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Return of the Manatee
(( Jonathan Gulley continued from Just People in a Messed Up Place ))

So this was the place...

"Darius... It's kind of a shit hole to be honest."

Jonathan wasn't sure what to think. On one hand, they had a lot of equipment to use. On the other, even with power, would it even work? Where would they even get power? But there was a lot of things they could do with it.

Jonathan had already figured out a plan. If they got it working, Jonathan had the tape recorder. He could make deliberate white noise, just loop specific phrases and someone checking the airwaves couldn't mistake it for something accidental. It would be like a Russian Numbers Station, except it's an SOS call.

There was one problem with that, and it was the exact reason he'd use the recorder.

If this worked, it would be guaranteed Jonathan and Darius would die. Their only voice would be the one from the recorder.

But if it did work, people would find them, the terrorists would be found. People would be saved, the Terrorists would be brought to justice.

Jonathan listened to Darius, when he said something that shocked Jonathan to the bone.

He'd play?

Darius did have an idea, and he did have a location to kick-start it. But his reasoning for doing this? It was entirely selfish, he wanted to get himself out of here. It wasn't about the plan to him. It was simply a means to leave...


Jonathan would work with Darius, but he has lost all respect for him.

This World Belongs to the Mad
(( Michael Crowe continued from Gotta get a grip))

Michael was thankful for the invention of sunglasses. They hid emotions, people didn't know what the wearer was looking at, injuries could be visually covered by them... Right now he was thankful for the covering of emotions, of course crying didn't fix anything, but he couldn't help himself. It was only a few yards since he left Jerry's and Scarlett's room, but he found himself walking right into another one to sob like a bitch. Fucking weak ass wimp. It was your responsibility and you fucked up.

Get over it.

So he did, he had to force Jerry into the back of his mind or he wouldn't function, no thoughts of him alive, or carrying his body back, no, just keep thinking about the revenge part, the anger part. Don't get sad, get angry.

Michael decided to walk to the solitary confinement area for whatever reason. Maybe Brendan was hiding here. Little fuckin' rat... He stood for a second and sighed before he saw a girl in a goofy ass army helmet turn the corner and speed walk past him. She didn't look fucked up, there weren't any sounds of violence; but something was off. Michael flattened against the corner, raising his axe. Anyone turned to chase her, 'whap', axe right in the fucking mouth. After a solid fifteen seconds or so, he realized nobody would chase. He lowered his axe and turned the corner, despite his brain telling him not to.

Well shit... Wasn't Nancy, and it wasn't Brendan. But it was a killer. And it looks like he had a new friend. Michael started walking forwards, his axe dropping and grinding against the ground as he slowly trudged over to them. What in the fuck was Alex wearing? Looks like he had the same idea as Michael with the armor, except most of it was piss-poorly torn orderly clothing. And some old ass jacket. Alex normally wears stupid shit, but this?! Christ, that paintball game didn't prepare him for his uhhh, what'd you call it? Eccentricities. Yeah, eccentricities... Yeah, he went from Antonio Ban-dumbass to Mel Gibmemoney.

"So uhhh, with that getup, I take it Rea's wasn't an accident?"

His axe slid against the ground as he slowly walked towards them, making an audible scraping noise before something made him stop. Michael stepped closer before probably the worst thing he ever smelled in his life next to Bart after gym class hit. He legitimately had to step back, he held his nose with his free hand. That shit hit harder than a sucker punch.

"Whoo shit! You hidin' a body back there, or am I just that fuckin' scary?"

He noticed Alex's partner standing next to him. Michael pointed his axe at him.

"Was it you Jeremy? Did you catch the spook-squirts?"

He unzipped his bag, pulling out one of the rolls of toilet paper looted from the bar.

"You guys uhh, you guys know you're supposed to wipe once you're done right?"

SOTF Halloween Movie Night
Oct 29 2016, 09:46 PM
i would like to take that moment to say, that I hate all of you who voted Poultrygeist.

I hate myself too.

SOTF Halloween Movie Night
I'd like to dedicate a moment of silence for Gilbert in his honor.

SOTF Halloween Movie Night
So where are we going to watch the film at?


Gotta get a grip
A rock bounced against the water. Then another one.

And another one...

And another one....

((Michael Crowe continued from Haunted House))

Michael had reached some sort of tranquility in this. Throwing pebbles into the ocean. He didn't know why, he'd never done it before until he reached the island. Hell he thought there was a specific way to throw it to make it bounce like that. Nope... He just tossed them, and there they were, hopping three or four times before sinking. Maybe it was a metaphor for something?

Michael done something right today. Jerry had wanted to find his friend, Scarlett. Michael helped him find her. He turned his head to the two of them. There they were, a few yards away, just sitting by each other, talking. There was nothing he could really complain about. This island wasn't so bad. The asylum was creepy as fuck, but to be honest? He had no complaints. Shit happened, sure, but he fulfilled his promise. Jerry and Scarlett were together now, he did it.

Jerry got up and started walking towards Michael's direction. Michael continued to toss rocks at the water. He felt great to finally do something right for once. To achieve a goal like this. Didn't need to start talking shit, or swinging his dick at anybody... He could relax now for once, his fear of the island gone. He helped people, and he couldn't just help but to feel good about it.

Jerry sat beside Michael.

"Hey Mike..."

Michael turned to face Jerry.

"You know that's not how any of this happened right?"

A pit of dread filled Michael's chest as he looked away, and stared at the sun.

He blinked, and the world faded away into a dark grey. The warm beach was replaced with a cold cell, with a coppery, rustic smell. The tree he was leaning against melted into a cold concrete wall.

Michael turned his head back to Jerry, who was laying beside Scarlett, both dead... Michael sighed and looked at the ground he was sitting on.

"No Jerry, I suppose none of that happened after all..."

He had a habit of doing that, dreaming of things that were never meant to be. Some days, he dreamed about going to Hollywood, getting into acting, letting the 80's make a comeback. He dreamed that he'd be the next Arnold Schwarzenegger, or the next Bruce Campbell. Sometimes, they were more mundane, but way more powerful. Like the one where he could be with Jonathan, without worrying what his parents or anyone thought of it.

A weird one that was quite common was that'd he'd become a... Well superhero wasn't the word, he didn't liken himself to Spiderman, or Batman, it was more along the lines of The Driver, or Travis Bickle, maybe even Roddy Piper from They Live. Michael'd have guessed Vigilante would be the word. Yeah, Vigilante, he liked the sound of that. Had a real good ring to it. Superheros, while they look cool, they don't do shit. Superman never got rid of Lex Luther, and The Joker always broke out of Arkham.

Vigilantes, well that was a whole different story. They got shit done. The Driver died putting the mob that backstabbed him down, Bickle died saving a child prostitute, Roddy died to show the world how shit it had become. They all had two things in common. They did their jobs was one of them. The other was... Well, Michael knew he wasn't gonna make it off this island if he followed their footsteps...

Michael rolled his right foot, it made an audible pop, but he could put weight on it, he could walk it it, run if he had to. It wasn't broken. He got himself to his feet without the any sort of help, despite the protesting shakes of his right leg. He wasn't weak, he didn't need a crutch. Once he was on two legs, he laid his axe on his shoulder and looked at the two bodies on the bed.

He knew the answer before he looked at the bodies. Sure, Jerry and Scarlett were together, but they'd never rest until their killers were brought to justice. Placing their bodies by each other didn't relieve their suffering, it only eased it. He knew what had to be done. Sure, he wanted to just find Jonathan, live his last days in peace, but what would they think if he gave up like that? Michael was sure that Jon would understand.

"Jerry... I uhh, I apologize for what I got you into..."

He was to blame for what happened. He got cocky, he didn't just walk in and get it over with. Had to brag, he had to boast. Of course, the kill was Jerry's, but had he just shut up, Jerry could've walked in, done the deed, the two would've left, with maybe a scrap from Brendan, he wouldn't have fought if their backs weren't turned. The rat bastard...

"I... I don't really know what to say, I've never had to do an eulogy before. I just wanna say, I'm sorry I got you killed. You deserved a better friend than what you got."

Michael messed up, he knew it, but he could fix things. Not to the extent of them still being alive, but at the very least, he could allow their souls to rest. To allow everyone who's been murdered's soul to rest.

"But your killers? They gonna pay, they're gonna pay, and they're gonna hurt, I can promise you that. Brendan, Nancy, all of 'em."

Michael knew how his story was gonna end.

A thought hit Michael. He was being over-dramatic again. Not in the sense in he was overreacting over people dying, but in the sense that he'd coincidentally become some walking bringer of karma. He wasn't gonna find and kill every single murderer on this island. He wasn't gonna have some last breath shootout with Golden Earring's Twilight Zone playing in the background, as he ignores bullets and pops mooks left and right. He wasn't gonna fight for the entire island, only to coincidentally bleed out once the last murderer is dead. He wasn't gonna fight until the coincidentally only innocent person on the island puts a bullet into him so they could go home...

He'd kill two, maybe three, then bite the dust on the next attempt. Maybe not even that. He wasn't Judge Dredd. He was getting cocky again. Hell, he may not kill even one of them.

If he did give up and find Jonathan, he could find some peace, maybe give a decent farewell to everyone.

Then again, what could he say if he didn't try?

'Sorry I got you killed, but I'd figure I'll just give up, it wasn't working anyways.'

Fuck that scene.

If he dies early, so fuckin' be it, but he isn't going to die a quitter. He hasn't gave up before, he won't give up now.

All he's got to do is think. He can't rush in anymore, he has to play it cool. If he did that, and just dealt with it while it happened, maybe, just maybe, he might even surprise himself.

"I guess I'll give you two some privacy now..."

Michael exited the room, and closed the door behind him.

((Michael Crowe continued elsewhere))

Michael's axe went up, but it had hit nothing. Michael turned his head, expecting to get stabbed in the back by Brendan...

He heard the splashes of Brendan running away behind him, going down the hall. Figures... He's a coward to the end.

Michael sprinted after him, axe above his head, screaming madly. His heart was pounding, he could feel his gums pumping blood, his chest burning. Sounds around him faded and warped. His screaming went from barely coherent swearing to inhuman wailing. At this point, through his own perception his voice sounded less like Michael Crowe and more like Bennings-Thing. He swung his axe and missed as he watched Brendan run up and out the area. He couldn't catch up with this limp.

Michael stood and stared up the stairs.

Two murderers, both got away...

He'll kill 'em. He'll kill 'em both dead.

Michael brought his axe above his head and screamed again. He flailed his axe around, his motions were spastic, yet robotic, like something had short circuited him. His axe banged off of the walls and doors of the hallway. His screaming echoed through the halls, and possibly other areas in the asylum. He brought his axe down, smashing against the ground, water splashing up every which way. He had screamed one last time, as his tantrum slowed to a crawl.

They got away...


Michael's adrenaline was gone, and the pain in his ankle increased ten fold. His limping slowed, his foot stiff as a board. By the time he reached that room again, he realized that there was another body inside.

That was three bodies here.

He thought about the corpses here, and what would happen. Two days in, they'd be green and purple bloated floaters, brown veins filled with rotted sludge, eyes bulging out, their lips looking as if they'd been vacuum sealed, they'd resemble a fish more than a person... Two days later, they'd rupture and collapse in on their selves, filling the water with rotted organs. Two days after that... They'd start melting, and this whole area was gonna be a decayed soup of disease and bacteria. Woe behold anyone who hides here, for trench-foot and facilitated necrosis wouldn't be too far from the truth.

Jerry wasn't gonna be one of them. Michael only had the strength in him to take one out, to give them a somewhat 'proper' resting place. He wished he could bring the others out, but he just didn't have it in him. He needed rest, he had to hunt those other fuckers down. Made sure they pay.

Because of Michael, Jerry had been killed. He got too cocky, and didn't think of watching the rear, keeping an eye on ambushers. He got lazy. Because of that Jerry died.

Brendan did the deed, but Michael had himself to blame. What a fucking waste. The good ones, they always go early.

Michael bagged his axe, and bent over, picking Jerry up by the shoulders.

It was a slow slog back to the exit, with Michael stumbling and falling a few times on the way there.

By the time he got to the exit, he was running on fumes, at this point all he wanted was to find some sort of closure.

He figured Jerry wanted the same thing...

((Michael Crowe continued Elsewhere))

Michael's axe barely missed Brendan as he ran out into the hallway. His axe had grinded against the stone wall, the sensation freezing Michael's teeth as it slid down the wall. He turned around and haphazardly swung the axe behind him, missing again. He bit his lower lip as Brendan stole Jerry's spear. The spear he made for him. His own axe raised up past his shoulder, they were at a standstill.

Brendan now had a weapon, he was gonna fight back with all he had... Michael still had his own weapon, he was gonna fight back with all he had as well...

Brendan had range, but Michael had power, raw power. He'd win this yet.

That's when Brendan spoke up, said his name. Was he gonna try to talk his way out? No, Michael wouldn't let him. Too late for that. Your chances diminished the second you put that blade in Jerry's neck. The time for talking was over, now it's the time for acting.

Michael lurched forward, and faked raising his axe, before lowering it and cycling it into an uppercut, going low to high.

Michael didn't care if he knocked Jerry's spear from Brendan's hands, or if he split his dick down the middle, all he wanted was to make the connection.

He screamed again as he brought the axe up.

Michael screamed.

He felt his foot give way underneath him as he fell ass first into the water. He looked up and saw Nancy running off, hatchet in hand.

"Get the fuck back here!"

He got to his feet and stumbled, his right leg was shaking from where Nancy smashed him in the ankle. He limped after Nancy, but he knew she was too far gone, he could hear the splashes disappearing down the hall. His axe drug behind him on the wet ground as he moved towards the doorway.

He'd kill Nancy, but not now. She got lucky now.

His eyes trailed to Brendan. He brought his axe up, his right arm catching the end of it as he simply stood there and stared at him. This fucking idiot. He kills Jerry, then has the fucking cajones to sit and stare at him. What?! Did he want to taunt him. 'Ha-ha I killed your friend, and let a murderer get away'.

Spiteful cunt... That spiteful cunt...

Because of him, Nancy got away, she got lucky. Because of Brendan, that murdering whore got off lucky, and now she was gonna murder more people. And what did he get to show for his efforts?

Jerry was dead. Jerry was fucking dead. Michael felt his chest heave, his breathing getting faster.

Nancy got lucky, because of that little rat bastard.

She wouldn't get lucky again...

Michael screamed again and lunged forward, his axe raised above his head.

He wasn't gonna let another murderer get out from under him.

(Gm'ing of Nancy is approved)

"Yeah?" No emotion, no fear.

No fucking remorse.

"Yeah?! Fucking yeah!? That's all you have to say you bitch?!" Nancy's very existence infuriated Michael. No 'I'm sorry's' no 'Please don't kill me, I didn't mean it' none of that shit. Just 'yeah'. They weren't even resigned to their fate, no, she was thinking that they weren't a threat, that she'd get out of this okay. You smug bitch.

Smug fucking bitch...

Michael sent his Jordan clad heel right into Nancy's nose, sending her reeling back. She was lucky Michael wasn't the one to kill her, the sick fuck. Jerry wanted the kill, Jerry was gonna get the kill. This Charles Manson wannabe was trying to get to him, but he wasn't gonna let her. She lost, they won. She wanted to act like she won, but she didn't. Any more smug talk from her, and Michael would stomp her again.

"C'mon Jerry, let's get this over with, bitch had this comin' for a long time."

Jerry replied.

With... a gurgle?

"Well, come o-"

Wait what?!

Michael turned his head to see Jerry bleeding a river out of his neck, shortly before falling over. He had to double take what had happened. No way, there was no way he could die. Not this far into it. What the fuck?! Michael's jaw dropped in shock as he watched his friend drop to the murky water, the area turning red around him. He stared at the bastard that was standing behind him.


The rat....

That fucking snitch...

Michael's breath rattled.

Brendan fucking Harte! He was gonna die. Michael was gonna fucking kill him! That little sneaky rat fuck! That coward bitch! That tall lanky stack of shit! He wasn't gonna just hang, he was gonna get drawn a- Those fuckers were teamed up the whole time! Brendan was wit- Oh shit, Nancy! It's a fuckin' ambush!

Nancy was still below him in arms reach of her own weapon. He had to kill her now! She wasn't getting a get out of hell free card this time.

Kill her, then kill Brendan. They both had to die for this.

Michael raised his axe, arms extended above him, ready to bring it down on her head.

Michael screamed.

Just People In A Messed Up Place
Jonathan wasn't surprised. Darius didn't budge. Well... Jonathan was kind of speechless actually.

He truly did not have a clue about what was going on around him. He never remembered Darius's lack of empathy, but it might be the island. There was the fact that he was trying to find something, though messages in bottles wouldn't work at all, unless maybe a year later if they were lucky. Even if one person died a day, they wouldn't get anyone to come that way.

There was the second option, and that got Jonathan's attention.

The radio tower. There was equipment inside, dated equipment, but equipment nonetheless. That was their real message in a bottle. If they could get that working, they'd be set. They'd send a message out. Help will come.

Darius' mind might not have been in the right place, but his heart was. He didn't want to act like he cared, but he did. He wanted to keep himself detached from it all, but Jonathan knew.

That's why Jonathan chose to follow Darius.

It was a shame Brendan didn't want to go with them, but he understood why. He knew their history, plus Brendan wanted to find his friends. Hopefully he did. Then they'd have more people helping them, they'd be able to make it!

Things would turn out okay.

Barry, we're gonna get off this island, you won't have died in vain.

Jonathan ran to catch up to Darius.

They could do this, they'd escape.

((Jonathan Gulley, continued elsewhere))

Michael felt many things, listening to Nancy speak. The expression on her face, the deadpan way she spoke. She treated it like game, no, that wasn't the right way to put it. She simply didn't care. Yet the words coming out of her mouth... She was doing it for attention! Ironically, the idea of hanging someone from the asylum to show how 'badass' they were didn't cross him as one bit hypocritical... It didn't count though. That was for heroism. Totally...

The problem was that she was killing for attention, and not only that, she had no remorse for any of it. The look on her fucking face said it all. To sorta-quote Dr. Loomis, Michael had realized that what was living behind that blue haired weeb's eyes was purely and simply...evil. No remorse, no empathy, no fear...

Wait... No fear.

Nancy got up.


Nancy had a hatchet.

Oh shit.

Nancy rushed the two.

Oh shit!

Michael brought his own axe up in front of his face, awaiting to block the strike. The hit never came, she went for Jerry instead.

Oh Shit!!

But apparently Jerry wasn't having it, he fucking knocked her lights out with a Patrick Swayze kick to the chest!

"OH SHIT!!!"

Michael couldn't resist cheering as Nancy flew back down to the ground again. Not only that, Jerry dropped the bomb on her with the taunt too. Threw in a 'bitch' and everything! Young paddawon, you have been trained well. Michael now knew how it felt when a parent taught their kid how to ride a bike, or in this case, taught their kid how to kick everyone's ass. Fuck he'd be a great parent. He'd have to talk with Jonathan about adopting, they'd raise the next Jean Claude Van Damme!

Michael slid past Jerry as he went into the room, keeping his eyes trailed on Nancy and her little pissbaby axe.

"You want that axe, don't you, Nancy?" Michael smirked as he pointed the sharpened edge of his axe at Nancy. "Go on, go get it... I'll just lop your hand off, Jerry won't mind. Hell, all he wants is the killing blow, whatever happens to ya' before that? 'S all on you."

He had to admit, this felt kind of good, to put a psycho like that in their place. To taunt them. To make them realize that this was the end of the road for them. To show them just how wrong they were, and just how right he was! To prove someone wrong, it was the greatest feeling on earth, even more so by the fact that he was right, whilst still being in the right.

"She's all yours, Jerry..."

He didn't feel one bit of remorse for this; the bitch had it coming. She made her choices, and she chose poorly. She chose the path that led down to the gallows, the hangmen of motherfuckin' justice were upon her now.

"C'mon, go grab it, I dare you... I double dog dare you, motherfucker!"

His grin just got wider and wider as he continued to taunt her, like a chimpanzee barring it's teeth to let you know that you done fucked up and now it's gonna rip your face off.

"Grab it, you motherfuckin' nobody!"

Michael followed behind Jerry with his meticulously rehearsed swagger. With his head tilted high, sunglasses reflecting the light from the windows, strutting like the white jacketed gang leader in the King of Pop's Beat It video, you wouldn't think he'd be scared. You'd be right, he's not scared, he's terrified.

There was this fear that had hit his hindsight. What if Nancy was innocent? Now, he knew there was no way in hell she could have committed 'self-defense' against someone like Scarlett, you'd have to be bum-fuck stupid to think that, but what if the two of them were grouped together. What if, like he and Jerry, they woke up and made a group, and what if, someone big and nasty took them for an easy target. Michael knew Nancy had a weapon from the announcements. Maybe she fought back, and their would be killer used Scarlett as a shield, then pussed off like the coward they were. Maybe it was a little bitch like Alvaro.

Jerry was rather determined to find her, to put an end to her. Michael didn't blame him, hell he was helping him find her, but he'd like to question her first, just to be sure. He'd know if she was lying, you can't bullshit a master bullshitter. If she wasn't, she'd be free to go, and they'd look for the theoretical 'real' killer. However, if she were the killer, they'd follow the original plans, kill her, then hang her corpse from the asylum roof. Enough bed sheets to make a noose right? Plus she didn't have to be alive by the time they dropped her, just the thought of a killer's body hanging should be enough to deter other would-be murderers. Then, they'd target the other psychos, Alex, Isabel, Alvaro... Hang em' all from the roof, let them know that Mike and Jerry were the Judges, Juries, and Executioners around here.

Still, Michael was nervous. He didn't want to be making a mistake here. Neither him, nor Jerry. If they lynched the wrong one, well... They wouldn't be no better than the other killers would they?

Jerry was knocking door open after door open, no sign of the bitch. Michael leaned against a wall, zipping his jacket up for extra protection. He slid his axe underneath his arm as he began to roll the sleeves up, folding the cuffs backwards so they didn't slide back down his arms. It was kind of an oxymoron to be honest, protect your torso, leave your forearms exposed... But he needed the extra mobility on swinging his axe, and his vital organs were in his chest right? He didn't have hearts in his wrists after all...Not like arteries or veins were a thing, neither.

Michael swallowed the lump in his throat as Jerry kicked open the door. He heard Jerry speak, before he got cut off. That was when the smell hit him. Michael had crept up behind Jerry, looking into the doorway. There was a body, fresh, fresh as in blood was still pooling from under it. Michael lowered his shades in disbelief. This was the first real corpse he'd ever seen. He's been to haunted houses, he's seen slasher films, and many were more bloody than what he witnessed. This? This was different, flesh and blood, real, but it was stiff, like a mannequin, it was either real, and moved a little bit, or it was stiff, and obviously plastic. This was both stiff and real, not only that, there was the air, the smell. This wasn't just the scent of blood, it was something else, not something like bodily fluids, but something completely alien to him. The room was cold, windy almost, as if the victim's ghost just phased right through him on the way to hell...

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding..."

He turned his head to the other side of the room, the area Jerry was staring at. 'Speak of the devil' alright... All that shit he was thinking, it was all wishful. He'd have liked to think maybe he could be wrong. Nope, he was right the first time, Jerry was right the first time...

Nancy wasn't innocent, and that meant only one thing.

That bitch was gonna hang tonight...

Just People In A Messed Up Place
Jonathan backed away just as Brendan spoke behind him. He wanted to ask him what he thought, but Darius interrupted him with more Darius level fuckery. Jonathan could only look back as his friend continued to assault Brendan verbally, before turning to him.

This wasn't going to be good...

Jonathan listened to Darius' words. Every single one of them oozed the sort of condescending bullshit he wouldn't have expected from Darius of all people. Darius was a jackass yeah, but normally, he was a jackass that was humble, one that understood. The Darius standing in front of him?

He didn't know. Darius simply did not know. That was it, that was what hit him.

Could Jonathan blame him? He hasn't seen anyone die yet, and on top of that, he may have had his brains scrambled by Junko for all we know.

It didn't help how badly he was treating Brendan like shit. Of course he knew. He knew the two didn't like each other. He heard about the skate park. He blocked from his mind that it was Michael bragging about what happened, but he knew.

"Darius. Could you just..."

Jonathan couldn't take it, he couldn't take the way Darius was just ever so calm about this. Like he could just casually press a button and they were all back home. So calm like the ones who died didn't matter. So calm like this would be so easy...

Jonathan was fed up of crying. He wasn't going to tear up anymore. But he would not let Darius, or anyone on this island walk over him. He'd get everyone he could off this island. Crying wasn't solving anything.

And to be honest... Neither was Darius.

"Could you just either say something useful, or shut the fuck up?"

He turned to look at Brendan, flagging him to wait a moment before leaving. He turned back to Darius, tugging on the edges of his-Brendan's hoodie.

" I want to hear an actual plan out of you. Something besides shitting on us, then pretending to feel bad for shit you didn't experience. I know you, Darius, I know exactly how you act, you like to pretend you know all about experiences you've never been through. Like you know what I've fucking seen. I-I'm getting real fed up of the shit you're spewing out of your mouth right now. If you can't think of anything else to say outside of bitching and moaning that we haven't done the work for you, then go somewhere else to do it, because we're getting off this island, and if I need to find someone more productive in helping, I will."

Darius wanted Jonathan to be productive? Did he want him to help him? Fine. But Darius better pull his own weight as well. He knew Darius all too well. He'd like to pretend that he could put himself in someone else's shoes. Maybe that was his way of justifying treating them like shit.

"Because newsflash, getting beat up and nearly killed by a girl isn't too productive in getting off of this island, Dee. You're gonna have to come up with a better excuse than that as to why you haven't done anything either if you want to win us over."

He withheld Junko's name to taunt him. Hell, he even called him by Michael's nickname just to add some more salt into the wound. Let's see how he likes it huh? Would he keep it up, or would he turn his tail and give up, like he called them out for doing. He wanted to see how much Darius really believed his own words, or if it was really all just bullshit.

He looked at Brendan.

"If you want to go and find your friends, go ahead, but don't leave just yet, we have to make a meet up point. Somewhere we all hole up for this. You find your friends, you bring them there, and we'll figure something out okay?"

Barry wasn't going to die for nothing, and Jonathan wasn't going to let Darius just shit on his life like that. If there was anything Darius said right, it was this.

You had it difficult yesterday, and I understand and respect that. Today, bad shit won't happen.

It wouldn't happen. He would make sure of it. For Barry, for Brendan. For the living, and the dead. Even for Darius.

SOTF Halloween Movie Night
A double feature would be pretty kicking.

70's Horror Movies
Michael stared as Jerry slowly lost his composure. He thought they were safe. Their friends were safe. Nothing would happen, and some expendable kids would die instead of them. This hit harder than anything. His partner was breaking down right now as his friend was killed by some fucking rando. All that shit of thinking the people they'd be fighting were just some faceless mooks for the show? All the names? Someone was linked to them. It didn't end on their death. Around this island, someone was mourning someone else. Someone was wandering around, killing people. It wouldn't just be randos killing randos, it were his classmates.

He remembered this was all recorded, live streamed, not only the people here would know, everyone else was watching, not just the sick fucks who jacked it to this shit, or the edgy kids who thought putting the John Cena theme over someone walking off a cliff was funny, or even the curious people who'd unwittingly found themselves in the worst part of the internet; no, it were the families at home watching their kids kill and be killed. Scarlett's family? They saw Nancy gut her more than likely. Nancy's family also saw the same thing.

That's the part that got him, not the actual death. Once it's over you got two places to go, it ain't the end, but for everyone else? They won't see you for a long while, if ever again, depending on their beliefs. You had to think about who'd witness it all.

Michael watched Jerry cry. There was nothing wrong with showing some emotions, but crying? It meant two things. You either gave up and felt sorry for yourself, or you manned up and got angry. Crying means you're either going to nut up, or shut up. Michael had watched Jerry, he saw him dry his tears and look up. He saw the look in his eye, he knew it too well, himself. He remembered that he'd made faces like that back in Tennessee, when he stopped crying for himself, and started getting angry. He knew his answer before Jerry gave the question.

Jerry had asked him to not kill Nancy, to save her for him. Michael nodded and stood up, helping Jerry up to his feet. " 'Course, I'll cripple the bitch, you skewer her..."

He hoped Nancy's family was watching. Hell, he hoped his own family was watching. He was gonna show the world what would happen to those coward rats like Nancy. He wanted to show the world that even here, he'd take no shit, that he wouldn't tolerate these little back stabbing fuckers, that he wasn't someone to be walked over. After Jerry killed her, they'd hang her body up from the bell tower so the island could see, so the world could see. So Danya would see...

" We'll make sure she'll regret that she ever lived, right?"

This wasn't just for him however, he knew Jerry needed this more than anything. If the same thing happened to Jonathan? Michael would ask him the same thing. You don't just make a pact and ask a man to kill for you if you needed him to, then not follow through with your own promise. Michael would never make one of his friends do something he wouldn't do. There was no point in saying 'no' now. Not after what the two have done already, what they've planned.

"After all, what're friends for?"

((Michael Crowe continued elsewhere.))

Official V6 Away Thread

Just People In A Messed Up Place
Heh. Darius didn't lose his sense of humor too much. That was good, he was the same old Darius, which meant the rest of his friends were the same. None of them were out killing people yet. His first thought was to ask if he saw Michael anywhere, but he stopped, he knew if Darius or Michael had found each other they'd stay close, he'd also be here right not. Either he didn't find him, or he died somewhere in between journeys, but he knew the latter wasn't the case. Darius wouldn't be so calm if it did happen.

Almost immediately after, Darius warned Jonathan that Junko attacked him. Shit, was she playing too? Jonathan looked at the ground a moment. There were more than just the people on the announcements who weren't friendly. It was going to be a lot harder than he thought. Darius switched his conversation to something else, words he'd never think Darius of all people would say. Words that quite frankly gave Jonathan some hope that people can be saved.

Then Darius decided to start saying shit about them not trying. He acted like they weren't doing anything, that they were just letting it happen. The comment itself made him want to cry, but he wasn't quite sure if he even had any tears left. His sadness turned into anger.


Jonathan shook his head. "We tried, me and Barry..."

He decided to tell him what happened.

"We wanted to get people to come to the bell tower, maybe we'd plan something out. Alvaro came. Barry had an Ess Em Gee. Alvaro's got it now..."

"Please, don't call me or him lazy, because I just saw the man who saved my life get pushed off a fucking bell tower, just so his killer can loot him and run off like the coward he is!"

Jonathan pointed over to Brendan.

"After Barry, he's the only other person on this fucking island I've found who's trying to be helpful!"

Jonathan should have felt bad, snapping at Darius like that, but he pressed too far this time.

"So don't you ever, EVER insinuate that either of us are lazy again, you think getting beat the fuck up by Junko's bad?! How about finding out that three- "

Jonathan realized he'd seen Conrad earlier, he saw Nancy earlier, both appeared on the announcements as well.

"F-five of the people you met are dead, one of them a killer, along with two other killers you saw but let go because you couldn't do anything about it!"

"How about having to cover the face of a dead friend with your own shirt because you had nothing else to cover it with!"

"How about finding so many people in so little fucking time that out of all of them, only two wanted to help and now one of them's dead, while the ones who bailed on you are either dead or killers?!"

"How about meeting a close friend and being concerned if they're hurt or not, only to treat the whole thing like a damn joke, then call you lazy!"

"How about that, huh?! Am I that fucking lazy, Darius?! You tell me, because you seem to be the expert on getting us out of this fucking mess!"

Jonathan backed up, breathing heavily. Darius didn't know, he was trying to help, but he didn't know. Jonathan shouldn't have snapped at him.

"Darius, I-I'm sorry, I- I didn't mean it like that..."

He felt the tears coming back.

Just People In A Messed Up Place
Jonathan just stared at the sky, his eyes meeting where the sun would be had it not been covered by clouds. Of all the people...

He remembered when he woke up, the first four people he met. Scarlett, Barry, Aiden, and Tina. Out of all five of them, only him and Aiden were still alive, and chances were if they stayed together, they'd all still be alive. Why'd they have to leave? They could've gotten something set, they'd have been able to make a plan, get out of here. Because of them, they're all dead, Barry's dead... Brendan, Darius, Michael, himself... They were all going to die here because they didn't stick together, they didn't try.

They didn't care. None of them. Alvaro, Kimiko, Alex, Isabel, Nancy... None of them cared, they'd rather indulge in some sick power fantasy, get back at everyone then actually do anything productive. They're too scared to fight back, because the terrorists would kill them if they do, yet the one in one hundred plus chance was any better?! What would you take, getting tortured to death by some vindictive classmate, or getting your collar blown? It was a stupid dream to kill your way off, everyone should know that by now, if they all fought back, they could make it. A lot would die, but a lot of them are gonna die either way. He didn't understand it. Maybe he should listen to his gut, give in.

He's right, you know.

He had plans to get everyone off this island, he didn't know how he was going to do it, but he'd do it. It'd hurt, and he knew he was going to watch people die, he was going to die, but he'd get them out. If he couldn't live with himself for getting others killed in his plan, there's no way he'd live with himself by playing into their game. He had to fight back, for Barry's sake. He couldn't just-

There was a figure. A recognizable one. One that Jonathan could trust anywhere. Jonathan smiled. He got up and ran towards Darius.

It was only when he got close he realized how badly messed up he was. Jonathan's smile turned into a frown.

"Holy shit, Darius! What happened?"

70's Horror Movies
Well shit, Jerry had nothing on him except the piled together gristle from one's un-brushed teeth into a brick you'd call an energy bar. Michael figured it was time to be a good samaritan.

"Ey, catch!"

Michael lobbed the small bag of spicy Cheeto's into Jerry's lap. "Keep 'em man, you earned the fuckers." Jerry was gonna be a good teammate. Sure, neither of them had guns, but both of them were tough motherfuckers. They had this game, they had it by the balls if they wanted to play it. IF they wanted to play it. The two of them being rational, average, well adjusted, non-batshit human beings, decided against it. Their plan was simple; find their friends, take down anyone wanting to get them got, and see how far it takes them. They were going to stick with it.

Michael put his comb through his hair before staring at his reflection again through his glasses. Despite being a bit bruised up, his beautiful visage was still top tier nine out of ten material, face and hair gonna get him paid and laid baby. This island won't take that one from him. He blew a kiss at his reflection before putting his shades back on. After all, he didn't get this pretty from losing fights did he?

"So in a bit, you uhh, you wanna look for your pals or..." The click of the announcements interrupted him. As if the stars aligned, Mars turned blue, Hell froze over, and Cthulhu took a shit, it seemed for a single moment in a millennia, Michael became quiet. No mouth, all ears. Something about an And I must Scream, or some other Harlan Ellison bullshit. He payed attention to the names, the names of the deceased, the names of the killers, the names of his friends that thankfully didn't appear. The victims from what little he knew of were all good kids. Nothing remarkable, sports team people, quiet people, acquaintances and that jazz. Damn shame it happened to them, but better them than him. The killers on the other hand...

Little stutterfuck Alvaro of all people got himself a kill. Apparently he pushed 'Big Black' off of a cliff or something. Weren't the two friends? Damn, that's fucked up... Michael mentally chalked Alvaro's name into the 'people who kill to see what it feels like' category. He knew Alvaro was 'out there' but that? Damn, couldn't emphasize how fucked killing a friend like that was. Jasmine Reed and Nancy Kyle both killed people. Two of the weeb warriors were already killing people. Well shit, at least Michael can take pride in knowing Darius wasn't one of them. The question was how'd the weebs go at it. Self defense, or are they already trying to recreate some shitty tsundere crap or whatever the fuck body pillow bait Darius watched.

That Alex dude from the paintball battle? Shit didn't think he had it in him. Got that douchey British dude's girl too. She didn't deserve it. Michael could write that one up as a 'possibly self defense'. Maybe Will tried some shit and used Rea as a shield or something. Wouldn't surprise Mike one bit. Rich British snobs are always assholes. Still, Rea didn't deserve it, wrong place, wrong time. Chances were Rea wasn't with Will. He was on the fence on that one. If he saw him, he'd ask.

Class president got someone then got himself got. Yeah, figured there'd be at least one of those. But it wasn't revenge, considering who his killer was. Isabel fuckin' Ramirez. Call Michael bad, sure you wouldn't be wrong, he was loud and loved to swing fists, but Isabel was a whole 'nother ball game. Massive bitch, hates damn near everyone, probably puts hamsters into socks then swings them around like nunchucks for fun... Could chalk her into the 'kill to see what it feels like' except she got two on day one, and probably not in the same time period. He had a feeling he'd hear her name a lot. Y'know what? Fuck it, put her in the 'Kill on sight' list. Don't think anyone would judge too much if her name popped up because of his name.

He looked at the dirt below him. He still had his spirits, Jerry still had his spirits, right. They'd be fine. Michael glanced over, and from the look on Jerry's face, he realized that Jerry was in fact not fine. Michael wasn't really concerned about the list until just now. Someone Jerry knew had died. Ah shit... Michael's perpetual grin faded into a look of concern. This wasn't good, his new friend just lost an old friend. And old friends? Nothing was more important than them, except for family if you had a good one. He knew right away Jerry wasn't alright, but he wasn't quite sure what else he could ask him. He didn't know Jerry all too well to know which of his friends died. Maybe it was that one of his friends killed someone. He had to ask, but he had to say the right thing.

"Hey, man, you uhh, you alright?"