The Funhouse Massacre

Little late for visitors.

I apologize. I had an appointment

with Warden Kane hours ago.

Traffic was murderous.

You can have an appointment with me, darling.

Hello, Miss Quinn.

Uh, please,

excuse my guard's lack of manners.

Around these parts,

we don't get a lot of reporters

that look like... uh, please, come in.

We're already drawing enough heat down here.

And you want to go make things worse

by sexually harassing a journalist?

Once everybody knows about this place,

we'll probably all get shitcanned.

Who cares?

You boys okay?

Is there a problem?

Uh, no, no. No problem at all.

- I don't bite.

- Right. Yes.

Uh, well, uh...

Shall we get started?

Of course. Do you mind if I record this?

No, certainly not. Go right ahead.

I want everything to be by the book.

Uh, before we get started,

has anyone warned you about this place?

I don't scare easily, Mr. Kane.

But thank you for your concern.

Ah. Well, Miss, there are people here

that even God is afraid of.

I'm amazed you've been able

to keep a facility such as this

hidden for so long.

Well, most of the jobs

left this area years ago,

so there's not much reason for people

to venture down here any longer.

Although we do get the occasional

teenage devil worshippers,

but they're pretty easy to scare off.

On the record, why the secrecy?

Other facilities for

the criminally insane exist.

They don't hold people without trial.

What about their rights?

Well, if Gitmo can get away

with it, why shouldn't we?

These monsters, they're domestic terrorists.

As far as I'm concerned, they have no rights.

I mean, do you really believe

that out of the millions of

people in this country,

there aren't more than just

a handful of sickos, hmm?

I mean, Dahmer and Bundy and Gacy,

they're just the ones that got all the press.

Here, we house the ones

that you whisper about around the campfire.

So killing them.

Would that be the answer?

Off the record?

If I didn't have those

SOBs up in the state house

nosing around my business,

I'd put a bullet in each of their heads.

Welcome to no man's land, Miss Quinn.

This... This is what we call Supermax.

That is Jeffrey Ramseys.

Affectionately called Animal the Cannibal.

Probably heard the rumor of the famous chef

whose flank steak was to die for.

Turns out he was serving

customers to customers.

The, uh, scar,

it's from one meal who fought back.

His board of directors

from the restaurant chain

decided it might be bad for

business if people found out

he was literally serving people, so,

they arranged for Animal here to disappear.

Then there's Bradford Young.

Ladies nicknamed him Dr. Suave.

He was a dentist who believed that

not every tooth could be saved.

We'll get that toothache to stop.

Don't you worry.

Just relax. It's all gonna be fine.

That should do it.

No, no, no.

Who's this handsome fella?

Ah, that's Walter Harris,

A.K.A. The Taxidermist.

His specialty was birds.

The more exotic, the better.

You know, darling,

you're gonna make somebody a real nice wife.

Cute.

Hmm.

He's a big boy.

Yes, he is.

Broke three of my guards arms, nearly

killed the only doctor we had out here.

They call him Rocco the Clown.

Was an underground wrestler

until he accidentally killed

one too many opponents in the ring.

They spun it that he was retiring

so he could go out undefeated.

Bye bye, Rocco.

And last but not least...

Manuel Dyer.

He prefers Manny the Prophet,

but since he's batshit crazy,

we just call him "Mental" Manny.

I've heard of him.

He's responsible for the largest

mass-suicide in history.

They tried to cover it up

as a giant building fire.

Oh, right a fire. A fire that not one

single resident attempted to escape.

We give ourselves to you, oh, Lord.

Ash to ash, we join you again.

Jesus came to me and said,

this is the way to sit beside God.

Burn away our sins, oh, Lord.

Are you all right?

I'm sorry.

Can we take a break from these awful men?

Of course.

Right this way.

You're such a gentleman.

I'm sorry, I just...

Got a little overwhelmed.

Well, that's an understandable response.

You shouldn't feel ashamed.

I'm just really hot in here.

Yes, uh...

Well, now that you have seen who...

what we host here,

do you really think it's wise to

divulge it to the entire world?

All the inmates in our system should

be accounted for, and treated fairly.

- They're still human beings.

- Human?

Have you seen anything in here

that's even remotely human?

It must be horrible working with such

depraved individuals.

Well, it's a dirty job

but someone has to do it.

You poor thing.

Miss Quinn, what, what...

Shh.

I have this little fetish for

men in bow ties.

Ever since I was

a little girl.

Oh...

You are quite the tease, Miss Quinn.

Oh, sugar, is it too...

tight?

Please, please, could somebody

help me in here?

Please, please!

You can't be in here.

I'm here for our appointment.

Here's the ball for baby. Nice and round.

Here's baby's hammer, how she likes to pound.

Pound, pound, pound!

Pound!

Daddy.

- How's my little doll face?

- Never better.

Ah, the vic was found by the cleaning

staff about 30 minutes ago, Sheriff.

It's pretty gruesome in there,

just to warn you.

Here's what I think happened, okay?

There's two attackers, disguised

as room service, maybe.

They bust in, there's a scuffle here,

they're trying to rob her.

There's all this spilled wine.

She comes over here,

grabs the scissors to defend herself,

tries to stab one of them,

the other grabs the bottle,

cracks her over the head.

She falls on the ground dazed.

She's climbing and clawing

her way to the bed.

They're walking over her, laughing.

They pin her down.

The one takes the wine bottle,

one, two, crack, glass everywhere.

She's screaming, "Oh! My head is bleeding!

You're killing me!"

She falls on one of the shards of glass.

It lodges in her neck, and when she rolls,

it slits her throat, and she bleeds out.

That's how she died.

Please dismount the dead body, deputy.

Oh, yeah, um... Just...

You just contaminated the entire crime scene.

Also, are you actually holding

the potential murder weapon

without gloves?

Guess who's our prime suspect

when we run that for prints, now.

- May I?

- Yeah. Yeah.

There was only one attacker.

He or she was already in the room.

There's no sign of struggle or

forced entry at the door.

Also, there's no sign of anything

missing, so it's clearly not a robbery.

Our victim comes in to enjoy a glass of wine

when the attacker jumps out of the bathroom,

where he or she has been hiding,

hence why the door is ajar.

The attacker grabs the bottle of wine,

hits our girl over the head.

You were right there.

Our victim is dazed, she puts up a fight,

and the attacker slits her throat.

Right in the aorta.

- Or jugular.

- Yeah. Yeah, jugular.

Uh...

Maybe it's a Halloween thing?

Maybe. Do you have a name?

Uh, no. Her ID was missing.

Did you check with the manager?

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