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This World Belongs to the Mad; open
Topic Started: Oct 3 2016, 03:14 PM (1,647 Views)
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(( 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?"
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((Skipping Jeremy with permission from Yugi))
Michael raised a single eyebrow as he listened to Alex speak. And he thought Nancy disgusted him... Did Alex lose his fucking mind?! Michael put the TP back into his bag, feeling the two wooden clubs next to them. Alex was crazy, no doubt about it, he wasn't even sociopathic. It was the other one. Pure psycho. The question was, had he snap, or was he always like this?

He left his bag unzipped as he contemplated his chances. Alex had his machete, and well, it'd hurt like a bitch if it cut him. Hopefully his 60 mph asphalt proof jacket would help against it. God knows it's useless against bullets, but blades, well only one way to find out... Michael thought about his own weapons. Two clubs, one of them jagged from being yanked halfway off, decent, but not too good. Then there was his axe. Pretty bitchin', but there wasn't much you could do with it in terms of use. You can smack, or you can cut. Both could be fatal. But most of it was wood. Alex's blade could cut through that, he was pretty sure, so he'd have to dodge instead of block, that'd wear him out quicker. Their range was equal to, Alex slightly more so because of his height. Damn, we was at a bit of a disadvantage. But; there was also his plan B. Jerry's shock knife, placed firmly in his jacket. He forced back some thoughts of self blame as he brought himself to focus on the task at hand. He half listened to Alex talk, half daydreamed about knocking his cadaver through a window. His eyes trailed over to Jeremy.

Jeremy didn't look like he cared too much. Hey, SOTF was a spectator sport after all. Could get closer to winning just by watching, who could blame him? Maybe he just stayed with Alex because nobody better would come along. Well, with Michael's help, his options would open...

Alex caught Michael's attention when he stepped forward. Did this little dickwit just...

Michael felt his grin come, he couldn't help it. His heart started pounding, and that adrenaline started pumping. The anticipation was like a fine wine after all...

"Ooooooh ho ho! Naah man, did I just hear you threaten me!?"

Michael tapped his finger against the handle of his axe.

"I-Is that a way to treat an old friend?" He feigned shock, as if his feelings were hurt.

They weren't old friends, acquaintances more like. Michael liked Alex's company before the games, how rare they were, but this? Michael had found someone worse than rock bottom. He managed to find someone who he utterly abhors. And it used to be someone so fuckin' affable...

"Now, I get that you think you're hot shit for killing some little girl..." Rea was like six feet though. What the fuck are you talking about, Mikey? "But I'm not some helpless screamer. I'm not gonna lay in the shower and yell while you chop me up, buddy. Speakin' of which..."

Michael tilted his head up. He wanted to know a few things before he put this fucker six feet under. He wanted to know how Hannibal Loser ticked.

"Why'd you do it? Kill Rea, I mean. Made you feel strong? Oooor, were you scared? Just wanted to get it over with?"

Michael wagged his finger. He then shook his head. "Naaah, that ain't it..."

"Y'know what I think?"

Michael pointed his axe from his groin, in a juvenile attempt to mimic an erection.

"I think you did it to give your little woody there some wood!" Michael mimed jerking the axe with a pelvis thrust here and there to taunt him further.

"That's what it is, ain't it, fucker! You wanted the sexual thrill of it! That get you off Al'? Killin' little girls like that? Bet it makes you feel like a man, don't it, you petty little pimp fuck! Fuckin' rat coward, that's what you are!"

Michael swung his axe through the air, grinning like a crocodile. He repeated the term 'Little girl' to underscore Alex's 'achievement' if you could call it that. He wanted to lower whatever chance anyone had on taking him seriously. He wanted Alex to know that he was nothing more than a dime-a-dozen coward. And what better way to tell him yourself that you thought he was an insignificant little skid mark on the crusty briefs that were this island.

"You kill lil' girls coz' it makes you feel like hot shit, amirite'? Well, news flash fucko, I ain't a lil girl, and the only hot shit you're gettin' is the one I'm leavin' on your fuckin' chest once I'm done splittin' you dick to dome, buddy!"

He brought his axe up into a defensive position. Alex was either gonna nut up or shut up. Michael had already made his choice of the two.

"Feelin' like hot shit now, motherfucker?"
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Michael cocked his head to the side as he awaited Alex to rush him. But he didn't.

What the fuck? That's how it's supposed to be right?

Then Alex spoke up. Well, not quite that.

He laughed.

Michael couldn't help it. He laughed too.

Michael laughed, Alex laughed. Michael laughed harder. Alex laughed harder.

Then he stopped. What he had said had caused Michael to stop laughing as well.

Who's weak, and who's strong?

No... don't tell me...

He dropped his weapon and started walking over. What in the fuck?! Did he expect Michael to just walk away? To just give up and not embed his axe into his head? Did he really think that?! The cajones of the son of a bitch...


He was right.

Michael's left arm extended to the side, still holding the axe. He dropped it, with all the clang and echo you'd expect from dropping an axe in a dark metal hallway.

Michael couldn't help but smile back as Alex grinned at him like that. Like some small child getting his sibling in trouble for looting the cookie jar. That smug fucking grin. The eyes didn't fit though, there was something about them. Something off. Wasn't quite puppy dog eyes, but they didn't seem too happy.

Michael's right arm wanted to shake as he reached up to take his sunglasses off. He forced it to stay still. He wasn't gonna be phased by this prick. But he had to admit, something about him was unnerving. Really fucking unnerving. Michael's breath rattled. He forced it into a little laugh.

"So... You're the fittest huh?"

Michael nodded his head.

"Means you were 'entitled' to killing Rea, right?"

He hooked his glasses into his chest pocket. He placed his hands on Alex's shoulders, looking him in the eyes.

"Y'know what, Alex? I like you. I like you enough that I think I'll kill you last."

Michael nodded, and his arms dropped. He turned, as if to walk away.

At this point, you'd think he'd lost, learned the error of being cocky. That he'd walk away like nothing happened. After all the shit he's seen, you really think he'd give up like that? Of course he wasn't really gonna walk away like some damn punk.

He turned again, and swung a mean ass sucker punch in Alex's direction.

After all, just because he'd kill him last didn't mean that he wouldn't put the fucker in his place first.
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(Skipping with permission)

The punch was satisfying, played out perfectly. The boxing exhale, the crack of wind trailing along the arm, the clap of the impact. Everything was perfect, hell, Michael's knuckles even hurt from that one. Wondered how Alex's jaw felt. He felt his left arm prepare for the next blow when something in his peripherals moved.

Michael's blood froze, and his eyes widened like dinner plates.

Jeremy pointed his gun at the violent Mike Score look-a-like.

"Ho!" Michael raised his arms and backed away. There was no way he could get around a bullet, not at this range, not with Jeremy's line of sight on him. Michael wasn't stupid, he knew if he tried shit here, he'd get a bullet through the head. Or worse, a bullet through the head...

"Woah, hey man... L-listen..."

His axe was on the ground, he couldn't believe he fell for something so stupid. Alex and Jeremy were teamed up, they could've planned this. They probably did plan this. Easiest trick in the book, the slight of hand. Fuck! They had him by the balls and he couldn't even swing back, son of a bitch!

"Y-you're pointing that a-at the wrong person... Y-you really think an asshole like that's got your back?! He'll suffocate you in-in your fuckin' sleep!"

He had to think of something, had to get out of here. If he moved now, Jeremy would put one right through him. Michael was scared. He was scared as a fucking fuck!

"J-just think this through..."

His foot slowly edged over to his axe...
Edited by ToxieTheToxicAvenger, Nov 3 2016, 02:35 PM.
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Ever closer.

Ever closer...

His foot slowly reached his axe, and planted itself just on the hilt. All it took... One swift move, and he was gone.

But for Jeremy, all it took was one twitch, and then he'd be gone...


Alex started rising again, his face was fucking red as a jacked dick. Wait no, what kind of dick bleeds when you jack it? Actually, don't answer that. Point is, Michael had walloped him well. He'd be proud of himself had he not run the risk of turning into skull salad. He laughed at him... The audacity of this punk. The fucking audacity, the bastard had the upper hand only because- FUCK!

Alex had a partner in crime, and at this point, Michael didn't. He also didn't know of Jeremy's gun. Shit, this was a trap, and he was gonna pay for it.

Alex opened his mouth, and Michael half expected a bullet to blast right through him. He complemented the hit? Whaaat in the fuuuuuck?

Okay, these fuckers were whacked the fuck out. Insane in the membrane, loopy as shit. He asked about why he hadn't killed him...

Why didn't he axe the fucker in two?

Alex was a murderer, Michael would be in the right to do so. He walked towards him and asked for it. Michael was a vigilante, not a hero, so why didn't he take the chance, why'd he follow the whole honorable route? He-

Michael laughed. He couldn't stop. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

There's a moment where everything just clicks. It all falls into place. Where you have the realization of your life. Michael had been telling himself the entire time that this wasn't a movie, that this was real life. But was it really?

There were cameras everywhere, watching every moment. People acted in ways he'd never thought possible, nobody was truly their selves. They were all playing some part in a fucked up Greek Tragedy, and all Danya amounted to was the Chorus...

All it took was a little pushing.

Well, not really, Michael wasn't batshit insane. He didn't believe none of that bullshit, but Alex... Playing sane wouldn't help, he'd have to out-crazy him out of the room if he wanted to live.

You know what they say about not beating them right? You join them.

"Come on, Al..."

Michael turned and grinned towards Alex.

"You know exactly why I let you live. Think for a moment."

He lowered his arms, grabbing his belt loop. His head tilted up. This wouldn't work with the coward-ass 'don't shoot me' pose.

"You can't die now, neither can I, we're Murphy and Boddicker, Mad Max and Toecutter, Decker and Roy, The Terminator and Connor, Mclane and Gruber... You know exactly why, Alex."

Michael reached to his jacket pocket, slowly pulling his Wayfarers back out. His foot tensed over the axe. Please let this work.

"I didn't kill you, because you didn't have my permission to die, Alex. I told you I'd kill you last, and I meant it. Whatever happens before the climax, nobody knows, but I know this, and you know it too, nobody's gonna kill either of us, except one of us once all is said in done."

He flipped his shades open. Please for the love of all that is holy, let this work.

"When it comes down to it, nobody's gonna save you from me, and nobody's gonna save me from you. Your lackey back there? He's gonna be dead long before either of us meets. Whether or not it'll be me or you to do it depends all on what happens here."

He placed his shades along his face. Please oh pleaaase, do not fuck this up now.

"That punch was something for you to think about. I wanted to show you just what you're in for later on down the line. Give you a little taste. A little taste of hell, just before I send you there. Savor it..."

His foot pressed harder against his axe. This was about the stupidest shit he'd ever heard himself say. But goddamn, if it fails, at least it'd look good as an epitah. At least it'd be along the levels of Hold muh beer an' watch 'dis...

"We'll meet again soon, Al."
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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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