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Michael stared wordlessly as he listened to Alex talk. Didn't reply to his question of who the hero was, or the little jab about if he'd still believe it later on. He didn't believe it now, why would he then? It's called mind games fool, you gotta bullshit the bullshitter. Make him believe he was something special, something he's not. When it came to the mind games, he was a fucking genius. Nobody could get around him. It was no surprise he got out of it with a few choice words. Can't find a way around them? Flatter them, or fuck them up. Whichever's easier...

What did surprise him was the offered handshake. Michael eyed it suspiciously through his shades, but he couldn't turn it down. A sign of good faith, and if you turn down a handshake, well fuck that's just rude. His parents taught him better, never decline a handshake. Biggest insult you can give someone outside explicit remarks about fornicating with their dead daddy. Wonder what Ben's up to right now anyways?

His arm extended, gripped Alex's tightly. Weak handshakes mean weak people afte- WHAT IN THE GODDAMN?!

Michael's foot shot out from under him, the other one resting on the axe slipping, not enough grip with the ground. A bright silver flew through the sky towards his arm, and his own hand flew right back at him, something wet splashing across his face. Michael caught himself before face-planting, his glasses hanging limp over his nose. His eyes moved over to his hand.

One, two, three, four....

One... Two... Three... Four...


Four. Wha?

Then it hit. Realization first, pain second. He rolled to his side, grabbing his hand, red seeping between his fingers and onto his clothing. His voice raised an octave or six as he screamed."AAAAUGH! AAAAAHHHSSSSSSHHH AAAAAAFFFF-FFFFFF-" His falsetto screaming cut into hissing, spittle flying every which way, before transitioning into saying an entire sentence consisting of only expletives.


He lurched up and flung himself at his axe.


He was cut off. Almost literally, Alex's machete was at his neck.


Alex called him a coward, then had the audacity to turn his back. The bastard even took his foot off his axe, just to taunt him. Michael looked up, then back down at his axe, at the pink, bleeding little stump laying by it that used to be his pinky. Michael grabbed the pinky with his bad hand, and picked his axe up with his good hand.

Turn your back on me you motherfucker...

Michael could smash Alex's skull in two right now, he most certainly had every right to do so. He wouldn't see it coming. Michael stood up, his fingers tapping the handle of his axe. His other hand twitched. Blood dripped, Michael sniffled, then spat.

He wasn't gonna do it.

"Knew it, fucker. Proved it for m-me right there. If I w-was really unfit, you'd have fuckin' killed me right there. You see it too, you spit-dicker!"

Michael pointed his axe at Jeremy and Alex.

"You're crazy... You're dead." Michael nodded at his own words. "Both of you, you're dead." At this point he was sure he was quoting something, but it hurt so much right now he wasn't sure who he was quoting. "And you know it! Y-you're dead!"

Michael back stepped towards the corner.

"Remember what I said Alex, I gave you a taste of hell, before I send you there!" He pointed the severed pinky at them. "This is gonna be your dessert, fucker!"

He was at the corner now.

"Oh, and until I see you again to utterly facefuck your shit, you fuckin' fuckwads can go fuck yourself!"

He turned the corner and walked away. In the distances a few more footsteps could be heard, along with another string of vulgar language.

Parental Advisory recommended, content unsuitable for minors...

(( Michael Crowe continued elsewhere)
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This World Belongs to the Mad · Solitary Confinement