The scene opened with the familiar creak and groan of the old warehouse rafters. Up in the loft where the Metal Maniacs had made their strange little sanctuary, Twisted Sister sat cross-legged on the floor, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth in concentration. Before her was something marvelous and impossible: an entire Barbie Dreamhouse, built from nothing but mismatched pink Legos.
Her pale, painted face beamed with a twisted pride as she delicately lifted the last piece between her fingers. On her right side sat a sweating glass of her own peculiar indulgence: a dill pickle milkshake. Then the wooden door to the loft slammed open with a deafening BANG!
Anthrax charged in, his wild clown makeup streaked with sweat, a crooked grin stretching across his face as he hugged a mysterious box to his chest. His entrance sent a rush of air through the room, rattling the table and knocking over Twisted Sister’s careful balance. Her masterpiece collapsed to the warped wooden floor.
For a long beat, she only stared at the rubble. Her painted smile was frozen, trembling at the edges. Her eyes lifted slowly to Anthrax’s jittering form, and then the silence broke with a blood-curdling, inhuman scream.
Twisted Sister: NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!She threw herself to the floor, pounding her fists, kicking her boots, shrieking like a banshee. Anthrax paused, tilted his head like a confused animal, then dropped to his knees.
Anthrax: No, no, no, look, look, LOOK! I got it! I got the GAME!It was the classic Operation.
Twisted Sister sniffled, mascara running, then sat up slowly. Her lips twitched. The Dreamhouse was forgotten. Together, like excited children on Christmas morning, they tore into the packaging, pieces scattering across the floor as they set the game up.
They hunched over it in the broken light. Anthrax’s tongue dangled out the side of his mouth as he gripped the tweezers.
BZZZZZT!The red nose lit up. He jerked, laughed hysterically, and tried again.
BZZZZZZZT!Twisted Sister clapped her hands and kicked her feet in delight, then took her turn. She pulled piece after piece without so much as grazing the edges.
Anthrax grew more and more frustrated. Finally, with a guttural clownish roar, he snatched the board up and hurled it across the room. It crashed through a pane of already cracked glass, shattering the rest, and disappeared into the cold, howling night.
He slumped down cross-legged on the floor, shoulders hunched, pouting like a scolded boy, smudged paint streaking down his face. Twisted Sister watched him for a long moment, then slowly turned her head toward where the camera was, breaking the wall completely.
Her hand rose to her temple, twirling her finger in tight circles. The universal sign of madness.
The camera then flickered to life inside a rotting side room of the decrepit warehouse. The floor was littered with discarded medical tools, cracked tiles, and rusted bed frames. Someone had dressed the room up to look like an abandoned operating room. In the center of the room stood an old gurney, and strapped across it with strips of gray duct tape was a Ken doll.
Over it leaned Anthrax. In his gloved hand gleamed a scalpel, the blade catching the dull light. He stroked the doll’s molded hair gently, his painted lips stretching into a trembling grin.
Anthrax: Ryan Keys. Pretty boy. You’re back in the circus, and I couldn’t be happier! The audience missed you, the ring missed you, and I missed you most of all. But you left us, didn’t you? Long, long ago, you ran away before the show was done. Such a shame. Such a disappointment!
But something is different now. Something about you changed. You don’t look the same anymore, Pretty Bird. Maybe the pretty boy lost his shine. Maybe the mirror stopped loving you. Don’t worry…!He raised the scalpel over the doll’s plastic face.
Anthrax: Doctor Anthrax is here to make you handsome again.He giggled, then lowered the blade to the doll. With a grotesque delicacy, he carved across its molded features. Shavings of plastic curled away.
Anthrax: Yessss! This is the face of a Roulette Champion! Twice, no less! You beat Steve Ramone for the title twice! Hahahaha!He slapped his knee, doubled over in manic laughter.
Anthrax: Though really, who hasn’t beaten Steve Ramone?He tilted his head, admiring the doll as chunks of plastic scattered across the gurney.
Anthrax: And then poof! Just like that, you were gone! No more games, no more fun, no more circus. You lost the desire to play. But now…He pressed the scalpel tip against the doll’s cheek, dragging it slowly downward.
Anthrax: Now you’re back! Hooray! And guess who gets the very first playdate!?His laughter rang shrill as he ripped the doll free from the duct tape, holding it up by its chest. The camera zoomed in on its mutilated face, plastic features carved away until it was nothing but a hollow, plastic shell. Anthrax cradled it lovingly against his cheek, eyes fluttering in twisted joy.
Anthrax: See? So much better! And just imagine how much better you’ll look after I’m finished with you! When we play together, I’ll make you perfect again!He kissed the faceless doll on its head, then turned toward the camera.
Anthrax: Don’t be late, Pretty Bird! Doctor’s orders!The light flickered until it winked out.
