The Tale of the Hooligan

Greetings, I am Dr. Keen, and today I'm am introducing you all to Patient #853,  a Mr. “Michael Doe” (so many John and Jane Does around here, I thought we could diversify a bit with a Mike) aka “The Hooligan”.  As you can see the patient is secured to the wall of his cell via straps and chains, the door has been upgraded to a heavy steel model that should be locked with two guards on the outside of it at all times, as per Dr. Wickman's orders.  I do mean at all times, no meals no bathroom breaks, “The Hooligan” has been here for over a year and he hasn't needed them.  As to how this patient came into our care, thats a bit of a story.

Two years ago, in the great crime ridden city of Philadelphia, a group of men were found badly beaten and in need of medical care.  A dozen men, all with ties to the criminal underworld, several already bludgeoned to death, the rest beaten so bad that they ended up in the ICU.  It was assumed that the victims were the losers of a bizarre gang battle and that the other team of hooligans had fled the scene afterwards.  However eventually some of the surviving men woke up and were able to give their statements, which all agreed that the group was attacked by a single man.  A single, large brute of a man, wearing a large coat, body-armor, and some kind of ballistic mask.  They said that the man, this “Hooligan”, appeared apparently from nowhere wielding a pipe or some other kind of blunt instrument, shrugged off gunfire and any other form of attack, to savagely beat down all of the gang members as they were conducting their business.

The news ran with the story of some violent vigilante stalking the streets at night and hunting criminals.  It was like something from a comicbook.  Weeks went by, and more beaten and broken drug dealers and muggers were found littering the streets, and the press kept eating it up.  While the news were ecstatic about the new situation, the public was divided, and the crime lords were enraged, the police were apathetic about the whole situation.  After all, some low level criminals get beaten to a pulp, it really didn't matter to them.  That was until Officers Richman and Morris.

Both men were found in the street one Sunday morning, Richman paralyzed and Morris dead.  A lot of buzz was generated off of that, but the Philadelphia Police Force was adamant about two things: 1) the idea that the two fallen police officers were on the take is ludicrous and disrespectful, and 2) the lunatic publicly known as “The Hooligan” was now public enemy number one.

Sting operations, helicopter sweeps, several taskforces, hundreds of men and women thrown into the search for the “Hooligan”, but all that lead to were more badly beaten cops left on the ground mixed in the criminals.  Eventually the Chief of Police had had enough of the whole situation, and sat down with  heads of the local gangs, the architects of all the organized crime in the city, and they came up with a plan to deal with their mutual problem.

Three nights later a mob of seemingly psychotic men descended down a street in one of the poorer districts of the city.  As they went the mob lit ever car they found on fire, smashed in and defiled every storefront they passed, and brutally attacked any poor soul they came across.  Of course all of this brought the attention of the violent man mountain the city called the Hooligan.  As the brute waded in, smiting down criminals like an angry demon, the police took up their position.  When the Hooligan finally pacified the entire mob, he looked up to find himself completely surrounded by entrenched SWAT teams and snipers.  Before he could move another muscle, the surrounding peace officers opened fire.  Five thousand rounds later, the man monster finally went down.

Pleased with the results, as the fallen vigilante lunatic was sent to the morgue, the Chief went back to his office and phoned his shady associates to give them the good news.  Before he could though, he heard a massive commotion from the lobby.  The Chief opened his office door only to look into the eyes of Mr. Michael Doe, somehow still alive, and very angry.  By the time the police force regrouped and followed the path of destruction from the morgue to the Chief's office, the found old man dead on the floor with the naked Hooligan bashing his head to mush with a broken table leg, laughing like a madman the whole time.  This time they brought the beast down with combination of multiple taser fire and pepper spray.  He was then swiftly bound and brought here, to Hillbrook Asylum, a place specialized to hold such...trouble patients.

While he doesn't need to eat or sleep, our Hooligan can talk.  He has said a total of one thing the entire time he's been in our care.  A request to see the distinguished Doctor Wickman.  A request that our good head doctor has thus far refused to make, though the minute it seems patient #853 seems to be breaking containment, he is to be swiftly alerted.  Its been over a year now though, and so far we haven't had any trouble from Mr. Michael Doe.  I think our treatment has been helping him.