#peek-a-boo

Good morning beautiful people!!!

Just getting ready for the day at my public beach, with my knitted bikini. Someone might get a peek or two if there are a lot of waves… my knitted bikini doesn’t like staying up in waves

Seulgi in La Rouge ❤

Peek-a-boo with Brija Monet…

Hugo Strange:  From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Lashawna Baez, alias Peek-a-Boo. Patient suffers from Major Depressive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Session One. Hello, Miss Baez. How are you doing? 

Peek-a-Boo: Why do you care? I’m a Rogue, remember? Just lock me up and throw away the key. That’s what Keystone did. 

Hugo Strange: I wasn’t aware you were a member of the Rogues, Miss Baez. Your file suggests that you always work alone. 

Peek-a-Boo: Not a Rogue as in the Rogues. A Rogue as in a costumed criminal. 

Hugo Strange: I see. (Pause) I understand that you’re a metahuman, Miss Baez. Would you care to elaborate on that? 

Peek-a-Boo: I can teleport. Unfortunately, every time I do it, it causes a localized explosion. I was hoping to be able to overcome it, and maybe even use it in my career as a doctor, but a year after I entered medical school, dad’s kidneys started to fail. My mom had died of lung cancer when I was six, and I don’t have siblings, so I had to take care of him by myself. After awhile, it became too much for me to balance my classes with taking care of Dad. Dad wanted me to stay in school, because he had been so proud of me for being the first member of our family to go to college, but I couldn’t just leave him alone at home. What if he got really sick when I wasn’t home? So I dropped out. I tried everything to get him a new kidney, but we were poor and black, so we kept getting pushed back on the list. After a couple years, it was pretty clear that dad was never getting his kidney, so I made the really stupid decision to take the kidney by force. I knew that it was wrong, but I convinced myself that I’d been wronged first, and that that justified what I was about to do. The Flash-Wally West, not Barry Allen-stopped me. I’m pretty sure he thought I’d get community service or something, seeing as I didn’t have any previous criminal record, but because I was a metahuman, I got sent to Iron Heights instead. 

Hugo Strange: If that’s the case, Miss Baez, why is your record so extensive? Your files list several thefts prior to your arrest for the attempted kidney theft. 

Peek-a-Boo: That…that was Warden Wolfe. When the Flash learned that I’d been sent to Iron Heights, he tried to get me out, but as soon as I was put into Iron Heights’ system, Wolfe had my records altered so that he could justify keeping me in Iron Heights with the other “metahuman freaks”. Wally’s been trying to prove what he’s done ever since, but it hasn’t done any good. Nobody in power cares about what happens to a metahuman criminal-especially not a poor, black one. I’m just another superpowered thug now. 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Desmond mentioned that metahuman inmates are kept in a separate wing of the prison called the Pipeline. Were you housed there, Miss Baez? 

Peek-a-Boo: Up until I got moved here, yeah. 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Desmond alleged that prisoners in the Pipeline are regularly beaten. Is that accurate, Miss Baez? 

Peek-a-Boo: W-will this interview get back to Warden Wolfe? 

Hugo Strange: I’m going to take that as confirmation that Mr. Desmond’s allegations are true. 

Peek-a-Boo: Don’t say anything, Dr. Strange! If Warden Wolfe finds out that we complained, things’ll get even worse for us when we get sent back to Iron Heights! 

Hugo Strange: Miss Baez, I promise you that I have no intention of ever allowing you to be sent back into the clutches of this Warden Wolfe. What he has done to you in unconscionable. 

Peek-a-Boo: You…you believe me? 

Hugo Strange: Of course I believe you, Miss Baez. For one thing, your records from your time as a medical student were not particularly compatible with the idea of you having multiple previous arrests. And for another, the fact that you managed to escape Iron Heights in order to see your dying father, but did not use your powers to escape in order to free yourself or to commit more crimes also would not make much sense for a habitual offender. For these reasons, I was already skeptical of your criminal record. Hearing your explanation simply reinforced what I suspected from the start. (Pause) And, having interviewed numerous costumed criminals, Miss Baez, I can say with confidence that you do not strike me as the type who is likely to become a habitual offender. You have more than paid your debt to society for your attempted theft of the kidney, and I will do everything in my power to see that you are released from Arkham Aslyum as soon as possible. 

Peek-a-Boo: (Surprised) Really? You will? 

Hugo Strange: I will, Miss Baez. 

Peek-a-Boo: Thank you, Dr. Strange. I…I don’t know how much luck you’ll have, but I appreciate the thought anyway. 

Hugo Strange: You are quite welcome, my dear. (Pause) While you’re here, would you mind answering a few more questions for me? 

Peek-a-Boo: I guess not. What do you want to know? 

Hugo Strange: First, I am curious as to how Roscoe Dillon, one of the most powerful metahumans in the Central/Keystone area, has avoided being locked up in the Pipeline. Mr. Desmond claims that it is because of his known mental illness, but if Warden Wolfe was willing to fudge records to keep you in the Pipeline, I would think he would be even more willing to fudge records in order to keep control over someone who threatened to blow up half the world, while in the grip of a manic episode or otherwise. 

Peek-a-Boo: Actually, the Top hasn’t avoided the Pipeline entirely. 

Hugo Strange: He hasn’t? 

Peek-a-Boo: No. You see, after I had been in Iron Heights for a couple of weeks, Warden Wolfe heard that someone was going to interview me. In the hopes of convincing me not to talk to them, he ordered the Pipeline guards to put me in the cell with “the lunatic”, and they shoved me into a filthy padded cell with a large, muscular man. He had these really unsettling glowing green eyes, and I thought for sure that he would attack me, but he didn’t. Instead, he just looked at me curiously and went back to muttering to himself. Over the next couple of days, his hygiene started deteriorating rapidly…and by the end of the week, he tried to hang himself with his straitjacket. I’m still not really sure how he got it off, but somehow he did, and if I hadn’t called for the guards, he would’ve died. Luckily, one of the guards was Correctional Officer Morrison, who always treated us well. He never participated in the beatings, and he always tried to make sure that we were healthy. When he took the Top to the infirmary and found out about his Bipolar Disorder, he was furious and told Warden Wolfe that if he didn’t move him out of the Pipeline immediately, he would quit. He said that he wasn’t going to be responsible for someone committing suicide. Warden Wolfe got mad, but because Officer Morrison is really good at his job, he had to agree to let the Top go. Officer Morrison tried to help me, too, but because I didn’t have any previously diagnosed mental illnesses, he wasn’t able to get me moved out of the Pipeline. 

Hugo Strange: That sounds as though it would have been incredibly traumatic. 

Peek-a-Boo: It was. I had nightmares about him trying to hang himself for months afterwards. (Pause) And it didn’t exactly help that Warden Wolfe had some of the other guards give me the worst beating of my life a few days afterwards. Apparently, since he hadn’t been able to scare me into agreeing not to be interviewed, he decided to physically prevent me from being able to be interviewed to make sure that I stayed put. 

Hugo Strange: That is despicable. I understand that a warden sometimes needs to be strict in order to maintain order in a prison, but that does not excuse the abuse of prisoners, especially not first-time offenders and the mentally ill. Rest assured that I will do everything in my power to see Warden Wolfe removed from power. 

Peek-a-Boo: Good luck with that. He’s got ties to the D.A. and the mayor’s office. The Flashes, Iris West, Linda Park, and a couple civil rights lawyers have been trying to remove him from power for over two years now, and still haven’t gotten anywhere. It’s hopeless. 

Hugo Strange: (Concerned) Miss Baez, have you had trouble with sleeping or eating recently? 

Peek-a-Boo: Yes. I haven’t slept properly since I was sent to Iron Heights, and I haven’t had much of an appetite since I watched the Top try to kill himself. 

Hugo Strange: Have you had any panic attacks in the last six months, Miss Baez? 

Peek-a-Boo: Except for the nightmares, which mostly stopped a few weeks after that really awful beating, no. My anxiety’s been through the roof since my father first got sick, though. All I can think about some days is about the bad things that could happen to me or to people I care about. 

Hugo Strange: I see. And have you experienced feelings of persistent sadness, worthlessness, or hopelessness? 

Peek-a-Boo: Now that you mention it…yes. I…I haven’t felt happy since my father got sick, and once he passed away….some days I almost wish that I had died, too. (Pause) Sometimes I think that maybe the Top had the right idea when he tried to kill himself. Once a metahuman is convicted of a crime, their life is over. 

Hugo Strange: (Alarmed) Are you planning to kill yourself, Miss Baez? 

Peek-a-Boo: No. I don’t think I could actually go through with something like that. (Pause) It’s just…I don’t see how things will ever get better for me. I know you want to help me, and I really appreciate it, but Warden Wolfe is too powerful. You’ll never be able to get me out of his grasp, and he’ll certainly never let me go. 

Hugo Strange: Miss Baez, I will forge the necessary paperwork needed to have you committed to Arkham Asylum before I will send you back to that sadist. Your Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Major Depressive Disorder have been severely worsened by your stay in Iron Heights, and if you are sent back there, I dread to think what might happened. It was only through your quick thinking and a stroke of good luck that Mr. Dillon was saved from his attempted suicide. Who would save you? 

Peek-a-Boo: I…I really appreciate your concern for me, Dr. Strange. But I don’t want you to get into trouble for me. I’m not worth it. It’s my own fault that I ended up in Iron Heights. 

Hugo Strange: While I don’t disagree that your decision to steal a kidney was reckless and foolhardy, it was also the action of a desparate young woman who wanted to save her father’s life. You would never have become a habitual criminal, and the fact that you were sent to Iron Heights solely because of your metahuman powers was a miscarriage of justice…to say nothing of the abuse you were given once you arrive there. You are not a hardened criminal by any stretch of the imagination, and you do not belong in Iron Heights. 

Peek-a-Boo: That’s what Wally said, too, but even with all his power, he couldn’t get me away from Warden Wolfe. What makes you think you can?
Hugo Strange: Unlike the misguided Mr. West, I am not a vigilante. As such, I have an extensive amount of experience of working within the law, and that experience will allow me to beat Warden Wolfe at his own game. Miss Baez, I swear to you that I will keep you safe and help you recover from your illness. All you need do is trust me. 

Peek-a-Boo: All right, Dr. Strange. I…I trust you.

WARNING: This story contains a scene of attempted suicide. If this will be stressful for you, please avoid it. 

The world was topsy-turvy. It was spinning and spinning and spinning, faster and faster and faster. Like a top. Yes, exactly like a top. One with blue and white stripes. No, yellow and green. Green was the color of money, and money meant power meant being on top of the world, which was itself a gigantic top. Not that he had either money or power here. He couldn’t be on top of the world, so he was being punished by having his own world set spinning. His head was throbbing and the walls felt like they were closing in on him, and everything was whirling around and around and around and around and…

“Please, make it stop! Someone make the spinning stop!” Though he knew the voice was his own, somehow it sounded strained and distorted, as though it had been filtered through split pea soup. Split pea soup was green, like tops should be. But the tops weren’t green anymore. They had betrayed him, just like his own mind, which was filled with thoughts that danced and spun like invisible tops spun by a dexterous hand. Hmm. Invisible tops. Those would have made for an excellent weapon. But he wasn’t good enough for weapons anymore. He had failed, and so his tops and his mind alike had abandoned him. 

“I am sorry! I meant to do better, I swear it! I promise I will do better! Please, just stop the spinning!” There was no response, and a nasty little voice that sounded like his father whispered in his ear. 

“Don’t waste your breath, you stupid boy! No one would help a failure like you!” Roscoe whimpered, put his hands over his ears in the desperate hope that it would shut out his father’s voice, and started rocking back and forth in the desperate hope that it would drive off the worst of the fear. What else could he do in the face of a world that kept spinning round and round and round and round? 

Suddenly, a bright light burst into his cell. Before he could determine where it was coming from, two guards came forward to block the light. 

“This is what you get for causing trouble, freak!” 

“Once you change your mind about talking to that bleeding-heart reporter, tell us and we’ll come get you,” one of the guards said. He stared at the guard in bewilderment. What reporter? It was the tops he needed to talk to, not a reporter! Then he noticed the girl standing between the two guards, and he understood. The guards were talking to her, not him. That made more sense. The guards never talked to him. They thought that he was too crazy to understand them, and sometimes he thought that they might be right. It was not a pleasant feeling, but since his tops had left him and the world had started spinning, any pleasant feelings were few and far between. 

“I’m n-not going to c-change my mind,” a female voice said. Her voice wobbled like a top upon an uneven surface, and he felt a pang of sympathy for her. He knew what it was like to feel like your whole world had gone topsy-turvy. One of the guards laughed. 

“Believe me, you will. A little girl like you won’t last two days in a cell with a lunatic like the Top.” The girl was shoved forward, and the cell door was slammed behind her. Roscoe looked at his new cellmate curiously. Whoever this girl was, he didn’t recognize her. At least, he thought he didn’t. Right now, he didn’t entirely trust his own recollections. She had dark skin, dark eyes that were currently wide with fear, and curly dark hair. In spite of their dissimilar appearances, she reminded him of Lisa. Like his beloved, she wore skates, even if they were roller skates rather than ice skates, and she had the same tiny, elegant skater’s build. Oh, Lisa, his beautiful angel! He hoped she was all right. The tops wouldn’t let him go to her. It was punishment for his failure. If he had gotten on top of the world like he was supposed to, he would be with her right now, but he had failed, and this was his punishment. He didn’t deserve Lisa now. He had been a failure. A failure! The world spun around faster and faster, and colors and shapes began to distort, and he felt a sense of overwhelming panic. 

“I’m sorry, Lisa! I should have done better! I should have come out on top! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” For what seemed like an eternity, he battled thoughts and images that rotated through his brain too quickly to be interpreted. By the time the worst of the spinning abated, he felt nothing but a sense of crushing tiredness. He couldn’t even summon a sense of relief that the spinning had stopped, because he knew it would be back. It never left for long. 

“E-e-excuse m-m-me, s-s-sir? I d-d-don’t know if you can understand me, but if you can-your dinner’s here.” He was puzzled by the voice for a few seconds before he remembered that he had a new cellmate, the woman-who-was-not-Lisa. His eyes darted around the cell for a few seconds before landing on a plate of food. 

“You may have it. I have no appetite at present. You see, the world keeps spinning and spinning and spinning, and my tops have abandoned me. You can understand why I have no appetite at present. Why eat when reality itself has turned against you?”

“But you…y-you’re so thin!” Confused, he looked down at himself. He wasn’t sure what was more alarming: the fact that he was all but skin and bones, or the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to care. Eating was…it was too much effort. Besides, the tops were punishing him for his failure. He deserved to starve. 

“It’s because of the tops. Don’t you understand? I’ve failed my tops, and my angel, and my father, so they are making me starve!” 

“Are you….are you all right?” He was puzzled by the question. Except for Lisa, no one had ever cared for him, and right now, even his tops had turned against him. Why would this girl, who he didn’t know, care about a lunatic like him? It made no sense. 

“Don’t worry about me. If you’re in Iron Heights, you have enough problems without concerning yourself with mine. I don’t want the tops to hurt you, too.” This is the only kindness he can do for her. He is a failure and a monster and a freak, and she should not suffer for his sake. 

“You…you don’t want to hurt me?” 

“No. No, no, no, no, no. You’re so much like my beautiful angel. I would not hurt someone who is so much like Lisa. You are good…too good to be here with the lunatic. I will not hurt you. Not you. No, no. I am a failure and a criminal and a monster, but even I can recognize a priceless, bejeweled top when I see one. You need to go away. If you don’t, the tops might punish you because I like you.” The words burst out of him like water from a fire hydrant; rapid and pressured. He can barely understand his own words, and he can tell from the girl’s face that she understands him even less. This doesn’t surprise him. He is not so mad to not know that something is badly wrong with him. 

“I’m so disappointed in you, son. How will a lunatic like you ever bring honor to the family name?” 

“Father, I’m sorry! I know I’ve failed! I’ll do better, I promise…but you have to tell the tops that! They’re the ones who are doing this to me!” Then there’s a loud bang, and he feels a sharp prick in his left arm. 

“That’s enough out of you, nutcase.” And before he can work out what is happening, he is claimed by oblivion. 

***************************************************************************

He misses the oblivion of sedation. There was no spinning there. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he woke, but he does know that the tops have been punishing him with a vengeance as he lays here in the top bunk in his cell. His head is throbbing and his stomach aches and the world spins and spins and spins. Voices sound distorted and strange, his tongue feels like sandpaper, and his father’s mocking jeers come more and more frequently now.

“If I’d known that I was going to have a lunatic for a son, I would’ve had you aborted so that I could have had a normal child. You’re a failure and a freak, and we would all be better off if you died!” Worse, this voice has been joined by other voices. 

“I’ve tried to make you see the error of your ways, but I guess some people are hopeless. If you have even the most rudimentary concept of justice, you should kill yourself for all the crimes you’ve committed.” 

“Crimes, nothin’! He should die ‘cause he’s a freakin’ worthless waste of space! Ain’t that right, Dillon?” 

“No! NO! Please, I didn’t…”

“Pathetic. What my sister ever saw in a snob like you, I’ll never understand. She’s too good for you.” 

“You’re right, Lenny. I loved him when he was successful…but I can’t love a failure. If he wants me to be happy, the best thing he can do is to put himself out of my misery.” He took the words like a punch to the gut. 

“You…you want me to die?” he asked weakly. 

“We all want you to die, you idiot boy! Of course, knowing you, you’ll be too weak to even do that, but we can dream.” He almost laughed. His father underestimated him. If his angel wanted him dead for her own peace of mind, then she would get her wish. It wasn’t as though he had anything else to live for. His tops had turned against him, he was in constant agony, and the only people he cared about wanted him dead. But if he was going to give the lady what she wanted, he would have to move quickly. Otherwise, his weakness would kick in and he would lose his nerve just as his father had said. After a few minutes of intense, desperate struggling, he managed to remove his straitjacket. He tied one end of the straitjacket to the bedpost, used the other to form a makeshift noose, slipped it around his neck, and then jumped off of the bunk. The fall proved to not be enough to snap his neck as he had wanted, but the noose was tied tightly enough that death by strangulation was assured. It wouldn’t be his most poetic or pleasant death, but he would escape the spinning, and that would be enough. His vision was starting to grow fuzzy when he heard a screech. 

“Guards! Guards, help! You have to help! My cellmate’s trying to kill himself!” 

********************************************************************
Roscoe woke to find himself in the infirmary with the prison doctor, whose name was Dr. Adam Brooks, standing over him. He was extremely hungry, had a very sore neck, and wasn’t quite sure how he had gotten here. The last thing he could distinctly remember was taking off his straitjacket. 

“What…what happened to me, Dr. Adam Brooks?” The doctor frowned. 

“You tried to hang yourself in your cell, Roscoe.” Now that the doctor mentioned it, Roscoe could vaguely remember hearing voices that had told him that he was better off dead. Apparently he had decided to act on them…again.

“In that case, how am I still alive, Dr. Adam Brooks?” 

“Your cellmate, Lashawn Baez, saw you hang yourself and screamed for the guards. When they found you, Correctional Officer Morrison rushed you to the infirmary. Their quick thinking saved your life, Mr. Dillon.” Roscoe was slightly surprised that any of the guards had bothered to save him, but since one of them had, it made perfect sense that it had been Correctional Officer Robert Morrison. He was one of the few guards in the Pipeline who treated the inmates like human beings instead of animals. 

“I see. How long have I been here, Dr. Adam Brooks?” 

“A week and three days. You were unconscious for two of them, and when you woke up, you were rambling incoherently, claiming that tops were punishing you, and obviously hallucinating. Warden Wolfe told me to ignore it and send you back to your cell in the Pipeline, but I refused, since you were clearly having a severe depressive episode. When he tried to say that that wasn’t reason enough to keep you in the infirmary, I told him that if he didn’t want me to do my job, he should find another doctor. Once he backed down, I had you put back on lithium in order to help pull you out of your latest mood episode. You’re not fully recovered yet, but since you’re awake and speaking rationally, I think you’re finally on the mend.” Roscoe looked at Dr. Adam Brooks in surprise. 

“Why did you help me? I am a criminal, and I have never helped you. Why would you go out of your way to help the prison’s lunatic?”

“I helped you because you are my patient. As a doctor, it would be unethical of me to deny a patient treatment that they desperately need to survive.” 

“But I was not sick, Dr. Adam Brooks.” 

“Yes, you were. We’ve gone over this, Roscoe. You have bipolar disorder. You may not have a visible illness, but when you have a mood episode, you are very sick indeed. You have had five manic episodes, and this is your fourth depressive episode and third attempted suicide.”

“I do not have bipolar disorder, Dr. Adam Brooks. I may be temperamental, but that is only because I am a genius.” Roscoe wasn’t going to admit, even to himself, that the doctor might be right. His father had told him that the mentally ill were weak, and he was not weak! 

“Roscoe, this is the second mood episode that you have had where you experienced mood-congruent delusions. That simply does not happen unless you are ill.” Roscoe scowled, wishing that the doctor would stop making sense. He couldn’t be mentally ill…because if he was, there would be nothing to protect him from slipping into lunacy once more. 

“And what if I am ill, Dr. Adam Brooks? What does it matter? As soon as I go back to the Pipeline, Warden Wolfe will ensure that I am stopped from taking any medication. He allows no drugs there, no matter what their purpose.” 

“You’re not going back to the Pipeline, Roscoe.” Roscoe laughed bitterly. 

“Don’t mock me, Dr. Adam Brooks.” The doctor frowned. 

“I’m serious, Roscoe. When Correctional Officer Morrison learned about your condition, he told Warden Wolfe that he would resign immediately if you weren’t moved to a part of the prison that would be less openly destructive to your mental health. The Warden resisted, of course, but between Officer Morrison’s popularity and my proof of your condition, there wasn’t much he could do.” 

“And the two of you did this…for me? Why?” It just didn’t compute. No one but Lisa was supposed to care about him…least of all the employees of Iron Heights. 

“Criminal or not, no one deserves to have their own mind turn against them.”  Roscoe frowned, completely bewildered by the doctor’s response. He just couldn’t understand it. Why–and how–would anyone show kindness to a lunatic?

On Another Note: A K-pop Playlist for Halloween

K-pop may seem bright and cheery, more suited for summer fun than Halloween. In actuality, the aesthetic-based, high concept nature of the genre makes it perfect for spooky songs and videos. Some are genuinely dark, while others attach supernatural visuals to an otherwise bubblegum kind of song. However you like your music, there’s a Halloween K-pop song for you. In this post I highlight ten…

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