Cliff explained. "A little before I got my start with NASCAR."

"NASCAR?" Rita's eyes widened, her torso swiveling towards him. "But that was when you were..."

"Yeah. Back then." He rotated his metal arm as if stretching a muscle. "We were an item, but... it was never gonna work out."

"B-but the official records..." Rita tilted her head. "As far as the common folk know, you're dead, Cliff."

She paused. One idea crossed her mind; she furrowed her eyebrows.

"You didn't blab to anyone outside our little cabal. no...?" She folded her arms with a probing look.

"No way, y'know The Chief would ream me out if I let that kinda sensitive info let loose..." He scratched the back of his neck reflexively, his metal plating squealing with the gesture.

"You tend to forget yourself around magnets, you know..." Rita cocked her head to the side. "It wouldn't surprise me if-"

"I didn't spill nothin', okay!?"

SLAM! He slammed the table, wooden splinters spraying as it crumbled under his fists. He stood up, backing up from the mess he made.

"Ah jeez..." He mumbled.

"Alright, alright! I believe you! No need to bring the house down..." Rita huffed, massaging her temples.

"She wants me to meet her at the... the decommissioned power plant." He bent over to pick up the letter, shaking off a scant few splinters. "But how'd she figure I was still alive? She mailed this to my old apartment..."

"Well, it could be wishful thinking on her part..." Rita theorized aloud. She hesitated to proceed on her part, but she had already said too much. She swallowed. "People... deal with loss in different ways. Perhaps it was her way of finding closure, or-"

"Then how'd she know I was Robotman?"

Silence fell between the two of them. Rita grimaced, grabbing for her shoulder; it yielded and squished under her tense grip.

"I got a bad feeling about this, Cliff..." She muttered. "Maybe it'd be better if you-"

"I'm gonna go check it out," Cliff stomped towards the door, glancing back at Rita. "Whatever it is, it's Sylvia's handwriting. I gotta see her."

"C-Cliff, what if it's a trap?" Rita pleaded. "Don't be so rash, you can't-"

"Hey, I'm basically indestructible. Just keep the comms up, I'll ring if I need a rescue, okay?"

Rita wanted to plead further, but she held her tongue; Cliff was a stubborn steel mule, and there wasn't much point trying to reason with him. And restraining him with her elastic arms was a fool's errand too. She sighed, her shoulder slumping.

"Just... be careful, Cliff. We need you here too."

---

The nuclear facility had seen better days. Cliff didn't have any particular attachment to the place, but he had to admit the once-bustling complex had become so barren so quickly. It ran parallel to one of the key rivers cutting through the center of the city. It was overdue for a proper demolition; in that time, the kids had quite a run of plastering graffiti along the walls.

Cliff's geiger counter was reacting. That wasn't particularly reassuring; the news reported that the area was cleaned up without any contamination. What was that he was picking up now? It didn't matter much to his robotic form, but it would be dangerous for a civilian to be here.

Cliff felt a familiar presence in the area, like he was being watched. He paused, scanning the area...

"Cliff?"

A familiar voice uneasily called out to him from around the corner. Cliff turned his steel head; there was a woman, tugging the hood of a coat over her head. But her voice was unmistakable... and Cliff recognized that outfit from Sylvia's winter wardrobe.

His heavy footsteps clanked as he paced towards her with a slow gait. "Ain't that coat, uh... unseasonably warm? Sylvia?" He said that name as if to test the waters.

"I must, I... I would draw unwanted attention if I didn't, but I... Cliff, I..."

She approached him carefully, looking over the steel automaton's figure. Despite his unfriendly appearance, his straight-backed stance, his gruff manner, and his sarcastic, yet doting choice of words... It was Cliff.

"I-I thought you died, Cliff. Why... why didn't you tell me?" Sylvia's voice cracked. "After all these years..."

"Well I did die, far as The Chief's concerned, but... i-it's complicated hun." He scratched the back of his head. "But... How'd you find out about me? That stuff... my entire existence is supposed to be top secret."

"That's not the whole of it though..." Sylvia cocked her head, her body turning to the side. "If you were hurting, alone, you... you could've confided in me."

"You'd only get hurt if you stuck with me, Sylvia..." Cliff folded his arms. "I'm a bonafide freak-a-nature; you deserve better, y'know-"

"You're not the only one who changed, Cliff..."

It was then that Sylvia lowered her hood, casting it off; Cliff figured she had something of a flair for the dramatic, but he wasn't prepared for this.

As she fidgeted under his curious gaze, her bright pink skin, glossy with a rubbery sheen, shone in the sunlight. Her hair had taken on a darker shade of magenta, flowing down to her shoulders; it shifted on its own, despite the noted absence of a breeze. Her eyes, black as ebony, bore into his soul with an expectant look as she bore herself to him.

"Sylvia...?" Cliff gawked, his features remained unchanging, but his tone spoke volumes.

"There was an accident at this factory, and I... changed." She flexed her pink arms, her appendages stretching in long, exaggerated arcs. "I didn't know what to do, I was... alone."

Cliff made a discontented, sympathetic sound, trying to find any words of comfort. He spent a lot of lonely days in a lab himself, before he got to bonding with the other members of the Doom Patrol. It was strange to think he got off easy compared to her, but...

"Sylvia, I... I'm sorry, I didn't realize..." Cliff's eyes followed the trajectory of her arm as it retracted, pressing to her chest.

"Society dealt us both bad hands, and now we're both freaks... cast apart from a world that rejects us. You feel that too, right?" Sylvia raised her eyes to his.

Cliff would've grimaced if he could; his life had been a lonelier one than when he was a flesh-and-blood human.

"Well... us freaks have a way of stickin' together. Protectin' one another." Cliff nodded to himself. "Listen, why don't you come with me? With powers like that and some training with Rita, you'd be a real-"

"I have a plan, Cliff. I need your help."

Sylvia's voice grew steely. She clenched her fist. Cliff wasn't familiar with this steadfastness from Sylvia.

"What kinda plan, Sylvia?" He cocked his head to the side.

"I know your life with the Doom Patrol. I know you try to protect the people who reject you." Sylvia trembled as she spoke. "But The Brain told me there was another way. Another way for us to bring true unity..."

"The Brain?" Cliff recalled that name that had come up before, recounted by The Chief in foreboding terms. The mysterious head of the Brotherhood of Evil. "Sylvia, that guy is bad news, you can't-"

"Listen to me! If everyone in this city was turned into a freak, like the two of us were, then we wouldn't have to hide who we are anymore! We could go out into the public, live our best lives!"

Sylvia had an increasingly frantic, almost manic look in her eye as they lit up. Her arm stretched behind her, past the corner of the building; Cliff saw her hand pulling forward a barrel, his geiger counter reacting aggressively to the glowing green substance that lay within.

"What the hell??" Cliff stuttered. "What is that stuff!?"

"Nuclear waste and runoff, the same substance that mutated me to what I am now," Sylvia beamed. "There's an entire deposit of it underneath the factory; I need your strong arms to help me transport it all!"

"And just dump it in the damn river!?" Cliff blurted. "That'll kill people, are you insane!?"

"Yes, some people may die... but it'll make it so the rest of us freaks can finally reintegrate into society. To love and be whole again! You have to understand Cliff, this is necessary!"

"This is evil, Sylvia, listen to yourself!" Cliff grasped her shoulders, shaking her. "Listen, I got an inkling of what you've been through, but you need help, babe, not getting in with these supervillain types-"

"GAH! You'll side with the people who despise you over your own love!?" Sylvia spat. "You changed, Cliff!"

"We both changed Sylvia, but that don't make it right to go hurtin' folk- gah!"

Cliff was interrupted by the lashing of pink ropey tendrils, Sylvia's body lashing out into elastic, boneless limbs that splayed around him, binding his legs together. She was trying to bind him together, her neck coiling around his upper body, her arms wedged between his as they were fastened behind him, her legs coiling around him in mad loops.

"If you're not with me, then get lost." She growled into his auditory receptors. "If I tighten myself now, I'll crumple you like aluminum."

"Nn... why..." Cliff's body creaked with apprehension. Between her tense grip and the geiger counter beeping away insistently, he was in a very uncomfortable position. He raised his head, noting the barrel of searing hot industrial waste.

He limped forward, testing Sylvia's resolve to crush him outright. But she hesitated, her tightening coils only denting his mental carapace. Once more step and...

"Hya!"

He heaved the barrel overtop of him, splashing nuclear waste over their shared forms. Cliff didn't feel much, between his lack of physical sensations and his nigh-impenetrable armour plating. But Sylvia...

"GYAAAAAAGH!!" She screamed shrilly, her loops loosening all at once as she slumped to the ground around him in a wet, writhing heap, hissing indignantly as she stirred. She yelped in pain, feeling burning sensations all around her. Her eyes were closed tight, reliving those traumatic memories of when she had mutated...

Cliff didn't hesitate, wresting her formless mass from the ground and stuffing her into the barrel, before wrenching the lid overtop of it once more. With a tightening of the lid, along with a pressing motion that was so forceful as to break the unlatching mechanism, she was packed inside like a can of sardines. The barrel rattled and shook, muffled shouting coming from within, but she trailed off in a hurry.

Cliff rested one of his metal gauntlets atop the barrel, looking over the ensnared Sylvia with pensive thoughts hanging heavy in his mind. He knew he didn't let her down with any sort of grace back at that hospital, but this was bad. He never expected anything like this would happen... how desperate she was to see him again.

Maybe the Brotherhood of Evil preyed upon that somehow. Based on how The Chief talked about him, their leader was quite adept at manipulating desperate people... and Sylvia was very desperate, for companionship, for acceptance.

She needed help. But he couldn't just hand her over to the police. Maybe The Chief would have a better idea of how to rehabilitate her... or, if nothing else, to secure and contain her.

"I'm sorry, Sylvia... for everything."

With a sigh, he hoisted the heavy barrel over his shoulder, and began the long trek back home.