Helen Geller - she was very aware of the irony and hadn't spoken to her parents in years - stared open-mouthed and in awe at the two men in front of her. The first was Tony Clarkson - "the Butcher" as people were already starting to call him. He was locked in a straight jacket and tied to a dolly, being raised into the FBI van carefully - not because of any concern for his safety, but because there was a very real chance that if the straight jacket was damaged in any way, there would be another rampage. He had already nearly torn free of the restraints holding him to the dolly, and they had had to double up with actual ratchet straps.

The other man was Richard Jansen, Secret Agent for the FBI, CIA, DHS, DEA, DOT, NSA, MI:6, KGB, and the local PTA. Helen was one of the few who knew his true identity - she was his handler.

She also had a huge, inappropriate crush on the man. It was only a year ago that he was the new guy, somewhat gangly, but suave and commanding in presence. He had captured her heart then and there, but it had only grown with how successful he had become over the years.

As she caught up with him she noticed him chuckling. "What, Dick? What happened?" As they entered their own, nondescript Ferrari, he apparently felt safe enough to belt out laughter - despite the top being down and every FBI agent staring at him in horror, considering the scene around them. Bodies were literally splayed in grotesque form all around. The streets were more blood than asphalt.

Helen didn't notice. Maybe she was used to his behavior. Or maybe love blinds. Or maybe she was just an idiot, it's hard to say. Agent Jansen continued to chuckle under his breath. "So, Tony has all these bodies everywhere, right? He's packaged them up in Shrink-Wrap and everything? Then he gets captured - by me, by the way, amazing story for another time," I was literally there, she thought, "so anyway, he gets caught, and they," he had to pause to laugh again, "they wrap him up in a straight-jacket, right?" He paused, staring at Helen waiting for her response.

She waited a moment, any excuse to stare into his eyes for just a second more. "Sure..."

He laughed again, his hands animating the story more than the words. "Well, the chief comes up to me and says 'So it was Tony Clarkson all along?'" He let out another chuckle, clearly pleased with himself, and waited again for Helen to say something.

"Right."

"So I look at the chief, there's bodies everywhere all packaged in plastic, and there's Tony there, all muffled and restricted in that damn jacket, moving about this way and that," again with the animated hands, "And I look at the chief, and in a deadpan tone," more chuckling, more hand waving, "I say: 'Looks like this case is all wrapped up, eh, Chief?"

Richard laughed again (musically, thought Helen) as he hit the gas and sped off, several FBI agents just shook their head in confusion and disgust. One actually hurled, though that may have had more to do with the bit of brain they had stepped in, and less to do with his story. "You should have seen the look on his face, the poor bastard!"

Behind them another bomb went off, sending City Hall shattering to the ground as the FBI scrambled out of the way. Helen looked back in horror at the scene, and noticed a slight, smug grin of satisfaction as Agent Jansen just continued to stare straight ahead. He had learned long ago to never look at explosions.

^{This was my attempt at comedy. Feel free to try your attempt at criticism! :D}