Hannibal-Chuer Feng (final work)

The murdering cannibal-Hannibal Lecter, is presently in Italy and works as a curator at a museum. Clarice Starling, the FBI agent whom he aided to apprehend a serial killer has called to the mat by the Bureau. One high ranking official, Paul Krendler has it in for her. But she gets a reprieve because Mason Verger, one of Lecter's victims who is looking to get back at Lecter for what Lecter did to him, wants to use Starling to lure him out. Later Verger decides to frame Starling which makes Lecter return to the States. Angry Hannibal saves Starling's life and destroies Verger's whole plan. Finally agent Starling got the chance to manacle Hannibal just at the moment when Hannibal kisses her. However he extricates himself again. And the race to get Lecter begins.

When Starling found herself safely without her hand cut off, she realizes that Dr. Lecter might cut off his hand to escape from the police. She is shocked again. Why did Dr. Lecter not cut her hand off? Why did he save her life again? Why does she feel pity for him, -the murdering cannibal? Starling becomes more confused about Dr. Lecter.

"It looks good. What is that? What have you got there, " asked a little boy sitting next to Hannibal Lecter.

"Well, this is my dessert that I brought here myself. I couldn’t eat what they serve me as I understand the definition, which is why I always bring my own," answered Dr. Lecter.

“Can I please try some,” asked little boy.

“You are a very unusual boy, aren’t you,” said Dr. Lecter.

Looking into Hannibal's plate, a little piece of baked brain contained in a plastic box. No doubt, that is part of Paul Krendler. On the flight to the States, Hannibal realizes that there are policeman around him. The reason why they are still hiding might be they are scared of him. If they pop, he might hurt other passengers. Although he lost his left hand, he is still the murdering cannibal.

At the corner of last row, Starling quietly sitting there and looking at Dr. Lecter’s seat.

"Who am I?"

"I am agent Starling from FBI."

"I am not Dr. Lecter’s Clarice."

Starling keeps asking herself same questions. That was such a long pause. Starling even did not listen to her headphone.

“Can you hear me Starling? Please reply,” asked Mike.

“Yes, sorry I was…I was just thinking about our plan,” Starling replies.

She can’t be more familiar with the plan. They set up the whole thing already. Firstly, stewardess knocks over Dr. Lecter’s coffee and he would have to clean himself in the toilet. Then Starling shows up and catches him when he gets out of the toilet. The reason why they send Starling is they have assured that Starling is the only person that Hannible won’t hurt. The plan sounds easy and simple, but everyone is nervous and carefully holding their gun.

“What would you like for drink sir,” asked stewardess.

“Black coffee please,” said Dr. Lecter.

Then the stewardess knocks over the coffee then Dr. Lecter stands up and goes toward to the toilet. So far everything goes perfectly.

Starling’s hands start shaking. After taking a deep breath, she and her team get out of their seats and signal to all the passengers to be quiet. The plane is landing, they do not have much time.

Suddenly the toilet door opens and Dr. Lecter grabs Starling and holding her neck with a knife.

“Everyone gets back and put down your guns on the floor,” Dr. Lecter controls his voice like a master.

Passengers start shouting and screaming.

“The plane is landing, there is no where you can escape. Now let her go and we won’t hurt you…” said Mike.

“Give me the parachute or she will die, immediately,” interrupted Dr. Lecter.

It is strange. Starling stops shaking and she even feels being protected. Yes, with a knife on her neck.

After half hour…

Dr. Lecter and Starling landing with the parachute toward into the sea.

“Clarice, you do not let me go then you have to come with me,” Dr. Lecter whispered to Starling.

“Here is one thing I would ask you Dr. Lecter. Where you get the rubber knife? It doesn’t really seem like your tool Dr. Lecter, ” smiled Starling.

“That was from the little boy who sit next to me. He exchanged his knife to me,” said Dr. Lecter.

“So what did you give him to exchange,” asked Starling.

“That was a piece of brain,” answered Dr. Lecter with a pleased smile. 

They safely down to the sea and try to get rid of the parachute. At the same time, agent Mike from FBI is talking to Henry who was sitting next to Hannibal Lecter.

“Henry, now don’t be scared and just tell me clearly what did he tell you,” asked Mike.

“It is important, always to try new things. He said,” answered Henry.

He is still holding that plastic box that Dr. Lecter gave him. Tightly, in his sweaty palm.

Reference:

Harris, T. (1999). The silence of the lambs: Hannibal. United States:       

           Delacorte Press.

Aaron's Final. Issues of the Transformers.

Once Dr Krum had found out about the transformers he realized his career choice of being both a psychologist and an engineer was going to come in handy. However, finding out Megatron had been fired from the Decepticon leadership position, let’s just say, he was a fat kid with cake.

The sun fought its way out of the eastern darkness lighting the small island of Tasmania with an orange glow. Along the rich Tasmanian shoreline one wouldn’t expect to find an overly large building with the words plastered to the front “DANGER TEMPERMENTAL MACHINES WITHIN” but one would be wrong.  Inside that very obscure building there was a meeting that could decide the fate of the world.

“Good morning Mr Megatron how are you?” asked Dr Krum.

“You spineless little humanoid, what would you know? I could never explain to you about the intricacies of the cyborg mind processor!” Megatron screamed, standing at full height, one arm outstretched towards the heavens.

“Hmmm very dramatic.” mumbled Dr Krum. “I used to have a patient very similar to you. He liked to make an entrance. He… Mr Megatron, please sit down, my neck isn’t made for gazing at the stars.” 

Megatron’s eyes burned a bright red and for a moment his oversized metallic foot hung over the doctors head. The Doctors breath froze as he watched the foot size sixty, dangle ominously close, too close. Reluctantly Megatron lowered his foot and sat down, the creaking of the couch dangerously loud. He gave an audible sigh, which is strange as Transformers do not breathe.

“Now that’s much better. We are able to talk comfortably now aren’t we Mr Megatron?”

“Hmmph” mumbled Megatron.

“So as I was saying I had a patient very similar to you. I shouldn’t give away his name but I think his new life as a Starbucks employee is an inspiring example. Have you heard of a man named Joe Kerr?” asked Dr Krum.

“Why would I interest myself in a snivelling man flesh called Joe Kerr?” grumbled Megatron.  

“Let me tell you his real name, he was well known to us humans, who by the way do not always snivel, he was known as the Joker.” Dr Krum watched to see if there was any hint of recognition in Megatron’s eyes. He was disappointed.

“He was a mastermind, an evil mastermind, who is now a valued member of society. He tried to destroy the very fabric of the world and now works for it. I believe you can also be a valued member of society Megatron, it is just, how much do want to be?”

"I am Megatron. I do not need a label from you or any from this disgusting ball of mush you call a planet. I have battled foes that make any weapon you pathetic humans have created look like a sparkling’s toy!"

"Is that right" stated Dr Krum. He was now trying to look Megatron in the eyes or "optical lenses" but the giant robot wouldn't look at him.

"What do you mean is that right? Of course that is right I’m Megatron” the hulking robot repeated with a sour tone in his voice.

“Do not be surprised Mr Megatron, you are not the first nor the last evil being that in the end, wants nothing more than a life of peace.” The words delivered in a soft and gentle tone.

"No that's not true" Megatron said, his voice sounding like a child of five who had been told they’re not allowed another biscuit "I...I don't believe you".

"Believe it or not Mr Megatron but I think you have a heart, or as you would like to say a spark, bigger than you could imagine."

"I do not, I have not, I’m Megatron." Megatron whispered. 

"You keep repeating yourself, almost like you are trying to force this belief through repetition. I'm starting to think you're in denial." Dr Krum reached over and placed a hand on the cold surface of Megatron’s metallic knee.

"I'm...I am..." Megatron’s voice was beginning to show signs of confusion and held a slight quiver.

"Are you Megatron?" Asked Dr Krum.

For the first time since Megatron had walked in, Dr Krum saw a reaction he did not expect. Megatron’s head went into his hands and he began to shake. Could this be true, that the giant malicious transformer was actually a confused and sad robot? The thought made Dr Krum even more determined to see his plan work.
  
“You don’t understand” Wailed Megatron, who was no longer crying but breaking down, oil pooling on the floor. "They kicked me out, I was kicked out like a big...a big fat nobody!" the pain flowing from his voice.

"I see… we have abandonment issues. Well this is going to take more than one session Mr Megatron. I will have to book you in again, let’s say tomorrow at five?"

"Yes sir" Sniffed Megatron. He stood and walked to the door. "Please don't tell anyone" he squeaked and with that Megatron slumped out through the over-sized door to reception.

Dr Krum watched the large and confused robot walk dejectedly away and the door slowly close behind him. With a sigh he said “You may come out from behind the curtains.”

From behind the curtain stepped out Optimus Prime. He wore a large smile on his face and his eyes sparkled with mischief. “What a big baby” laughed Optimus, he bent over holding his knees and small wet tears of joy rolled down his cheeks. "Do you remeber when he said he's a big nobody!" at that Optimus Prime fell on the floor with laughter, his legs kicking freely in the air.

“I would appreciate less laughter from you Mr Prime and more understanding. This was your idea in the first place, making Megatron have appointments with me just so I could slowly win him over for you. I won’t have that sensitive robot become an Autobot just to be harassed by you. Do I make myself clear?” The Dr watched Optimus wilt under his firm glare.

“Yes sir” was the sullen reply.

"Right now it’s your turn as we agreed. I help win Megatron over to the Autobots and you tell me these issues you have with your mother."

For the second time that evening the Dr heard a robot sigh and thought “I really must investigate where that noise comes from.”

Reference:

·         Budiansky, B., & Shooter, J. (1984). The Transformers. New York, United States of America:     Marvel Publishing, Inc.

 

American Pyscho final - Jessica Ropati

My name is Patrick Bateman. I live in the American Gardens building, on the 11^th floor with better views than what you would have. I live in the beautiful minimalistic white on white apartment, cleaner than your apartment would ever be. I strongly imagine that you must surround yourself with perfection in order to attain it. I believe in making sure that I am always the perfect version of myself. I follow a rigorous exercise and personal maintenance regime. However I am now aware, no matter how hard I attempt to hide beneath this façade of anti aging balms and protective moisturizing lotions, the evil in my heart is beginning to show.

I belonged to no one who belonged to everyone. Whilst I look and even act like a normal human - on the inside something is ticking away and pulling my entire being in different directions, feelings and compulsions that consume every single one of my actions and thoughts. I tell myself this as part of my morning routine to see if I feel something, guilt perhaps, but nothing. Every move I make is a fabrication, an attempt to convince people I am simply CEO of Pierce and Pierce, on Wall Street. You should have heard of it. I am a noncontingent human being. My personality is wavering and uneasy as the ocean with no moral compass and no genuine concern towards others. You may think we are similar if we were too meet in the street but I can assure you we are not, despite my psychotic tendencies I will always remain better than you. You can have hopes, dreams and real feelings to experience however you are all simply living in my world. Nobody is safe; as I am the most unforgiving soulless human on the planet.

I enjoy killing people and getting away with it. I am the American Physco.

It is the evening of my 27^th birthday and I have unfortunately been forced to attend a dinner function at Dorsia, supposedly the best restaurant in New York City however I feel it is overrated. As always I am impeccably dressed, my company refuse to grasp why I take delight in obsessively detailing my clothing but the Versace suit I am wearing demands attention. The young waitress has caught my eye as I walk in to the lowly light room she would look like a work of art in my apartment. However Evelyn my supposed fiancée will be arriving any moment so I push the thought to the back cortex of my brain to revive on another day. Great, David is here. He has a better colouring on his business card so I remain in a deep state of hatred towards him.

“Patrick, you’re getting old what are you 30 yet?”

I hated when David talked to me.

“No David, I am 27 therefore making me younger than you and I am more successful so I do not quite comprehend why you have that snide look on your face.”

“Come on, Bateman, what do you think of the waitress over there?”

I acted indifferent to the comment but a fire rose inside of me. As I studied her movements, the way she walked, interacted with other people.. I wanted her. Not in some disgusting sexual or even romantic way. I wanted to feel my hands around her neck as her air supply became limited. I continued to ignore the pathetic conversations around the table and avoided all eye contact with Evelyn. As our meals came and went from in front of us, drinks were poured and drunk, I felt tightness in my back creeping its hold over the muscles in my body. I needed to release this anger, frustration and hatred to this damn useless waitress. Stress isn’t good for the ageing process after all.

After everybody had finished there less than desirable meals I waited for my opportunity to excuse myself and talk to the waitress. Evelyn had left with David, trying to pretend like I didn’t know she was sleeping with him. Pity I didn’t care about her. The waitress wasn’t hard to find, waiting at the bar for me like a desperate child. I didn’t bother talking to her; I grabbed her firmly around the wrist and led her outside to the car where my driver was waiting for me. The blood lust rose in me in the brief amount of time we were in the car, for every idiotic sentence that left her mouth the desire to permanently make her quiet rose.

The next thing that I can remember I am sitting on the white chaise lounger back in my apartment with a serrated knife on the oak side table next to me. I turn the volume up on my speakers and let the enchanting sounds of Phil Collins soothe me. I need a deep breath, the gargling and gasping sounds of the waitress lying on the floor is very off putting and is beginning to ruin the song slightly.

For a brief second I contemplate putting her out of her misery but she said the stain on my oak floors didn’t match the rest of my apartment so I shall let her suffer a little while longer. What would an uneducated waitress know about wood stains? I take an antibacterial wipe from the drawer in the side table and wipe down my face before..  Perfect, there’s blood on my new tie.

I sat back in my chair as the noises became quieter, glancing over my shoulder her lifeless body was still on the plastic that I had put on the ground as I had just had it polished again. I felt the tension from my body releasing and I was able to bask in a euphoric state of relaxation and the soothing sounds of Phil Collins. She was young, but nobody will miss her, I have nothing to feel guilty for. I am simply clearing up the streets of New York City one waste of space at a time; I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. Satisfaction.

The waitress who I could not bring myself to inquire her name, as I truly did not care was not the first person I killed, I thought of those before her… my old assistant, the homeless man and his dog, Paul Allen, those boys from the fraternity these were only the ones worth remembering. We were up to a body count of at least 32, just doing my part to keep the streets clean like a vigilante or even a mercenary. Basking in the ecstasy that I was feeling, she would not be the last person to die at my hands either.

Reference : Ellis, B E. (1991).  American Pyscho United States Vintage Press