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Hang in There; open!
Topic Started: Jan 8 2017, 06:06 PM (784 Views)
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(( Michael Crowe continued from 70's Horror Movies 2: New Wave Massacre))

"Okay, okay, okay! D-drop him here!" Michael and Maria tossed the large sack of shit to the corner. Fucking hell, even tiny unconscious people were heavy. Say whatever you will about strength, endurance, whatever... You try dragging a person from the rooftops of a three story asylum to the top floor of a bell tower.

That shit ain't easy!

Michael took some time to breath, before leaning his back on the railing, letting it have a satisfying pop. His gaze trailed towards the straight jacketed figure laying in the corner. Little shit probably didn't have any idea where he was at. Michael made sure of that one by tying his hoodie around his face.

"Al... You're heavy as a motherfucker! You needa' go on the fuckin' Paris Hilton diet..." Michael pantomimed putting his fingers down his throat, topped off with exaggerated facial expressions and very loud and annoying gagging noises.

It seemed like Michael wasn't the first one to come up with the idea of tossing people over the bell tower. Barry was dead inside the middle of it, with someone's shirt over his face. Michael was extremely unnerved by the fact his face was covered, but he had no clue why. Maybe the three-no four days of decomposition was it. He didn't know, just something about it was off. Familiar. He's sure he'd seen that shirt before...

It bothered him that the face being covered freaked him out more than the fact that someone who'd died four days ago was laying there. Michael couldn't help but feel like shit seeing someone like this, people deserved to be in a casket under ground four days after they died, not just laying there like that.

So this is where Alvaro got his first kill? Shit, when he hears the announcements tomorrow, he's gonna flip, provided he lives that long. Karma is a bitch, and so was Mike, motherfucker!

But first, a lil' break.

Michael unzipped his bag, and pulled out some energy bars and a drink. He took a few bites, then actually gagged. Eugh. This shit literally feels and tastes like mashed together tooth-plaque. Who thought these were a good idea?! Michael took larger bites and swallows, intentionally avoiding chewing to get that shit out of the way as fast as possible. He took a few drinks of water, lamenting the lack of well... anything gourmet.

Would it kill them to just give them a pack of Lays or something? Lays are nasty in any other situation, but fuck, they'd be something better than this! Hell, ready to eat rations would be better than this. Fuckin' cheap ass terrorists man. Don't let murderin' teens stop 'em from penny pinchin'.

"God that shit is fucking nasty!" He took another moment to cringe and shake the bad taste out. He tossed the wrapper over the edge and looked towards Maria.

"Yo, should we wake sleepin' fuckface over there an' get it over with?"
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"I don't know about snappin'." Michael curled his lips into a sneer looking at the wormlike creature on the ground.

"You saw the way he stared at us... I think he was always like this, that a lot of these fuckers were." The act of snapping, well that added something new to the equation of shitfuck didn't it. It wasn't like it couldn't happen. Hell, a lot of people in a scenario like this would snap. Hell, maybe Michael snapped. Maybe? If he snapped he wouldn't be aware of it though, that was the thing.

That's what snapping meant. You broke. Gone loopy. Your brain took the pain train. Couldn't take it. Lights on, nobody's home. Buh bye. When you snapped you had no idea what in the fuck was goin' on. You called inanimate objects 'Wilfred'. You were told by some unnamed entity to do shit. The lines between good and bad blurred. You threw fecal matter cocktails at people outside your crazy cell. Those types of things.

Sure, maybe a few people snapped. Alex probably did, turnin' into the fuckin' Clarence 'Wananananana, blam, well give the man a hand!' Boddicker wannabe. Maybe Alvaro. Michael couldn't tell if Alvaro was looking at him or the wall beside him, but maybe Alvaro had a lazy eye or something. Maybe he was always derp-eyed like that and he never noticed. Still... That Ryan Gosling Driver stare was fuckin' creepy come to think of it.

Maybe... Maybe some people did snap. He wouldn't hold it against them for it, but shit, they still did what they did. They gotta be held accountable. Hell, might be a mercy killing more than anything. Maybe. Maybe, just maybe that the combined stress of not only the games, but the oppressing nature of high school itself! The fear of not following your overburdening parents' expectations, the class warfare of the grades and cliques that roam it's halls, or the apathetic teachers who really don't care at all what happens? Maybe it were the social teachings of the schools, how only the strong and pretty make it to the top. The ones on top who pushed others to the bottom for some likes on a social media website, or the growing fear that a single social faux pas would end up with you on said social media website for the world to mock, with no regards to how you'd ever live it down afterwords. Maybe they spent all their time looking behind them, afraid of confrontations. Afraid people like him... Maybe... Just maybe... It was partially his fault as well...

Naaaaaah. They were all just a buncha' assholes.

"Yeah. We could probably see what he has to say. I kinda' wanna see what stupid bullshit excuse he'd make this time."
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"Nah, I didn't mean like... They were always crazy just-"

He stared at that pile of shit laying there. How careless he was, how fucking blank his face was. Like a goddamn robot, a Terminator.

"He wasn't crazy. He's as sane as you or me. Sane as anyone on this island. He knew what he was doin'. He just didn't care about it."

That- well that might've been the thing that disgusted him the most. This little motherfucker looked at him with a straight face. Lied right to him. No twitches, no signs of guilt, no irony whatsoever. He said it like he believed it, but he knew. Michael knew that Al knew what he did. He just didn't care.

Maria wanted him to talk. She was willing to cut him up to get him to-

"The fuck Maria?! Jeez, you're ice cold, y'know that?"

Michael had actually looked disgusted for a moment. It didn't take longer than that moment for him to start laughing.

"Hahahaeehehe! I almost got you there! Hahaha... Fuck nah, but seriously though, don't waste the effort on him. We ain't like those other creeps. Plus I got a better way of doin' it..."

He squatted by Al while Maria gave him a good tap to the ribs. He rummaged through Al's bag for a moment before grabbing out a bottle of water.

He faced Maria as he unscrewed the top from the bottle.

"Now, here's how you wake someone up!"

Michael placed his hand on where Al's forehead should be underneath the hoodie to hold him down. He started dumping the bottle on Al's face.

"Drrrrrrrrink up, motherfuckeeeeeeer!"
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Michael was jolted by an alien voice. Well, not quite alien, just not a voice he'd heard since he'd been here. This... was well, it was fuckin' awkward.


Michael hadn't even noticed that Alessio had peeped his head out of the hoodie covering his face. He was more focused on how to explain why he was waterboarding him awake in the first place.

"Well... uhhh."

Would Audrey be pissed about it? Probably. Alessio's probably gonna start screaming stupid shit too, so fuck it. Tell the truth.

"Well... I'ma start from the beginning; Me and Maria here, well, we're fed up with the same damn names comin' up on the announcements. So; we decided to change some things, right?"

"We found Al... you probably heard him on the announcements right?"

Michael shrugged, before tossing the empty water bottle off the tower.

" We figured we'd question why he did it first. Y'know, help us decide whether or not to toss him over on his head or on his feet. Depends on what answers he gives us."
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((This isn't so much as a skip as it is swapping places with RC to move things along a little bit. Also GM'ing accepted from RC for Alessio.))

"Okay, okay! Everyone fuckin' relax!"

Michael couldn't believe he was the fuckin' mediator for this shit. How funny was it that he was the calmest in the room? Like for real, what in the fuck is happening?

"Cept you. You ain't got nothin' to be relaxin' about!" Michael grabbed Al's hair, shaking his head back and forth. Audrey and Maria's argument was pissing him off, but it was okay, nobody would mind if he took it out on this sick fuck for a little bit.

"Aight! Audrey, listen up, okay? I get it. You didn't experience even a tenth of the shit we did, that's okay! You don't get it, nothin' wrong with that; BUT Al most certainly does deserve this shit. It's a funny thing you mention askin' him. We did just that yesterday."

Michael wrapped his arms around Al's head. His hands wrapped around Alessio's jaw and cheeks. Michael started opening and closing his mouth like a macabre Kermit. Michael's already high pitched voice warped into an even more grating caricature fusion of Lemon Grab, Tommy Wiseau and Bobcat Goldwaith.

"Hnnnnnnggg! I deed nawt keel anywon Michael CrooOoweeeE! Heurr-durr!, I did naaaaaht! I am tooooooOOOoOOootaaaaAAaAaaallly innocent! 'Dis is just ketchup on my hoodie, nyeh-hurnnnnn~"

Michael let go of Al's head, and watched him fall back down with a comical thump.

"Little bastard lied right to our face, right? We'da got him talkin' earlier, but Alvaro fucked it all up like the shitbag he is. Murderer savin' another one, fancy that... Hell, to start from the beginning, he walked in scarin' the shit out of the Hot Topic crew, and I had to go in to save 'em all, the ungrateful fucks. Back then he had a pickaxe. When me and Maria found him again, he had traded his pickaxe off for a toy gun, and a lot more blood. Motherfucker outright lied to us. He says he didn't do shit, covered in all that blood!"

Michael took the blood stained hoodie and tossed it at Audrey's feet.

"That ain't his."

He looked towards Al. He looked towards the outer edge of the bell tower. He looked back at Al.

"Speakin' a him..."

He grabbed Al by the collar of his straight jacket, hoisting him up on his feet.

He stopped and looked towards Audrey.

"Maria was a... well I'll admit, she was a bit aggressive towards you. No offense, Maria, but you were a real 'see-you-next-tuesday'! Aheheh! But listen to me Audrey, she is kinda right, very much so in fact, even if it was blunt as all hell. Don't try and stop us. We already had to deal with Alvaro's shit; 's why this little piddlefuck got away the first time. Ain't happenin' again..."

What in the hell was a piddlefuck?

"Lil' mofo didn't wanna talk then? Well, he's talkin' now!"

He stopped at the edge, his gaze fixated right on Alessio's eyes.

"I'ma make you a deal, okay?"

He brought his face in close. He paused for dramatic effect.

"When I toss you over, if ya' can fly, we won't hunt you down, okay!?"

That's it. Use a Sopranos quote. Nobody back home would notice too much would they?

He shoved Al over the edge, his hands still hanging onto the straight jacket.

Alessio was now dangling upside down from the bell tower, curled up in what is most likely an uncomfortable position.

"How's the view you shit?! Makin' you wanna talk now, eh? Start talkin' an' maybe I'll let you go, ehehehehehehe!"

Michael raised his left hand, now the only thing keeping Al on the barrier was his own two legs, and Michael's right arm.

"What's wrong Al?! Don't wanna hang out with us anymore?! What? You ain't the type of gettin' high?! Well hang in there, buddy! After all! You aaaallllwaaays had yer' head in the clouds, right?!"

He shook his arm back and forth, Al started swaying left and right.

"This is my baaaad hand Al! Y'know, the one you took a big fuckin' chomp outta? Best start talkin', or I might jus' drop this conversation! AaaaAahaahahehehaaah!"

Aaand this, ladies and gentlemen, is how you interrogate someone! No pointy things needed.
Edited by ToxieTheToxicAvenger, Jan 24 2017, 09:27 PM.
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"Speak up motherfucker! You ain't sorry! You ain't done until you're dead you shit! Why shouldn't I just drop you now!"

It was a trifecta of fuckery. All because dumbass Audrey had to open her mouth, suddenly he was the bad guy. Y'know, the guy who didn't murder in cold blood.

Michael tried his best to ignore all of it. Then Maria up and left.

Y'know what?

Fuck this.

Michael hoisted Al over the edge then threw him back into the bell tower. They want him alive that bad. Fine. Here he is.

Fine. Fuck 'em. Fuck Maria, fuck Audrey, fuck Alessio. Fuck 'em all.

"Aight Audrey. You can keep it. Michael spit on Alessio while he laid there. "But don't come to me cryin' or bitchin' when he kills all your buddies. I won't do shit. They all died because of idiots like you anyways. Fuckin' apathetic shit-heels. Call me whatever the fuck you want. 'Least I tried to do something besides sit around bitchin' and moanin'. All you cowards wanna do is hole up in a corner with your eyes closed and hope it goes away. Save your high horse, I don't give a fuck what you have to say to me, and I have nothin' left to say to you, neither. I'm done. I don't know who's worse, the killers, or the idiots suckin' their dicks..."

Michael shouldered past Audrey as he moved towards the stairs. From this point on he wasn't doing this vigilante shit. From now on, he's lookin' out for Numero uno. Him and his friends. Let the other retards worship the ones cuttin' 'em up. At this point they all deserved it anyways, they should've known what was up by now anyways.

Hell, maybe he was in the wrong. Maybe it was best to use what time he had left to spend with his friends. Make his peace. Try his best to defend them. Maybe taking the attack to the players wasn't the right way to do it. Maybe the best thing he could do was defend people? Maybe... Maybe he had it all wrong.

He reached the bottom of the stairs, and from this angle it was clear why Barry's corpse had disturbed him besides the obvious.

That shirt. It was Jonathan's. He moved in closer to look at it.

Was it? It was! What was it doing there? Was he with Barry? What happened to him?

Thoughts of what could have happened to Jonathan filled his mind. Thoughts of Larkin's death, Bradley's name on announcements, the corpses in the basement, Alex... People like that running around. How could he defend someone he couldn't even find. Maybe...

Who else was actually trying to do anything? Oh yeah, right. Nobody else gave a rat's ass. Who'd he have left? Jonathan and Darius. Where were they? If someone got to them, then what would he have left? The chances of seeing them ever again were slim if nil. All of that talk about living to the best? It probably wouldn't happen. Someone would just ruin it like they always do. He didn't have a chance in hell for anything to go right for him anyways. It always went wrong. Might as well right the few wrongs he can in the meantime, right?

Fuck it. He was never a quitter. He just needed a change in tactics. No more theatrics, no more words. No more talk. Talk don't get shit done. Actions do. He was fed the fuck up.

He won't be bargained with. He won't be reasoned with; and he absolutely will not stop, ever, until those freaks are all dead.

((Michael Crowe continued elsewhere))
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