A Message From Minstrel 3

The people of Gotham city had grown comfortable. They hadn't heard from Minstrel in some time, and they had assumed that meant he was finally gone for good. Between the Namzmiren trial and the riot the night after, it seemed like he had no intention of hijacking the televisions signals again. The thought calmed the people of Gotham, it signaled that his story might soon be over, and the city would move on to the next madman to pick a fight with their local vigilantes. The thought was calming, but deep down they knew it was just that, a fantasy.

In one moment, the screen showed gladiators in silk bouncing a ball from one end of a field to the next. In the next, it showed only a shirtless man standing under a harsh light. His skin was pale and pasty, with sweat dripping down its many wrinkles, bulges, and folds. The man's arms were raised above him, revealing a forest of greying, moist underarm hair which glistened under the lighting. Viewers could only speculate how long he'd been in that position from the shallow, labored breaths that he took.

There was a sharp sound, and the man howled out in pain and defiance. A single tear rolled down his face as he tried to force back all the curses which came to mind in that moment. His whole body writhed in agony as two more similar sounds rang out.

"Say your name!" An unseen but familiar voice called out.

"My name is Joseph Grant," The man indignantly cried.

The sharp sound rang out again. Three sounds, three grimaces and cries of agony from the man.

"Say your name!" The voice cried out again.

"When I get out of here," Grant began to warn, but his voice was cut off by the pain.

The camera cut to a different, side angle. Minstrel stood behind Grant, holding a murderous grin on his face and a whip in his right hand. Keen-eyed viewers would recognize the whip as a Cat O' Nine Tails, but not as many would recognize the reference Minstrel was making to Levar Burton's character in Roots. What very few people would understand, though, was the significance behind the whip being made entirely of electrical chords.

"Say! Your! Cotton! Picking! Name!" Minstrel cried out, swinging his whip with every word.

Joseph Grant didn't respond.

Minstrel sighed and turned to the camera, "It's so hard to find good help these days. Take my butler for example, he doesn't appear to appreciate the position that he's in."

Minstrel reached behind his back and pulled out a small sack of burlap. He reached inside, and pulled out a fist of fine, white salt.

"Say your name! Say it!" Minstrel cried out. He tossed fistful after fistful of salt onto Joseph Grant's back, and the older man's face grew red and hot, but he didn't' say a word.

Minstrel took one last handful of salt and blew it onto Grant's back, then he proceeded to whip him again. Nine times the flail struck Grant, and nine times he howled in pain before Minstrel finally stopped.

The villain took a step towards Grant and mixed the salt and blood on his victim's back with his hand.

"What was that? Did you have something to say, sweetie?"

Eyes dripping in tears, Grant stammered out, "My...my name is...I am Alfred."

Minstrel's eyes lit up. He dropped the whip, clasped his hands, and hugged Grant from the back, "Welcome to the family, Alfred. You'll love it here!"