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Lord of Lunatics; night of Day 4/morning of Day 5
Topic Started: Jan 26 2017, 01:58 AM (1,006 Views)
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(( Michael Crowe continued from Hang in There))

Michael had a lot of conflicting thoughts. Number one, was 'what in the hell' was he really doing? What was he trying to prove? For the last three days, he hadn't thought about anything. Just doing. Was this for Jerry, or for himself? Was this some excuse to show he wasn't scared, that he didn't care; That he was still on top, still in control? That he was right? It never mattered to Michael if someone thought he was wrong, but he did take note of it. If one person says you're wrong, then you tell him to fuck off. But if ten people tell you it, you might have to think about it a bit, right? Were they any better? After all, the same people tellin' him he's wrong are the same people who'd grab popcorn and a lawn chair if their buddy was getting mauled by a bear instead of doing anything about it.

Second, why him? Why'd his class get picked. Why do we have to go through this shitstorm? Why not some fuckin' bigshot 400 people school on the other side of the states? Why'd they choose us? All that time, all that effort. How much were they spending on this? Hell, how many times has this fuckin' happened, it's ridiculous. They had to run out of islands eventually. Jesus, and you'd think by now whoever owned this shithole would speak up. Durr, yea' we abandoned an island, a lot like this one actually, same bell tower, same asylum and everything, but we don't know if it's ours, hyuk hyuk. Maybe the government knew, maybe they're using this for anti-terrorist funding or some shit. Maybe he's just thinking into it too much, like Tessa Tinfoil.

Third, where in the fuck were these cans coming from! Michael kicked one of them down the hallway, watching it bounce along the wall before rolling away. Why were there so many in a trail? Did it lead to a trap, does someone need help. Michael knew he told Audrey he'd let Darwin do the work for him, but... Maybe that change of tactic, maybe it was just switching his priorities? Save a life, rather than take one? What the hell... Not like he was good at either, but maybe, maybe it was worth a shot.

Michael was too optimistic though. He knew what it probably was. Follow the candy to the white van. Never get seen again. The trail of cans lead him to a shithole he'd never thought he'd return to. Michael tilted his head away before moving down the stairwell. Maybe. Maybe this was Nancy planning it? That's what she's doing for fame now?

Fate seemed to fuck him through every corner. Every ally he meets, he loses. Every chance of success he gets, he loses. Maybe fate was telling him to turn around. Maybe that's what he should do. Turn around. Find Jonathan, or Darius, or anyone. Give up. Make the best of it. This might be his last chance to do it. Do it.

Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, yes?

Maybe, just maybe, if he stuck to it, his luck would turn around. Something would go right, right? Powers that be! Grant me some good shit for once! Please!

Michael made his way down the stairs, he saw a shape. A familiar shape. Wasn't Nancy. Wasn't Alessio.

Well... worth a shot right? Worse case scenario, this is the last mistake he makes. Fitting end. Family mourns for about a month, they get over it. Jon mourns for the rest of the time on his island, he'll get over it. Nobody else gives a shit.

Michael crouched low. Jeremy wasn't with him now. What'd he do, gut him for his gun? Wouldn't surprise him one bit. A little 'told ya' so' if that was the case. This time he wasn't gonna go into theatrics, no screaming, none of that shit. Sneak and gut.

But could he do it? For all his talk he did a bad job of even finishing off a kid in a straight jacket. Shoulda' known though. If he could've brought himself to do it, the whole bell tower thing wouldn't have happened would it? Just a whack and leave. Explain it was for the greater good, be blissfully unaware that your partner never really gave a shit about your ideology. Move on.

Michael stayed low, slowly inching his way towards Alex. It was time to see if he could actually do what he promised Jerry. It was time to see what he was capable of. It was time to nut up, or shut up.
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Michael crept closer and closer to Alex. If he could do this, he was going to do this...

However, the closer he got, the more he thought about what he was doing. Something unnerved him, something felt wrong, off.

Maybe this was the wrong path?

Then again, maybe he couldn't bring himself to just play the knockout game with the axe. He wanted Alex to be somewhat aware. He wanted the bastard to feel something, to feel the fear of being hunted like the wild animal he wanted to be. He wanted Alex to be afraid. Even when he nabbed Al, he waited for that fucker to wake up before knocking his lights back out. He stood there, still, for a whole ten minutes.

If he could give Al some sort of slight decency, he guess he could give Alex some too...

His axe slid underwater as he moved. These dark corridors had another nostaliga to it, one that reminded him of many sci-fi horror films. Might as well use that to his advantage.

He was close enough now. He stopped moving. Alex wasn't moving, just mumbling. Something felt wrong, but Mike didn't care. He could do this. He had to.

Like a xenomorph, he slowly stood up, rising out of the water. His axe raised and hovered above Alex's shoulder. Michael let some of the filthy water drip from it, onto him.

Drip, drip, drip.

A low hiss escaped Michael's mouth, increasing in volume until Alex turned around...
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Michael turned his head just in time to see the poster child for the IRA pointing a gun at them. Will you motherfu-GAH!

Alex flew towards Mike, the back of his skull colliding with Michael's face. My face! That was my good side you fucker, you're gonna pay for that!

He flew back first into a nearby sink, the mirror above it shattering. Michael let go of his axe to shield his head on the way down. He heard the familiar clap of a gun shot as he smashed face first into the water.

"I'bbl' gbbkinb' gbbcht' yerr' grrr'king' bbbbicthkgrrr'!" He cursed through the water.

Well this kinda changed things didn't it? Now there wasn't really much chance of playing vigilante. If he wanted to see Darius or Jonathan ever again, he had to get out of here before he got his ass shot! Michael pulled himself out of the water as his hair hung limply along his face. Shit he'd have to fix that later, if he could. He adjusted his shades and grab- wait, where the fuck was his axe?!

Michael spun around in the water, grasping for his axe almost comically. Well, it would've been comical if it happened to anyone else. Right now it was happening to him, so it wasn't that funny. He turned his head and saw Will, still there, still pointing his gun.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-" Screw the axe, screw the axe, screw the axe, screw the axe, screw the axe, screw the axe, screw the axe, screw the axe, screw the axe, screw the axe, screw the axe, screw the aaaaaaa-haaa-haaaaxe!

Michael scrambled to a half-crawl, half-run and bolted towards the lockers next to the shower stalls. As he ran, the announcements sprung to life. Taking cover outside of Will's line of sight, he ignored it, opening various lockers, had to be a weapon, had to be something here! A pen, a shirt he could use as a garrote, anything to get away from these fuckers! He didn't sign up for th-

"Back to business, Darius Van Dyke finally shut up after William McKinley put a bullet in his brain. So if you hated him, send your thanks Will's way."

"send your thanks Will's way."

"send your thanks Will's way."

Michael's hand reached to his side. Will got Dee? No fuckin' way... He almost couldn't breath... Outside of Jonathan, there was nobody else. All his friends were dead... He felt a lump in his jacket... Wait a minute... He pulled it out. It was Jerry's shock knife. Michael stared at his reflection through it.

Well this kinda changed things didn't it? His best friend's killer was right fuckin' there, and he was gonna run away? Naaah. Fuck. That. Scene.

"send your thanks Will's way."

Michael felt adrenaline course through his veins.

Michael was gonna give Will his thanks alright... Gaddafi style!
Edited by ToxieTheToxicAvenger, May 18 2017, 11:03 AM.
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Michael peeked from the corner. Will was pointing his gun at Alex. Talkin' a bunch of shit, like he's the hero of this film or some shit, pompous asshole.Michael was the hero, not him! Not that coward bastard! Michael looked at his blade. It was a fake blade, but the tazer game on it was strong. He wouldn't be able to pull a Wolf Creek on that bastard, but he'd definitely get him to drop his pussy-pistol. Just another coward with a gun.

Alex was doing his 'nothin' personnel kid' speech or whatever the fuck it was. For once Michael was glad to hear that Xxedgel9rdxX shit, it meant Will was so focused on Alex's bullshit that he wouldn't see what's coming next.

*slosh slosh*

Michael crept closer, holding his shock knife low, keeping his body low. He had to think, he had to plan this out.

*slosh slosh*

Slowly he moved forwards, watching the two. This wasn't the time to think. All it took was one sentence to describe Mike's plan.

*slosh slosh*

Will dies first.


Michael sprinted towards them.

*slosh slosh slosh slosh slosh slosh slosh slosh slosh slosh slosh slosh slosh slosh slosh slosh splash splash splash splash splash splash splash splash splash splash splash splash*



The room filled with the flashing strobe-like lights of Larkin's shock knife, and the ear-piercing screams of one pissed off greaser.

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Michael sprinted forwards, still screaming, still brandishing his taser. There's a moment where your body goes into autopilot, you simply start watching instead of speaking. If asked why it'd happen, Michael would tell you he wouldn't know, he wasn't a psych expert. There was one thing he did know. The mind could only bend so much before it snaps in two. This meant either one of two things. The 'autopilot' was either the symptom of snapping, or protection from it. It could be that catharsis needed to get his mind set straight, or it could be his mind was gone at this point. He didn't know. He'd know if he survived this.

Michael had one goal. Kill Will. Will had to die first. He didn't deserve to watch Alex die, not like he didn't deserve what was coming either, but Will didn't deserve closure. Michael would make sure of that. Will wouldn't be the one to kill Alex, and Alex wouldn't be the one to kill Will. Will dies first, then Alex. Michael closed the distance.

Will turned.

Will aimed.

Michael closed his eyes.

Will fired.

Will missed.

Michael opened his eyes. Alex tackled Will, he got him on the ground. Michael almost forgave him for lopping his pinkie off. Almost.

It was still the opening he needed though. There was one thing he wanted, and if Michael could give Will just an iota of pain that he had over the course of these five goddamn days, he'd be happy with it. Will was sprawled out on the ground, fighting Alex for the gun. There was the opening. Go for the groin.

Michael's voice cracked as the screaming ceased. He brought the knife up, the lights and sounds of electricity coursing through it filling the room.

He brought it down between Will's legs.
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There was something really fuckin' cathartic seein' Will scream like that. Dumb motherfucker shoulda' knew better, braggin' about killin' his best friend right in front of him. Well, he'd say they were square. Will killed Darius, Mike killed Will's family tree. Fair's fair.

There was one problem though. Even after a hit like that, Will didn't pay attention to him. His hand was still locked to Alex's. It was funny, they were like lovers, almost!

Michael had to separate them. Will was his!

Michael brought the shock knife down on Alex's arm, and watched him roll back. "Lay down and stay down fucker!"

His attention turned back to McKinl- AUGH!

A kick to the chin sent Michael stumbling to the ground. A sharp pain filled his mouth and he could taste blood. Michael was damn near certain he almost bit his tongue off.

Blood rolled down his chin, and Michael brought a hand up to feel where it was coming from. It was his lower lip, busted wide open.

He was all quiet now. It was game time. Will was getting back up with his gun, and Alex was crawling up with one BIG FUCKIN' SWORD...

Two on one, eh?

Michael got up himself.

The shock knife crackled to life again.

Let's dance.


Alex tried to bring down his trashy ass 'deus valt' final fantasy shit sword on him. Michael juked to the left, and gave him three more shocks in return. Gut, gut, chest, learn your place! He turned to Will, and sent three more shocks his way. Arm, armpit, shoulder, stay the fuck down!

He moved back to Alex. Shock shock shock, then back to Will.

Back and forth, back and forth. He was fighting with the spirit of two right now! Was Jerry with him?! This was for you, brother!

One, two, three!

One, two, three!


Kzzt Kzzt Kzzt, turn.


Kzzt kzzt kzzt, turn.


Michael's Lemongrab level screeches reached higher octaves than the pained protests of his combatants as he became a blur of electricity and ass-kickery.

In short? Motherfucker went ham.
Edited by ToxieTheToxicAvenger, May 18 2017, 11:02 AM.
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Back and forth. Back and Forth.

He zapped the shit out of Alex.


He then zapped the shit out of Will.


He turned back to Alex, bringing his shock knife down on Alex's sword. The sword glowed. So did Alex. The room flashed it's black and white strobe. The sword, the shock knife, Alex, Michael's glasses... Each flashed black and white, black and white. Alex dropped like a sack of twitching bricks that were also probably shitting bricks.

Michael turned back to Will who wassprintingtowardshimwhatthe-

A boot went right into Michael's cock of justice. And no, it wasn't the shock knife he was talking about this time either. Michael felt the kick rise him off the ground. His feet were physically in the air. This motherfucker kicked him in the dick so hard he sent him into the fucking sky. No fucking way. Mike tazes the shit out of him, and he can do that.

Not long after that, a flurry of kicks and punches were his way, he didn't even know where the fuck he was for the moment. Will had the advantage. Will was worldstar'ing his ass.

Michael just barely got out by jabbing Will in the throat with the shock knife. Too bad it wasn't powerful enough to blow his collar, lucky bastard! He watched Will stumble back, coughing up a lung.

Michael slowly got back up from his hunched over state, right hand gripping his gripples. He couldn't let that shit slow him down. Not yet. A kick in the dick is a kick in the dick. He could take more.

Michael shook his head and straightened himself. He forced some more hype into himself.


Michael slapped himself in the face to taunt him.


Then it hit him.

The axe first. Then reality. But they both hit pretty hard.

Michael only turned just in time to see Alex cackling and howling, waving his axe around like Christian Bale. That was HIS axe! Michael brought his arms up to shield him out of reflex. He didn't think to dodge, to duck, to juke.

He gasped, then felt metal on mouth. He was lifted off the floor again, feeling like a hooked fish. He felt wood smack against his left arm, his right feeling for air. The roof was the floor, and the floor the roof. His head smashed into water, legs above him. He rolled to his front, getting to his knees.

His shock knife still glowing landed right by him, sending jolts of electricity through his body. That wasn't the most painful thing that happened to him though.

Michael screamed, and as he did so, it felt as though the right side of his face would split open. He screamed louder. The pain got stronger. The shock ended as soon as it started, and Michael covered his mouth with his elbow, still shrieking. He looked at his arm, and what he saw instantly horrified him.

Blood, lots of it.

His adrenaline left his body as quick as the blood left his face. His left hand reached for the shock knife and gripped it. His right was still held over his face as he hissed in pain. He heard a slight whistle, and felt air blowing out the right side of his face as he did so. His tongue moved inside his mouth, feeling losened teeth. Some of the ones in the back wiggled, then fell out. They rolled out the side of his mouth and down his arm- wait what?!

He tried to lick his teeth, and ended up tasting his jacket instead. His tongue felt air in between. He felt pain on top and below it. He moved his tongue side to side. Felt his jacket, felt his arm, tasted his blood. He felt his lips, then couldn't press it any farther. Alex just sliced his fuckin' cheek open! He just got halfway Kakihara'd! If he didn't block, Alex would've turned him into a fucking pez dispenser!

Oh shit, oh shit oh fuck, shit this hurts, Jesus fuck!

This wasn't a game anymore. This wasn't a movie, he could die here. There was no asking 'What would Arnie do.' He wasn't Arnie. Arnie didn't lose. Michael could. In fact, he was. His 'invincibility' bullshit was gone. That power trip he had was gone. Whatever the hell burst of adrenaline he had just seconds ago; gone. He tried to get up, his feet shaking under him, muscles twitching. He started crawling, the arm holding his shock knife dragging him forward, the other cradling his fucked up face. He was emitting some half-laugh half-sob the entire time as he forced himself to keep moving.

He had to run. He had to see Jon again, but he had to avenge Darius and Larkin. He had to-

He had to make a decision.

He looked back and forth towards Will and Alex, then towards the door. The throbbing in his face matched the beat in his ears.

He had to make a decision.

He started crawling towards the door.
Edited by ToxieTheToxicAvenger, Feb 20 2017, 01:41 PM.
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"ah-hen, hnnnn, ah-heh ah-heh, haaa, mmm-hmmm-hmmm..."

Choked sobs escaped Michael as he moved to the door. He couldn- he couldn't die here! Not after everything that's happened! Not after all the shit he's been through! He-he had to get out of here! Let these fuckers tear each other apart.

Closer and closer he crawled to the door. He could slip out, unnoticed. He wasn't gonna die today. He got to he knees. He could stand. He could leave.

Will ran up behind him and talked a lot of shit. One quick stomp to the back and Mike was on the ground again. He grasped for Will's leg as he tried to leave, hoping to trip him, let him get killed, Alex was closing in! He's the one you want!

Will kicked free and sprinted off.

"Y-you coward! You rat fuck! Rea's suckin' cock in Hell right now!"

He turned on his back, Alex was making his way to him. He crawled backwards raising his free arm, pleading "Wait, wait, wait!" Alex got full view of Michael's new crocodile smile. His mouth now couldn't close all the way, the right side of his upper lip raised in a permanent sneer, his overbite apparent, there was a jagged line moving from his lip halfway up to his cheek.

"Look at yourself, hero." Alex moved closer. "All these avengers, and no one avenged."

He wasn't getting out of this. Alex was gonna kill him. He was this close to making it out, and Will used him as a scapegoat! Fucking rat, fuck fuck fuuuuuck!

"Please no! Oh, God, nooo-OOo-Oohoo..."

Alex raised his axe.

Michael screamed.

"Weakness and strength, Crowe; No other truths in this mad place."

One last ditch effort.

The crackle of his shock-knife burst through the air as he brought it up towards Alex's face. Michael was sure he saw Jon in the flashes as the room went from dark to light, dark to light. The blade shot fast. The blade pushed hard.

By the end of it, Michael wasn't the only one screaming.
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Alex shot back, sparks shooting out of his skull as the shock-knife lodged in his left eye. Michael could do nothing but watch as he seized, then froze. Alex curled up, arms raised above him like a killed spider. Michael's shock knife slowly ticked out, as the crackling faded. The room got quiet fast. All Mike could focus on was that quietness, and the small portions of smoke wafting around Alex.

Michael stood up and reached in his coat pocket. He pulled out the severed finger that's been lying in there for four days now.

He looked down at Alex.

"R-remember when I said I'd make you taste hell?"

He looked down at the severed finger, before tossing it towards Alex's body.

"Well, here's your dessert, fucker..."

That was it then. It was petty. But it was what it was. All of that build up. All of that shit, hyping yourself up. And for what? Good job Hero! You did it! Victory! You are triumphant! This is supposed to feel good, right?


It didn't though. Not really. To be quite honest, he didn't really feel much right now, outside of the obvious.

Really though. What did he accomplish? Was he supposed to walk out that door, all his injuries would just melt away? Hell, barring that, would Darius, Jerry, Jon, and the rest of them just be standing there, congratulating him? Darius would probably say some weeaboo memeshit about the face-gash first thing. "Holy shit Mike, you look like Devilman hurrdehurr." And you know what? Mike would be fine with it. Why? Because some injury is better than all his friends being dead, right?

But that won't happen. Hell, at best, he's gonna walk back into Will. Smug ol' Will, with his big ol' gun. "I stole your kill fucker" would be the only thing he gave him, before the bastard blew his skull apart.

Really, did he feel like a hero? A winner? Maybe. He dangled an underclassman off a bell tower after binding and waterboarding him and used a girl as a human shield. That's pretty heroic right? He got the first person he met killed by being all theatrical and not just finishing the job. He spent five fucking days wandering around like an idiot, watching everyone die, pretending he was doing something productive, when he really wasn't.

Hey! You hear the story about the dumb-shit named Mike who thought he knew shit but really didn't know any fuckin' thing at all? Oh-hoho~ It's a good one!

That's really all there was to it.

It was all just kid shit.

Just some idiot kid playing pretend. Same way Alex was pretending he bought into that shit Danya preached about. Yeah motherfucker, I know, I saw you hesitate, I saw that look in your eye before I popped it right out... How long'd it take? Five fucking days to finally kill someone, only to realize you never actually wanted to do it?

You hesitated with Nancy, you could've caught up to Brendan, but you didn't. Coulda' swung at Jeremy, he was close enough. Woulda' been a double if you had the ambition to stomp Alex's skull in afterwords. If you really wanted Al dead, you wouldn't have dragged him from the asylum roof to the bell tower would you? You definitely wouldn't have done shit to the Dr. Seuss death squad in the church, at least you were aware you were bluffing then.

You coulda' did a lot of shit, but you didn't. Face it, you couldn't have done what you promised. Hell, it's only blind luck you got Alex. He hesitated just slightly longer than you. That's all it amounted too. You both knew you had to swing, and one of you just had to do it first.

How'd we get here? Me and you Alex? We just met playing paintball in an abandoned field. How'd we get to playing pretend in a game of death. Honest fucking question. What happened to us? How did we fuck up this bad? He wasn't even that bad of a dude. Sure, he could see Isabel coming from a mile away, and twitchy Alvaro was always on the brink of doing a pumped up kicks number, regardless of SOTF. But Alex? Nah. Alex was alright. He even asked if Michael was okay when he took that paintball in the nads, while Jon was apologizing his little heart out. If it were Darius he'd ask Jon to do it again because he wasn't recording.

So here he was. He was alive, Alex was dead. Nothing gained, a lot lost.

Michael didn't even bother to pick up any of the weapons on the ground as he limped out. He wasn't gonna use them anyways.

There was no point. It was all pointless. It didn't matter. Playtime's over.

It's time to grow up.

((Michael Crowe continued elsewhere))
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