The Rising Dawn, # 30— "It's Time for Your Medication, Mr. Brown"

The Snakebite that had scuttled the facility where the Outliers were kept (and also harvested of their blood and organs) was named Madhouse. He was one of the first to obtain The Sphinx’s earlier formula for the Drive, and he had something in him already. He had the same Gift as Jeremic Fury, the Pointer, yet with the Drive his powers more than tripled. 

Being called Madhouse had nothing to do with his ‘Abnormality’. 

Benjamin Skoulas, AKA Madhouse, was known for getting inside people’s heads and saying just the wrong things that would destroy their mental health. He was the opposite of a psychologist, in the sense they were supposed to help people get better. Skoulos would drive people mad for fun, and with enough time, anyone would break.

“You provoked a cadre of elite private crime-fighters,” said The Ice, “and a society of ubermensch to boot.”

“Ubermensch? Is that how you really feel?” said Madhouse, minding some beakers of formula.

“We’re both Outliers, Ben. Even the Magister knows.”

“He hired me because I do my job well.”

“You think inviting the Dawns to destroy us helps?”

“Women just don’t understand military science.”

The Ice tossed her hair.

“Try me.”

“An enemy is reckless when provoked. Not willing to take their time, making mistakes in anger.”

“I already knew that.”

“Did you, though?”

“Did you know I could ice you before you had time to blink?”

“Why did you ask me why I did it if you already knew?”

“Well, you’re called Madhouse, for Christ’s sake. And sue me for not knowing the specific motivation you had.”

He busied with more beakers, practicing using his telekinesis at the same time.

“Anywho, I’m loathe to send this merchandise to The Sphinx,” said Madhouse, referring to the harvested blood and organs of Outliers, “Cut out the middle man.”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

“I’m the brains behind Adrenal,” said Skoulos, referring to the addictive cut version of the Drive, “We’re swimming in money, just about. Do you honestly think The Sphinx is a match?”

“From what I can tell, I could figure out how to make Drive less useful by mixing it with water and cocaine.”

There was silence at this.

“That could work, feasibly, but that is not the formula.”

Meanwhile, Divitra Florens, also called Needle, was among a small collection of Dawn Citizens to view Gimmick’s completed ‘Force Art’, as he called it. Gimmick’s art purportedly had the power to make things happen, as long as enough time, skill, and “the Force” went into his canvas (Parse insisted it was ‘ether’).

The canvas was covered in small, intricate glyphs, and as a “tag” (the image that brought the glyphs to a focus) was a rising sun crowned with a wreath of victory. The glyphs were written as a coherent language, yet it was alien to all but Gimmick, Doctor Ryan Goldsting and analyst Beatrix Swory.

Many of the glyphs were writ in varying colors, as though adding to a hidden meaning.

“What do the colors mean?” said Divitra.

“They have to come on their own,” answered Gimmick.

There was some quiet.

“He means it’s a stream of consciousness,” said Parse.

Gimmick said forlornly, “It’s the Force.”

Yahtzee said, “So how does it work, Gim?”

“It took me months to do it,” said Gimmick.

There was silent confusion.

“But how does it work?” said Wraith.

Divitra, a master of acupuncture, could pinpoint what emotional and social needs had to be met.

“Gimmick pours his soul into making it, so length and effort make the difference. If you could see it through our eyes, Gim, you would feel like a god.”

Gimmick shed tears of relief.

“He does have ether,” said Parse, “It’s a combination of his innate energy and the medium itself, which is the art, cumulating with the unique intricacies of his glyphic language.”

“That’s to say nothing of the actual meaning of the glyphs,” added Divitra.

It appeared Parse and Divi just became best friends.

Or maybe rivals.

“So this ensures victory for the Rising Dawn?” said Wraith.

“The Dawn will win. But you can’t stop trying,” said Brandon Shelver, the Gimmick.

“How do we know it will work?” said Pointer.

“All his other ones did,” said Gallant, “but what about casualties?”

Brandon said, “You gotta let the Force do what it wants.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a Should Happen Machine. Whatever should happen, it will.”

Solomon The Philosopher laughed heartily at this.

“But how do we know we’ll get what we wanted?”

Brandon squirmed.

“He needs to use the bathroom,” said Needle.

Suddenly, his bowels needed to be moved urgently, and he ran full tilt to the toilet.

“Actually, I think I can feel it,” said Wraith, “I don’t think of myself as religious, but it feels like…”

“—Everything will work out,” said Gallant, “Yes, the painting has its own power, doesn’t it?”

“I like the idea of a Should Happen Machine,” said Philosopher with mirth, “I might write a book about it.”

“Please do,” said Parse.

They admired the painting for quite some time, much more than just to please Gimmick. When Brandon came back, he asked for nachos for lunch, and he did little to explain himself further. However, his Gift was well-documented, and from this day forward, the Victory of the Rising Dawn was assured.