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You thought it was Kimiko but it was me, Jerry!
Topic Started: Apr 6 2017, 03:06 AM (1,479 Views)
MK Kilmarnock
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((Jerry Fury continued from Let the Darkness Flow Through You))

"Aaaaaah shit, he's ripe!"

Jerry stepped away from the bushes holding his nose and looking more than a little green in the face. "Dude's got... dude's got nothin' on him. Fuuuuuuuck, man! FUCKING CHRIST, Bradley!" He interrupted his own shouting by doubling over and placing his hands on his knees. They were shaking and weak, and he could feel sweat dripping onto his palms. "It's like... shit-covered cheese, that's what it smells like!" He said through quivering jaws. His self-conjured imagery was enough to make his stomach turn completely over, and Jerry wasn't one hundred percent sure what he was puking onto the ground just beside the path that lead into the gym, but it sure as hell wasn't mother's spaghetti.

"Ugh... somebody hand me some water?" He gasped, holding his hand out expectantly. "This was a total fucking wash, coming this way. Whose idea even was this?"
Edited by MK Kilmarnock, Apr 6 2017, 03:15 AM.
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MK Kilmarnock
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"Okay, seriously, can we STOP puking!?" Jerry growled. "Thanks," he uttered under his breath while taking the bottle of water that Matt had offered to him. He loosened the cap and did away with it by shoving it into his pocket, figuring that he'd likely take the bottle in its entirety in a few chugs or so. "Let's just back the fuck up, baaaaaack the fuck up," Jerry said in almost a chant, ushering the group away from the entrance to the gym. Just as well he did that, because there was another body in the doorway that he hadn't paid much of a close mind to, and she likely wasn't smelling like a rose garden either.

"Well, soooooooorry that I couldn't manage to find us a weapons cache up Bradley's asshole," Jerry griped. "It only makes sense that nobody's gonna have anything good on them, because whoever's killing them keeps taking it! So here we are with a pipe and a knife and a meat shield named Bart," Jerry said while throwing his head at Barty McPukeGut's way. "We need to start thinking about how far we're going to get. You get that, don't you? Between the three of us here, who's actually, literally KILLED people in order to get what we all want?"

Jerry straightened up, finishing another swig of water. "Thanks for the fucking drink by the way. Keeping me alive is in your interest, because I'M the dude with the knife. I'M the dude with the pipe. I'm the guy that kicked Trav's ass, whose got the experience and the know-how to take on anybody left alive here!"
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MK Kilmarnock
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"Nooooo no no no. No."

Jerry waggled a finger.

"No."

Jerry shook his head.

"No no."

He tapped his foot.

"No, sir. No."

Jerry had come up close to Matt, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief. His breath still reeked of vomit; he could tell himself, because he could still taste it, but that wasn't going to let him stop from getting close to him when the dude called this situation onto himself. "I know you didn't just call yourself the brains after that. Think I'm just dumb muscle, like I'm the guy you direct to do your dirty work? I'm Jesse Ventura and you're my Bobby Heenan?"

Jerry jabbed a finger into Matt's sternum but, sadly, he wasn't falling over like Kevin Nash did that one time. "And what, you're the brilliant schemer and when all's said and done, you're gonna try and kill us, right? Good fucking luck, Matt! Your gun isn't even loaded!"
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"Bartman, look," Jerry peppered the sentiment with an eye roll, his glance coming to a rest on the well-meaning but, as far as he was concerned, incredibly stupid kid getting between them. "You can either move that hand or I can cut off your fingers, capiche?" To make his point, Jerry's hand was already sliding into his pocket. His eyes hadn't come off of that gun. The way Matt was holding that... that wasn't how you held a gun to shoot somebody. Besides, Jerry knew the thing wasn't loaded. He was willing, but only barely, to give Matt enough credit and assume that he knew that he knew that he knew that he knew the damn thing wasn't loaded.

Jerry finished tallying the 'he knows that I know' count while drawing the switchblade. No time to savor the little 'FWIP' of the blade popping out; he had to cut straight to the good part, sneering at Matt. "Don't do this to yourself, dude. You're letting your alligator mouth run away with your hummingbird ass and if you keep fucking PUSHING me..."

It was louder than Jerry wanted to be, but his barely-constrained-frustration had pushed through the curtain to become outward rage at that one word, that one instance of 'pushing'. He held the knife up threateningly.

"You know how they like to make jokes about bringing a knife to a gun fight or lame, unoriginal shit like that?" Jerry asked. He couldn't see his own face, but he imagined his eyes were bugging out about the same way that one of his favorite wrestlers, Edge, would when getting particularly worked up. "How about when the gun doesn't have any bullets? But I'M never out of ammo!"
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"... What the fuck is that noise?"

Jerry's threatening efforts towards Matt were interrupted by the roar of an approaching engine. ... The roar of an approaching engine?

Here!?

Jerry damn near felt his eyelids turning themselves inside out from them widening in confusion, shock, surprise, and any other adjective you might have been able to stuff in there for, when he turned, he saw a fully operational vehicle speeding his way. The scenario presented before him was one that raised many, many questions and hurled an entire table of information at the wall, none of which stuck with his brain in the mere fractions of a second he had to try and react to and process what he was seeing. If he was able to fully verbalize the thought processes that scrambled around in his skull at that moment, it might have come out something like...

"What in the world? Where the hell did they find a vehicle like that on a dilapidated island like this? I was so close to breaking down Matt! I had this in the bag, damn it! I had this in the bag! Who's even in that thing and, most importantly, where. The hell. Did they find a goddamn JEEP!?

Of course, Jerry Fury didn't actually get the chance to say all that. Instead, it came out more like

"WWWREEEEEEEEEEE-!!"


And then Jerry Fury died of A.I.D.S. (Automotive Impact-Derived Stress).


B019 - Fury, Jeremiah "Jerry": DELETED


Jerry had helpfully given himself some lift by jumping straight up purely on instinct, causing much of the Jeep's initial impact to strike him in the waist and legs. He flipped over, his back slamming into the windshield and launching up, over the topside of the vehicle while tumbling through the air. He was dead before he hit the ground.

His dayback had been burst wide open, dispersing the contents in a wide spread around the area. A metal tin clattered to the ground while a few empty cellophane wrappers fluttered on the wind. The switchblade had gone off flying somewhere, the blade cleanly snapped off and stuck somewhere in the vehicle's grill while the metal pipe he had managed to lift off of Alan spun several meters away - bent, but still usable.

That left the corpse of Jerry himself; his legs were turned in impossible directions, his head attached only in the loosest sense of the word. The skin held it on just fine, but the spinal column and nearly all of the supporting muscles had been torn and severed. The resulting bruising was mercilessly covered by the collar around this throat, at least for the time being, eyes open and seeing nothing.

If Jerry were alive and able to comment on such a scene, he probably would have said something insensitive like:

'Now that's what I call a shocking swerve!'
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