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That was it then. Just like that, no stuttering, no hesitations, no 'if's 'and's or 'but's. This was it. Locked into place, Michael and Jerry were the SOTF Bonnie and Clyde 2015...

Except that they weren't. Michael wasn't going to be the murderer, neither he, nor Jerry.

Michael had to make it clear. He paused on his whittling to take a moment to contemplate. "Alright, listen. You and I both know we wanna see the people we care about.." Good start, good start. "But there is a big fucking problem with that, you feel me?" Michael placed the broom stick to his side. "We're gonna find a lot of people out there, angry, petty, scared, sadistic, you name it."

"All of 'em gonna have one thing in common, they gonna kill; don't matter if they want to live, if they got a grudge, or if they just want to see what it feels like to do it, there's gonna be killers on this island."

Michael always had a thing for the dramatic. It didn't matter if it were a group of mobsters talking about whacking a snitch, the underground resistance planning a last ditch assault against their machine overlords, or the lock and load montage as a rag tag team plans to escape a zombie infected city. One thing they all had in common was that big ass speech right before the climax. Michael'd like to think this speech would be one. He'd also liked to think this was one of his movies. Once you die, scene cut, go to the break room with your friends. Except this wasn't no movie.

"We ain't gonna be players, hunters, bandits, whatever the fuck you call 'em. If someone hits us, we hit back harder, someone raids us, we raid back harder. But we won't be the ones starting shit."

This was honestly a morbid fucking thing to be talking about, there were a lot better conversations he had planned. But it's best to get this shit out of the way now then later.

"If we can get away without anyone dying, then let's do it, but if it's us or them, you and me, we gotta make sure it's them. Make them got, before they get us got, no trusting the fuckers."

He picked up the wooden broomstick, damn he was almost done, he'd probably have been done by now if he didn't stop to be all dramatic and shit.

"Just to make sure we're on the same page, we ain't killing nobody who don't deserve it, okay?" Michael grinned, he was done with the words. Got them out, felt a hell of a lot better.

A bell rang, Michael turned his head. "Must be some people looking for their friends, hope they find 'em...." Speaking of which.

"Hey Jerry, you didn't tell me who you were lookin' out for, by the way." Michael smiled as he whittled. "Any brothers or sisters? Bee-Eff- Eff's maybe?" As Michael thought a bit about Jerry's first impression, he thought about his own. What if he woke up to someone screaming and breaking shit, threatening to sexually assault a camera which all culminates in getting asked to help him kill shit?

Holy fucking shit. Michael just realized that to Jerry, and any other normal person who wouldn't know him, he probably looked bat shit fucking insane out the goddamn membrane.

Michael chuckled, Jerry probably thought it was about the whole friend talk, but Michael just had to laugh at himself a bit. This was a fucking joke. A joke in horrible taste, but damn, his very existence on this island was a joke. Hell there was an asylum on this fucking island right? Christ, the moment anyone left this place they'd be sent to another one back home.

Funny how that works right?

You uhhh, looking for a girlfriend or boyfriend? Maybe both, if you're a bisexual Morman?" Michael chuckled and wagged his eyebrows on delivery. Michael desperately hoped he could at least lower the tension a little bit. The hard part of teaming up was over; and to be honest, Michael wanted to go back to the good old days of five minutes ago, when they were just talking about catching their bearings and wondering where everyone was.
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