CHAPTER 141: Insurrection-10

CHAPTER 141: Insurrection-10

The Munich Asylum stood as a gray mass in the fog, a building that seemed to have forgotten the meaning of time. The walls were covered in dampness, the air saturated with cheap chlorine and disinfectant. The barred windows let in a sickly, almost greenish light.

Fénix walked up to the reception desk, hands in his pockets, his face covered by an impenetrable expression. A nurse with a pale face looked at him over her glasses, holding a clipboard with records.

"Who are you here to visit?" she asked in a flat tone, without looking up much.

Fénix held her gaze for a few seconds.

"The Jester," he replied simply.

The woman raised an eyebrow, surprised, and nodded with some discomfort. She pressed a button, and soon a guard with a weathered face appeared to escort him.

"Follow me," said the guard, opening a metal door that creaked as if complaining about the passage of time.

The corridor was long and gloomy, full of echoes. Cells lined both sides, some with screams, others with laughter that chilled the blood. The guard stopped in front of a door with a small peephole covered in dried mud.

"He's inside. But be careful… he likes to talk too much," he warned before opening the door.

The metallic sound of the bolt echoed like a gunshot.

Inside, the walls were covered in drawings: smiling faces painted with broken crayons, crooked eyes, wide mouths stretching beyond the natural. The air smelled of rust and madness.

Sitting in a corner, the Jester was humming an incoherent melody. His skin was almost white, speckled with scars; his body showed deformities, a hunched back, bony hands. When he turned his head, his smile seemed too wide to be human.

"Well, well…" he said in a shrill yet hypnotic voice. "Look who came back from hell… The hero of the wolves."

Fénix approached without changing his expression and sat across from him on an old metal chair.

"I'm not here to talk about the past," he said in a deep voice. "I need to understand how a politician thinks. How they manipulate, how they convince, how they destroy without getting their hands dirty."

The Jester burst into laughter. A laugh that cracked between the childish and the monstrous.

"Oh, but that is talking about the past, Fénix. Or have you already forgotten who put me here?" His smile twisted even more, revealing stained teeth. "There's no better teacher than guilt, huh?"

Fénix clenched his jaw but did not respond. The Jester stood up with clumsy movements, leaning one hand on the wall covered with faces.

"You want to know how a politician's mind works?" he whispered, approaching slowly. "It's simple. They feel no shame. They feel no empathy. Only need. For power, for control, for everyone else to dance to the rhythm they play."

Fénix watched him attentively, crossing his arms.

"And you were one of them," he said.

The Jester laughed again, this time louder.

"Was, yes. But I liberated myself. Madness is freedom, Fénix. Here, no one votes, no one promises, no one lies… they just laugh. You see?" he pointed to the faces drawn on the wall. "They are the only ones who understand me. Maybe after all, you and I aren't so different."

Fénix leaned forward, his face in shadow.

"You and I are not the same."

The Jester stopped laughing. He stared at him, his expression changing to an unsettling calm.

"Ah… there you're wrong," he said in a low, almost whisper-like tone. "We are the same reflection in different mirrors. I fell… you still think you're standing. But the void is watching you, and sooner or later you'll laugh just like me."

There was a silence. Fénix held his gaze for a few seconds, then stood up without saying anything more. The Jester began to clap slowly, his deformed smile illuminated by the dim light of the cell.

The cell fell silent again, broken only by the Jester's irregular breathing.
Fénix remained serene, observing the drawings on the walls. Smiling faces, made with children's crayons, stained with dried red. Some seemed to be watching him.

The Jester tilted his head and smiled with that impossible grimace.

"You know, Fénix?" he said softly, as if talking to an old friend. "Every time I see you, I remember the day we ended up together, you with your fists and me with my twelve works of art."

Fénix looked at him coldly.
"Don't call the people you murdered works of art."

The Jester let out a cackle.
"Murdered? Oh, what an ugly word! I just removed their masks. I showed them what they really were… flesh, fear, and lies. But you… you couldn't stand to see it, could you?" He brought a hand to his chest and sighed theatrically. "You came like a rabid wolf, broke three of my ribs, two teeth, and almost beat the life out of me."

He came a little closer, with a twisted smile.
"If it weren't for her, I wouldn't be locked up here… I'd be dead."

Fénix clenched his fists, his knuckles cracked.
"Enid stopped me," he said in a low voice, controlling his rage.

The Jester tilted his head, his smile widening.
"Exactly. Enid stopped you." Suddenly he burst into a guttural laugh. "She always stops you, doesn't she? That sweet, cold woman… pulling your leash like you're her war dog."

Fénix turned abruptly, his gaze ignited.
"Shut your mouth."

But the Jester continued, delighted with the reaction.

"Oh, I just love seeing it in you, Fénix… that contradiction. A wild wolf that obeys orders, a monster with a borrowed heart. She says 'stop,' and you lower your head. She says 'wait,' and you stay still, even though you're burning inside."

He burst out laughing, doubling over, hitting his knees with his hands. His laughter echoed like a chorus of madmen in the cell.

"Fénix, the guard dog of Enid Corp! The tamed hunter! The beast with a golden muzzle!"