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70's Horror Movies; tagging toxie (pm for entry)
Topic Started: Sep 5 2016, 02:01 PM (673 Views)
ToxieTheToxicAvenger
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((Michael Crowe, Continued from We Pissin' our pants yet?))

This was new. An alien feeling on what should be a familiar place. Just a casual stroll along the road with what felt like an old friend. He wasn't sure which part made it feel alien, this 'old friend' being a complete stranger outside of his name, or the metal time bomb on his neck. Speaking of the collar....

Michael slid his axe underneath his arm as he reached his hands up to upper chest and neck area. He unfastened the button on his blue aloha shirt, and popped his collar. Covered the explosive leash from all sides but the front. There was no point to it but to make him feel less like the terrorists' cheap whore. Probably the same reasoning as covering lingerie up with a cheap jacket. He lowered his arms, catching his axe on the way down.

Then there was Jerry next to him. For not waking up nearby anyone he really knew, he was an alright teammate. He wasn't some pussy-bitch, and he wasn't sketch as fuck either. That was a good thing, a real good thing. He was trustworthy enough to get shit done, and not stab you in the back later on. He was a pretty good guy, no complaints for him here. But, Michael noticed Jerry staring at something, so he turned his head in that direction.

Holy shit.

Cars.

Well, shitty ass jeeps, but still, vehicles! Michael knew they wouldn't work, but it wouldn't hurt to look around a bit, maybe they'd find someone, or something to help them out. Jerry asked where to go. Good question, wandering everywhere wasn't gonna get them shit.

"Well, shit, we're at a car park right now, right?"

Michael looked at the rust buckets in front of him. They'd look like shit straight out of Mad Max. Speaking of Mad Max, didn't Fury Road rele-.

"Damn..."

Michael just realized he probably wouldn't have been able to take Jon out to that movie date like he promised. Michael sighed, "You uhhh, you ever think about what we'd be doing if we weren'- Ah fuck it! You probably don't wanna hear more depressin' shit right now." Michael looked down at the ground, then back to Jerry. He forced his grin back.

"Thinkin' we should check out this place though, maybe find some good shit, or some good people." His forced smile turned slightly more genuine at the prospect of finding some more familiar faces.
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"Alrighty, maybe we'll find someone in here, if not, we could just loot the place, or set it up as a base of operations or some crazy shit." Michael walked between the various rusted vehicles, giving them a good look.

He stopped at one, his leaned his head towards the window. He wiped away the dust with his elbow and stared at his reflection. Putting his axe underneath his arm again, he moved his hands through his hair. For waking up on a death island, he didn't look too bad. Needed to comb a bit, but not bad. Michael lowered his sunglasses towards his reflection, clicking his lips in his trademark Hollywood style. "Shoulda' been an actor Michael, that face, and that hair... Was gonna get you paid and laid baby!"

Michael leaned back up, chuckling. His hand brushed the bangs of his hair to the side. He noticed Jerry was staring at him like he'd done something stupid. Did he not look at himself in the mirror enough or something?

"What?"

Michael shrugged and continued his trek towards the garages. Technically he was still famous right now. Hell, this was probably the easiest way to become famous. He certainly wouldn't be if this hadn't happened to him. It was... kinda shitty, but hey, people knew his name now. They'd REALLY know his name when he splits Danya down the middle, groin to gullet, in that order.

To be honest though, this island had a nice aesthetic to it. You could do some kickass I am Legend movie here. It wasn't a desert, so you couldn't do Mad Max, but shit, something like The Road or The Stand wouldn't be too out of place. Maybe Escape from Shitfuck SOTF Terrorist Island or something like that, give Mike an eyepatch, he'll fit right in.

Michael walked inside the garage, and announced his big entrance.

"Eeeeey! Where dah' welcomin' pahty at!"

Michael stood still, arms outstretched for a good ten seconds. When he realized he wouldn't find Jonathan, or well anyone here, he muttered under his breath.

"Sssshiiiii-eet."
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"Wha-"

Start up a car and drive away. Hold up. HOLD UP! How did Michael not think of this?! Take one of these cars and drive off. Get one of these rust buckets, and drive all of five miles before landing into the ocean! Of course! These things were from the 70's. The Jetsons were from the 70's! They could drive underwater like a submarine. And that's with the implication that they could slap all the rust off to make the machinery work. And that's with the implication there were keys, or one of them knew how to hotwire the-

"Jerry, that's a good idea. A great idea, but there is a few things you got wrong with that plan."

Michael put his hand on Jerry's shoulder, and took off his shades.

"That thing you got wrong, was, well, it was mostly fucking everything. These fuckers are more rust than car, and even if they worked, where'd we drive?! The goddamn motherfuckin' piss ocean?!" Michael raised voice, but he caught himself before he went into a full tirade. Jerry was probably still in shock over their circumstance, couldn't get angry at him, not yet. He raised his finger, his angered grumbling turning to a quiet chuckle.

Michael pinched his brow, shaking his head, he laughed again before putting his sunglasses back on. "If that was a joke, I apologize, sometimes I don't catch sarcasm too well." This place was just as barren as the bar, nothing of use, except well, there was that pile of tires over there, along with the ones on the jeeps. "We won't find much use out of these cars, but there is something they got that do got use!"

Michael wrapped his arm around Jerry's shoulder, pointing his axe at the pile of tires. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" Jerry might not have been on the same page Michael was, but that was alright, he'd bring him up to speed. All that thinking about post apocalyptic works, had Michael thinking about outfits. Football pads, pauldrons, tires. Motherfuckers wore tire armor! Him and Jerry would look badass as fuck!

"You know what tires are good at right? We shred some of these fuckers up, attach it to our clothes, and we're gonna be a hell of a lot better off than the kids in t-shirts and jeans, right. Only people dumb enough to be comin' at us in that type of gear would be bumblefucks!"

Michael omitted the part where they'd be practically useless to large blades or more importantly gunfire; But hey, at least getting bludgeoned to death was less of a risk!
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"Oh..."

"Well shit, now you made me feel bad, thanks..." He would've started dwelling on the fact that he sucked at sarcasm, but Jerry reminded him of his own fatal flaw in a plan thought to be flawless. Main difference was, when Jerry was joking, Michael was serious...

"Oh, yeah... Belts." Jerry was right, they were going to need straps and belts to hold all of this shit to their clothes. He knew that. Totally. He just hadn't quite thought about how he was going to get to it. "Yo, follow me for a moment." Michael walked to the tires, grabbing the one on the top of the pile, he rolled it to the side.

"Now this shit is probably gonna take the whole day, which is why it'd be best to get it done now, rather than later. I doubt people are gonna start going batshit this early, maybe one or two, but we all won't devolve into psychopathic inmates overnight; which means now is the perfect time for preparing plans." Michael mimed cutting areas of the tire, showing Jerry his plans on making armor. "So, this is too large to make a single shoulder pad, so once we cut out a piece for it, we split it down the middle right, now we got two pieces, and they'll fit like a charm." He made two lines across the areas he planned to show as shoulder pads. "After that, we cut slits in between the lines here, and here, slide a belt through it, kind of like how a shoelace and the little hole thingy in the shoe works, right?"

Michael stood up, miming putting on the pad. "Then we wrap the belt around our shoulder, just under our arm. Boom! Instant Mad Max; after that, it's just wrist and shin guards, maybe a codpiece if you wanna keep your Jimmy intact." Michael groped his own groin on delivery of the 'Jimmy" line.

He pointed out towards the direction they came from, towards the bar. "There's a living quarters just down the road, probably got some belts and shit we could use to make straps."

There was one question before they embarked on the quest to look cool however. "By the way, can I see your knife? I kinda wanna see how strong this tire is, just so we don't make a bad choice or some shit and find out way too late."

If this tire plan works, well shit, it'd be fucking awesome as a motherfucker. The Bad Motherfucker 4000, badder than your ass. If it didn't work... Well, c'est la vie or whatever the Greeks said.
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"Thank you," Michael nodded to Jerry as he took the knife. "Now we gonna see how good this fucker is, and how tough these tires are." Michael brought the knife down on the tire. Hard.

*Wa-Tunk*

"What the fuck?!" He didn't leave a dent in the tire, not a cut. "Mishap, I uhhh, aimed it wrong, yeah. Never, aaahh, never used a knife before to be honest." He brought it down again.

*Wa-Tunk*

"Wha- why the-" Okay, this waas kind of ridiculous. There was no way Michael was this weak, he could totally cut this bitch. Just had to put a bit more effort. Maybe if he pressed the taser button while stabbing down.

*Gzzt*

*Wa-Tunk*

... No, really, what the fuck? Wait, this knife. Michael pointed the knife towards his thumb. No way they'd pull this, no way he wouldn't have found out already. He casually pressed his thumb against the blade. Nothing happened as he slid it down. Not even a scratch or a drop of blood.

Michael did it again, holding his thumb against the taser button. One falsetto scream worthy of the Smooth Criminal himself later, and Michael had jumped back, looking at the knife. That's a way to wake yourself up, screw licking batteries...

Michael shook his head side to side, vocalizing with added adrenaline into his system. "Wububu, damn! That felt great..." He lied. That hurt like hell. Michael tossed the fake blade back to Jerry.

"Well, good news is, that shock is strong as fuck, but the bad news well..." He desperately tried playing off his stupidity, but it wasn't working as he had hoped. "The uhh, the knife part's a bit of false advertisin', shit."

Michael looked back to the tires, with no way to cut them, he wouldn't be able to make bitching armor. Welp, there goes his day.

"Guess I ain't gonna be Toecutter for the day, huh?"
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Michael looked down at the tire he planned on mutilating, disappointed. This was well, really disappointing. Like, really fucking disappointing, like so disappointing he was disappointed that he wasn't disappointed enough. Like hey, we got your favorite present, disappointment. He looked back up at Jerry, who just went thousand yard stare mode again. Shit, he must've been disappointed too. Wouldn't blame him, Michael hyped the plan up too much without actual sustenance. Kind of made him angry that it didn't work. Not at Jerry, or well anyone. It'd have just been cool to have tire armor.

Jerry's creepy ass Ryan Gosling Drive stare ended with a question, a weird worded one, but he got the gist of it. "Ehhh, nah, not really, not in the foreseeable future anyway, unless someone's willin' to lend us a blade or somethin', right?" Michael shrugged, he wasn't really too sure himself what he was implying with his own line. Could have meant just asking, could have meant jacking it off of some poor fuck, eh, no point worrying about it right now though, they don't even know if they could get straps to even wear it. Might still be worth checking the big ass apartment looking buildings just in case.

"Ey, we might find some good shit at the housing place if you wanna check, at least it'd be worth a look." Michael tilted his head towards its direction before looking back at Jerry. He grabbed his axe and turned to walk out the door, before pausing and turning around to look at the garage. There was the raised car, and across from it was a table vice. He got bad ideas with the vice for a moment. But it was only a moment. There was self defense, then there was.... that. Nah, fuck that scene. Unless of course some motherfucker killed Jonathan, then that vice would be used, but now, nah.

As they were walking through the old car park, Michael thought about what would happen if they were attacked. Michael knew himself pretty well, but he didn't know how Jerry would do. He seemed athletic, but did he know how to fight? Knowledge and strength were two different things after all. Experience and shit. There's also the option of taking a punch. Would it be like normal for him, or was he glass jaw? Wouldn't be a way to find out until it happened though, so there wasn't a point to worrying about it. Well, actually, he could ask...

"Ey, you ever been in a fight before?"
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Well, there was a No from Jerry and a Just askin' from Michael, whom expected the conversation to end right then and there. Move on, go loot, worry about it when it happens. They continued to walk down the alley of cars when Jerry spoke up.

''Wait, do you want to...?''

Wait, did he ask if we... Michael turned around. "I mean, I'd say yes, but I'm already taken. I don't know where Jonathan is, but he wouldn't appreciate if we, well, y'know." Michael knew what Jerry meant, it threw him off guard, but he knew what he meant. He wanted to poke some fun at it, because there was a chance he was just posturing, that he would back down."OOOOoohhh, you meant fighting, not the other eff word, okay! Sure, why not?" Michael put his axe onto the trunk of a nearby pinto and raised his arms into his fighting pose, before hopping in place twice or thrice. He stopped; his pose relaxing. "You uhhh, you sure about this? I'm one mean motherfucker, ask anyone around man, I fade the shit outta bitches, right?"

Jerry seemed a bit stand offish at it, that he'd probably back down. Michael took his shades off and left them by his axe. "Ehhh, you know what? I'ma be a gentleman, I'll give you first go if you want. Just ehhh, just hit me anywhere, I won't block or parry or nothin' just gonna see how hard you hit, right?" He hopped in place again, physically, he was hyping himself up for the blow, but mentally, he didn't think Jerry would actually do it. "Surprise me right, don't tell me when you do it, yeah? Jus' gimme a moment to prepare for it." He figured he'd push his luck and see how far he'd go with 'preparing', he had a little habit of poking fun at whoever he was going against, he'd like to get on their nerves to give himself a laugh.

He froze in place for a moment, his arms lowered. He slowly raised his arms at the elbows, leaving his hands pointing from his waist, his fingers twitching erratically, as if some song was playing in the background. He resisted the urge to ask some nearby Donnie to play Lowrider as he slowly brought his hands to his face, fingers still twitching. As his hands reached around face level, he paused for a moment, before gyrating them at the wrists and lurching his arms down again.

"Okay, lets ride!"

This was a bad idea, but if acting like Nicholas Cage didn't make Jerry want to punch him, absolutely nothing would...
Edited by ToxieTheToxicAvenger, Oct 1 2016, 08:45 PM.
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((GM'ing approved by Lore))
Jerry finally swung. Three little paps hit Michael, followed by even littler Sorrys, and goshs, with a surprising lack of Golly Gee Willickers. Michael backed away, his arms raising. The hits hurt, well not really, small stinging little hits that were just pathetic, like a sixth grader punching or some shit. "Ay chill out a moment..." Jerry had stopped punching.

"Dude, what the fuck was that?!" Michael found himself laughing at what unfolded. Was that really his best? "Caaahhm aaaahn man! You gotta be able to hit harder than that man, wouldn't be able to put that spear of yours through a stick of butter punchin' like that!" That was pathetic but Jerry looked pissed as shit with Michael laughing at him, maybe he should give him another chance?

"Alrighty, I'm sorry, you were probably warmin' up or some shit, you wanted to see if I was serious enough, I get it." Michael hopped in place again. "Okay, this time for real, hit me as hard as yo-" Jerry cut him off with a quick jab just under the center of his chest. To say it hurt was an understatement. To say he didn't expect it was an understatement. To say it winded him, well, it was also an understatement. To say it floored him, well that too was also an understatement. To say his tongue and eyes bulged out as he rolled onto his back wheezing? Not too much of an understatement...

"G-gimme a moment, f-fuck." He rolled over, coughing. He coughed and gagged as he almost lost his lunch then and there. "H-help me up." He could hear Jerry quietly laugh under his breath, the bastard. He probably faked those punches to get Michael with the good one. Fucking Jerry and his fucking sneaky ballet-ninja tricks. Jerry asked if Michael was alright, so maybe he didn't intend to hit him that hard. Michael replied with a simple alright. "That was good, hit like that from now on."

As he stood up, he took one last breath in to make sure he recovered, before turning around and elbowing Jerry right in the nose. Michael grinned and spoke, his voice still a bit hoarse. "Or hit like this..." Michael went closer to Jerry, asking him if he was alright. They were even right now, shot for shot, tit for tat, they both knew how hard the other could hit, they could stop there, but that would've been too good to have been true, Michael didn't know he'd awoken the beast that is Jerry Larkin. Michael should have known something was up when Jerry started laughing. He certainly knew when his back smashed against a nearby jeep, with Jerry's fists smashing against his face. Oh now it's on...

Michael shoved Jerry back, and ducked the next swing Jerry gave. He followed through with a quick punch to the gut, followed by his own flurry of punches. Jerry's arm swung out and caught Michael right in the side of the jaw, sending him stumbling to the left. Michael yelled out "That's the spirit motherfucker! Hit me in my fuckin' face you bitch!" as Jerry bum-rushed him. Jerry attempted a tackle, but Michael caught him, sending an elbow into his back before tumbling him to the side. Normally, he didn't hit people on the ground, let alone someone friendly, but these were different circumstances, Jerry had also tried to knock him on the floor with that tackle after all. He grabbed Jerry's shirt with one arm and began pounding on him with the other, before Jerry swung his own arm out, hitting Michael right in the dick. He stumbled back, lamenting the fact he didn't have a tire codpiece to protect him as Jerry got up and rushed him again...

--- --- ---


It was now day 2, Jerry and Michael were sitting outside the vehicle depot, bruised and bloodied. Michael stared at his face through the reflection of his sunglasses, boy did he look like shit. His hair was every which way, black eye, cut on his cheek, swollen lip. He looked over at Jerry, who had his own battle scars, black eye, knots on the forehead, a bloody nose, yep, Jerry wasn't looking too much better. Their clothing was also rather worn and covered with dirt as well. Michael's eyes trailed along his blue aloha shirt as he searched his bag for food. "You ruined my favorite shirt, ya' jerk..." He heard Jerry laugh, and to be honest, he laughed with him.

There wasn't any ill will about the fight. It was practice, and there was that guarantee the rest of the island was gonna hurt a lot worse. Besides, if you could fight someone like that, then sit by them for the rest of the night, you knew there was trust somewhere. He'd forgotten to eat his packed lunch before the trip, so now he had to deal with a soggy PB&J sandwich, lukewarm Gatorade, and a small bag of spicy Cheetos. It's still better than soggy ration bars, lukewarm water, and dry crackers though. He finished the sandwich, it wasn't too bad, flavor was still good, it was just that the texture was just off, before taking a drink of his Gatorade. He opened the Cheetos, before looking over to Jerry. Did he have anything to eat? Well, barring the tasteless shit the terrorists gave, should have at least gave them something with flavor for Christ's sake. Maybe he should offer him the Cheetos?

"Ey, you got anything to eat?"
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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?"
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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.))
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