The Whisper

Prologue

      "Madness, as you know, is a lot like gravity. All it takes is a little push."

-The JOKER

I remembered how hard it was to watch as the world set themselves on fire, their own hatred and loathing igniting the flames that burned them to the ground. People blamed each other for the chaos and evil that plagued the streets and haunted their churches. At first, it was only their fingers that pointed accusingly, but it wasn't long before they began pointing their guns instead.
Point the barrel at their head, pull the trigger -bang- they're dead.
As paranoia settled in, humans started to believe that they had no one left to trust, nothing but their cold, metal weapons to keep them sane. It was agony to watch as the world self-destructed, the base of all life crumbling to rubble, the souls of humanity crushed under its weight.
HA.
I didn't know when people started to worship violence instead of religion, or when cruelty and abuse turned into ways of discipline. I didn't know when people started to fight and kill each other like rabid dogs locked up in metal cages. But I knew that every murder I witnessed, every thievery I saw, was like another stab to my soul. Except it was never blood that escaped from the fresh wound, it was my last bit of hope. Hope that these people would wake up from their nightmare and realize what monsters they had all become.
But aren't you a monster too, Harry?
It wasn't long after the first Branding took place that my naivety melted from my mind, like a blanket of oblivion I had finally managed to shake. I realized that humans were never going to change. They were too blinded by their flaws to notice the pain and suffering they were inflicting on their own people. It was monstrous, unfathomable, inhumane. Humans were destroying each other and soon, there'd be nothing left but piles of ash and decaying bodies. There would be no one left to explain how things had gone so wrong, or why the world had ended so suddenly, simply because everyone would be dead. They would be killed by the hands of people they trusted most in the world: their family, their friends. They would be killed by the merciless evil that plagued the earth.
HA.
It was tragic, to say the least, that I tried so hard to help them all, yet most of them were too far gone to be saved. I could see it in their faces, the way their eyes gleamed back at me, sullen and void of all humanity. It was devastating to see emptiness as they stared at nothing, only a blank gaze that contained no spark, no indication of life. The only human emotion they seemed to have left was anger. And even then, it was an anger fueled by the fires of hell. It was wretched, it was something worse than anything this world had ever seen before. It was an anger I saw reflected in my own eyes and felt in my own heart.
Maybe it wasn't anger you saw in their eyes, Harry. Maybe it was fear.
Time after time, I was struck with a paralyzing helplessness that rendered me useless. It stiffened my legs and froze my mind as I realized that I couldn't save them anymore. I couldn't help them. All I wanted to do was help them but they wouldn't let-
They felt a bloodcurdling fear as you choked them to death, as you laughed in their faces while they twisted in silent agony.
Suddenly, I begin to laugh, hard and loud, amused with my own lies. The sound stretches out in the still silence, echoing off the walls of the room. I have never been very good at lying. Wait, that's a lie. I am actually pretty good at it, my mother even tells me so.
Please, I must apologize, for I am being the hypocrite I so much despise. I have labeled myself as the divine hero, one who saves humanity from the darkness and god-forbidden evil. I've misled you with false information, but it's time that we stopped blaming humans for fucking up and started pointing fingers at the real star of the show. I've always been compelled to give credit where credit is due.
I let out another laugh, a low rumble that vibrates in my chest. I'm sorry, it's just so funny. To pretend to be such an innocent, helpless hero calls for tremendous effort and I'm afraid my eyes are tearing up. What a role that would be, what a misfortune. Why be the victim when you can be the bully?
But I made the mistake of forgetting that humans are stupid. They are simpleminded and have the memory spans of small goldfish. You try to cleanse the world of its filth and they lock you up in here, a stale room with chipped paint and rot climbing the walls like goddamn vines. It smells like cat piss, it tastes like it too. They accuse you of terrorizing and murdering twenty-three innocent people. Though I fully admit to committing these 'crimes', it is they who do not understand the root of my intentions.
They don't see it yet, Harry. They don't see your brilliance.
No, they really don't. They don't see the big picture. They don't see that fear is controlling them, consuming them from the inside out. They sleep with their guns under their pillows in fear that I might choose them next. They hold their crosses tight, they pray to their petty God as if He can protect them from the pain I inflict. 
You're a wrath of terror, Harry. Don't doubt that. It's time to make them see that you're not afraid of their weapons or their threats.
Slowly, I turn toward the panoramic mirror plastered on the plain wall. I stare at my reflection, my face looming inches away from the thick glass. 
I have blood splattered across my face, an eery contrast against my white skin. Though I can't say that the person in the mirror is a stranger, someone who I do not recognize anymore, because that's not true. I know exactly who is standing before me. I know the havoc he is capable of and just how much terror he can cause. If only he was given the chance.
But I've seen one of these mirrors before. And it is, in fact, not a mirror at all.
It's a window.
"Shut up," I hiss, my head jerking to the side, "I know it's a fucking window. I can see them watching us."
I cock my head and smile at the person I know is standing behind that wall, behind that mirror. I can see the faint outline of his body, watching and observing me with an intensity worthy of approval. I wave eagerly until the shape moves and disappears further behind the glass.
I straighten and my smile drops. So does my hand.
I wish he'd come in so we could stab his eyes out.
Oddly enough, I hear and feel myself talking, but as I stare into the shadowed reflection in the mirror, my mouth does not move. I've grown accustomed to it, though, I've even grown to like it. He keeps me company and he offers me wisdom. Other times, however, I wish he'd just shut up.
Slowly, keeping my eyes glued to the observation window, I turn my neck ever so slightly, exposing a ragged scar that peaks out of my collar. It's The Brand that started it all. In my opinion, it's a work of art, a project designed by myself, the brilliant mastermind behind its excellence. But the government doesn't think so and neither does the FBI. They think it's terrorism, a gang symbol. But as I stare at the marking, I can't help the knowing smile as it creeps onto my face. They think they've contained the threat by locking me up in here. Eliminated the danger.
They're wrong, aren't they?
Oh, yes. They're so wrong.
I chuckle, the sound reverberating from the pit of my stomach and up my spine. It leaves me gasping for air, with tears of joy springing from eyes. My hands bang on the glass, fists slamming down hard on the barrier. All of it is just so funny. I hear an alarm go off beyond the walls, beyond the glass.
So funny.
I laugh at their stupidity, their desperation. At that moment, both hysteria and hilarity consume me. They think the killings and manslaughter will stop. They think they've put an end to this madness.
They're wrong!
They think their world has been saved and they will finally have peace again.
But they don't know that the war has just begun.
That's right. The war has barely started. And when I'm finished, it won't just be twenty three people that end up dead.
It'll be all of them.