Chapter Text
Mike’s heels click loudly as he walks down the hall. He was wearing a long lab coat and some white platform boots(his favorite kind), with his hair tied back in a loose ponytail. A clipboard was clutched to his chest, stacked with papers and envelopes.
He approached a set of doors, guarded by heavy security. “Identification,” One of the guards says in monotone.
Without speaking a word, Mike pulls out his card and hands it to the man, who checks it, scans it, and hands it back. It was a white card with his picture, his full name(Micheal Wheeler), his age(Twenty two), and a few other things including his job, his address, and so on and so forth. They nodded to the other guard and pulled off his glove to place on the screen. A soft beeping sound came from the device and the door clicked open. Mike took back his identification and walked inside.
It was a dark hallway, before another door Mike needed to scan his ID in. This door beeped, and he sighed softly, grabbing the handle and pulling on it, trying to ignore the way his arms strained against the pressure. It opened enough for him to slip through, so that was that.
Finally, this next room was dimly lit, barely enough light to see with. Mike squinted, adjusted his glasses, and sighed once more, walking over to the table.
It was a small table, like an office table would be, with one chair. A foot or so in front of the table were bars that Mike knew would be full of electricity twenty four seven, three sixty five. He sat in the chair and placed his clipboard on wood, interlocking his fingers and setting them down on the table.
“Good morning,” He says politely to the man behind the bars, who shifts slightly in his bed. “Would you like to start now?”
The man behind the bars didn’t reply, but they moved forward in a way Mike could see their mask. He held back a shiver. The mask covered the criminal's entire face, from chin to the tip of his forehead, and was one of the most disturbing things Mike has ever seen. The mask has an insanely detailed sketch of a grotesque face, eyes bloodied and a smile stretching from temple to temple, too wide and thin to be realistic.
Mike gulps down his fear. “Let’s start with some simple questions, shall we?” he says, maintaining a monotone voice. He flips through the pages of his clipboard. “What is your real name? ‘Spy’ isn’t very common for parents of your generation.”
“It isn’t, is it?” The man finally responds, chuckling. Mike blinked in confusion. The criminal’s voice was completely different than what he thought it would be, way kinder. Way sweeter. Younger.
“Yes,” Mike says, recovering from his surprise. He clicks his pen three times. “So what’s your name? From the mask my first guess would be Gerald? Donald?” Mike scoffs, a lazy smile appearing. “Maybe John?”
The criminal leaned forward. “You have quite a bland imagination,” He says softly. Something about his voice sent shivers down Mike’s spine, but not in a fearful way.
Regardless, Mike smirked. “I think my imagination is fine, thank you,” He says.
“Then what’s your name, doctor?” The criminal questions, and Mike is able to see him tilt his head to the side, like he was actually curious. Mike narrows his eyes just slightly, jotting something down in his clipboard.
“Micheal Wheeler, but you can call me Doctor,” Mike says, earning a scoff.
“I think I’ll call you Dr. Wheeler, if you don’t mind,” The criminal says. Mike sighs, but doesn’t try to argue. This was the Spy, after all. The criminal mastermind. The serial killer, who, Mike knows, has had more than two hundred victims in the past year. A man with enough imagination for thirty separate ways to leave his victims, all with one thing in common.
A bloody smile, cut into their cheeks and sliced down to widen their lips.
Mike’s seen some of the images of the aftermath, when the police finally got to the scene of the crime, and it’s never pretty.
“You can do that, I guess,” Mike says. He clicks his pen again. “Could you give me a name?”
The criminal went quiet, making Mike frown.
“Don’t want to answer?” Mike questions, raising an eyebrow. The criminal shifted again. “Alright, why do you kill people? Is there a specific reason for each kill?” Mike’s eyes sparked a little. “Or is it just for fun?”
The criminal snaps his fingers, pointing at Mike. The ravenette blinked in confusion at the movement, but he frowned at the laugh that the criminal made.
“Are you truly a doctor?” The criminal says. “Because it looks like we have the same mind.” He leans forward, and despite the fact Mike couldn’t see the man’s face, he could tell he was smiling. “But of course, I have a reason.”
“Then what is it?” Mike questions, leaning forward in his chair.
The man laughed again. “Why would I tell you? You’re just a doctor,” He says, making Mike slump in his seat, just a little. The criminal leans forward again, touching the bars. “Awe, don’t be sad, I’ll answer some of your more..” He trails off and grips the bars, a zapping sound making Mike flinch. “ Pressing questions.”
“Stop that, you’re hurting yourself,” Mike says, frowning. He shouldn’t feel concern for a villain, but for some reason he does.
“I can barely feel it,” The criminal says, and Mike can hear the smirk in his voice.
“Stop,” Mike says, flicking a scrap of paper at the bars, which falls short and hits the ground. The criminal chuckles, making Mike blush from embarrassment. “If you won’t tell me your name, what should I call you?”
“Spy,” The criminal says simply. “That’s what everyone calls me.” Mike narrows his eyes but jots the word down, followed by the statement and a question. Who is everyone?
Mike sighs, leaning back in his chair. He studies the man in front of him, the creepy mask and the hands still on the electric bars.
“Here’s the deal, Spy ,” Mike says, saying the name in a mocking tone. Spy scoffs and finally pulls his hands away, crossing his arms. “You’re going to be in this asylum for as long as possible until you give us all the information we want, and then you’re going to prison. For the rest of your life. What do you think of that?”
“I think..” Spy says softly, once more sending strange shivers down Mike’s spine. “That once I get out of here, I’ll murder every single person in this building.” Mike’s eyes widen a fraction. “Including you.”
Mike scoffs. “You’re not getting out of here, buddy,” He says with a smug smirk. “You’re going to have fun in prison, though, I can tell you.”
A ding came from Mike’s phone and he looked at it, the screen lighting up.
“I’ll see you next session, Spy ,” Mike says, standing up and collecting his phones. He nods in a form of goodbye before he turns around and leaves, unlocking the door so he could leave. He wipes his forehead, feeling nervous but also.. excited, in a sort of way.
Spy stares at the door as it clicks shut, feeling heat rise up to his cheeks. Micheal Wheeler, huh ? He thinks to himself, smiling. Alright, Doctor, let’s play.