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One Of Those Days
(Trigger warning, some slurs and offensive jokes near the end of the second paragraph)
Michael thumbed the message out on his phone. He figured since practically nothing was going on he might kill some time and spend a couple bucks. "ayy Johnnyboy, U wanna go 2 the theatre with me?" He hated texting with a phone. He probably should've called him, but shit, every time he actually calls someone, they never pick up. The only times they do is when you send a badly spelled message though, figures. The newer a phone gets, the less it's used like an actual phone. Eh, no point in getting pissed off about technology, at least it's not the year 2525 yet. That's the year we know we're doomed, so sayeth Zager and Evans.

Michael waited for the text, hoping he'd get an answer soon. He needed some time out with some friends anyways, riding home from school with a nasty shiner isn't a good conversation starter "I fell down some stairs mom, I swear!" Fuck it, wasn't like he lost. Teachers didn't catch him either, nobody snitched. Dunno what's the problem with it. Of course he couldn't tell the real reason he was in the fight, nobody talks shit about his sexuality, unless they're needing some pro bono dentistry. He couldn't tell his parents the real reason he got into so much shit. He'd still haven't came out to them yet. Probably never will. Kind of made him depressed he had to hide it, but a lot of the shit his family said about gay people, well...yeah. Kinda ironic though. There's a joke if you hate gay people, your son's gonna be a faggot, and if you hate the blacks, your daughter's gonna come home with Jamal . Well his parents weren't racist, but, still, joke still stands I guess. It kinda sorta fits. Like, halfway.

He shrugged. This depressive shit just wasn't his thing man, all he needs is some time on his bike, a good talk with some friends, and a good movie to watch. Wonder what to watch though... Shit, Nightcrawler looked good. It's got both an American Psycho and a Drive feeling to it. At least the trailers do. Maybe they'll combine the "Hey Paul!" with an elevator or something. That'd be pretty cool. Still, he'd hope Johnathan would reply soon.

Gunfight U
Michael laid still, only moving to peek his head over the wooden barricade he hid behind. Nothing... So we're playing the sneak game huh? He'd expect somebody to run across the field, spray and pray, someone would already be shooting someone else. Wait. He yelled out a few minutes before the game started. They know where he is! Sonufabitch! No wait, they know where he was, he changed positions. That means, he could catch them in the ass trying to catch him in the ass! Little demon spider, you may have been an angel in disguise.

Michael took a couple more peeks, looking down the field, alleys, and the building he'd came from. Okay, a little eerie, not gonna lie. This shit's like No country for old men. The aftermath of the motel shootout. Johnathan's the trucker, and Alex's Anton. Or, maybe Micheal was Anton, and Alex was Moss. He was the one trying to ambush them after all. But chances are, they're both trying to ambush him. Fuck dude, this is too fucking quiet man.

He took another peek. Still nothing. Maybe they're focusing on each other. Took another peak. Nothing. Goddamn he was getting impatient, hurry the hell up people! If you wanna whack someone you gotta do it quick. Tony Soprano took no time to waste Blundetto, man. Come on! Michael took yet another peek. He looked at his options for cover. The corner of the wooden alleyway would work. Maybe could even go up it and hide in the bridge. Then again that bridge might not hold his weight, it looks old as balls. There's thew building, and that little patch rolling around by it. He could suck up some bravado and hide back in there, wasn't a terrible spot, outside of you know who... Wait little patch rolling, hold up! Michael took cover again, grinning. Target number one spotted.

Did he see him? Fuck probably, which means he's gonna try to sneak up on Mike. Or start suppressing him. So, holding out, maybe not the best idea. He looked at the corner alley with his peripheral vision, trying hard not to move to much. He could probably use the cover in between him and Mr. Sneaky Beaky to relocate. But he wouldn't be able to sneak around, even in all black he'd get spotted a mile away. Leaves only one option. Intimidation.

Michael crawled up to the end of his cover, and put his feet under him, ready to sprint. He got up and booked it, swiveling his torso and extending his left arm, he'd tighten around the trigger, the sounds of paintball pellets flying filled the air. Michael ran through the barricades, sprinting and spraying, his attacker first got low, then bolted to another set of cover outside his line of sight. Michael had enough time to figure out it was Alex trying to sneak up on him. Already there was a zig-zagged line of pink dots peppering the old arena. Too bad he couldn't tell if he hit Alex or not.

He slammed into the corner, shifting around it to hide in the alleyway. Everyone's gonna be gunning for him first, which makes sense since he's the loudest. Might as well help 'em come at him. He yelled out a loud "Woooo!" that would've made Nature Boy proud. "Get at me! GET! AT! ME!" He punched his chest between chants. His adrenaline was pumping now. This shit's getting fun now...


Don't Eat the Yellow Snow
Sunuvabitch! Michael's snowball missed Nathan by a long shot, he didn't even think he noticed it. Hell, he hasn't hit a single target since he got here. His aim's pretty piss poor if he had to be honest. Jonathan told Michael he had to head out, which was aight, guessing he had to get shit done at home, understandable. "Yeah buddy, I feel ya'." Michael clumped up another wad of snow in his hands. "See ya' later man." He turned to fire back at Natha- Fuck he's gone. What the hell? His he behind the car? Are we getting ambu- oh, he's already gone. Damn...

A moment later a snowball whizzed over his head and hit Darius in the back. Wait? Did Nathan flank us? Oh shi- wait, Jonathan?! Jonathan was heading home, but he still got the last laugh on that one. Michael couldn't really do much but yell out "TRAITOR!" in the least intimidating voice he could possibly make. What the hell was that even? Could a human even say that in such a high pitch? It was as if his testicles retracted back into his pelvis and reversed his puberty or something. Gee, this day really wasn't going his way, when your trademark Italian mafioso impersonation comes off as a trashy Bobcat Goldwaith impression, it's probably a sign you need to hit the bed early and cry yourself to sleep. With that, I guess it's time to wrap it up.

He tossed a final snowball towards Jeremy who'd finally gotten his ass up off the ground, (not like Michael should be talking, being the human slip n' slide.) and tossed one back to Darius. Damn, Darius was getting wrecked out here. Should he bail? Michael gave a not too long thought on leaving world war 3, Kingman edition. Ah fuck it, it's cold, my legs hurt, my dignity hurts, it's cold. "Ey' D' I'm headin' out man! My tits are freezing off out here!" He'd toss another snowball at Jeremy. "See you jackasses at school tomarrah!"

Michael headed out, making sure not to fall the fuck over again.

((Michael Crowe continued elsewhere))

Gunfight U
"In all honesty man, Pain-Ballers would be nice title if I had a say in it. Depends on the movie really." Michael nodded to Johnathan's titles, first one was pretty good, latter two, eh not so much. Didn't matter though, the conversation helped Mike forget about the butterflies in his stomach (and the pinprick sensation at the bottom of his feet, thanks to his overactive imagination and the idea of rusty nails laying around.) The irony wasn't lost on Michael, considering the content of the conversation.

Alex replied with his own name idea. "Yeah man, sounds like a title for one a 'da fuckin' Italian gore-flicks, top tier shit. Like Lucio Fulci movies. Hahaha 'yknow?" Michael chuckled. "Now the Italians, they know how to make a good horror film man, best in the business when it comes to slashers. Got some damn good soundtracks for 'em too." Alex finished the conversation, letting everyone know it's time to get their shit in gear. Fuck yes! Whatever fear Michael had dissipated the moment they stepped inside the rather large arena.

Michael trailed off from everyone else, finding a somewhat small shack to hole up in. He crouched down, leaning against the wall near the doorway. He set his bag on the ground, and pulled his gear out. He started with putting his paintball mask on his head, but not quite covering his face with it yet. He pulled out the paintball gun and the spare ammo containers. All filled with hot pink paint-balls, he knew exactly who he'd hit with these. He loaded the gun, and wrapped his left hand around the handle and trigger. Now's the time to wait. Michael checked his watch- wait, he forgot his watch, shit. Michael fumbled his right arm through his pocket, pulling out his phone. The light went up and filled the room. "Well, lemme see what time it is." The phone showed 9:43. "Perfe-

Michael was cut off when his eyes trailed upwards towards the wall he was only inches away from. On it, was one big fucking demon. An Eldritch Abomination, one which the eyes of man was not meant to see. A creature so vile, so horrific, Michael could not even fathom it's existence, this was truly much worse than rusty nails, worse than a demented hillbilly with a hacksaw, WORSE than someone getting a hold of his private porn folders on his phone! Inches away from his face, was a wolf spider. One big goddamn demonic wolf spider...

One falsetto yelp and a leap backwards later, and Michael had already extended his paintball gun and unloaded, the famous *Ftoop-ftoop-ftoop*s echoing throughout the arena. Michael took a quick pause, breathing to re-inhale his ghost that had just temporarily left his body to escape such a demonic monstrosity. Though a Pyrrhic victory, one which costed Michael his masculinity for a sheer second, it was still a victory. The wall in front of him was a blotch of pink, with a small amount of chitin and spider leg glued on. Michael Crowe=One, Demonic Hell spawn from Innsmouth=Zero.

Michael took the time out to yell "Misfire!" so his buddies wouldn't panic and think he'd stomped on a rusty nail. He lurched forward, grabbing his phone, and getting the hell out of dodge, he'll just lay low behind that little barricade over there. After all, that shack he bailed on was contaminated with hell spawn guts. Once he had finally reached his new destination, he checked his phone. 9:44. Michael grabbed the mask hanging above his forehead and pulled down, covering his face. Taking one last shiver, he exhaled. That never happened. Anyone asked, he tripped. He looked back down at his phone again. 9:45.

"Let's do this." Michael spoke in the lowest rasp he could, regaining his machismo. That little "incident" was already in the back of his mind. Now, all he had to focus on, was turning his opponents pink.

Ready Aim Fire: Round Three
Shit and I thought I was gonna shoot myself and take only me.

Ready Aim Fire: Round Three
Oh shit the plot's thickening.

Ready Aim Fire: Round Three
I'm down for it :D