Karma Chameleon

[ItzToxie]

(( Michael Crowe continued from This World Belongs to the Mad ))

Michael dragged his way up the stairs towards the asylum rooftop. Man this was a shitty day. He hadn't remembered the last time he'd been outside. He's spent way to long in that shithole, he needed some fresh air. He looked behind him, down the stairwell, and noticed the rather obvious trail of blood he was leaving. If Alex and his Droog wanted to hunt him, they'd have no trouble. He figured now would be the best time to hurry up and fix his hand.

He pushed the door out of the way, before bolting the handle shut with his axe. Maybe not the smartest choice, but nobody would sneak up on him. He turned around and man, was it still dark. The sun was in the distance, but it was dark as shit outside. Michael took his sunglasses off.

Oh, no it was not. It was still dawn, but it was a lot brighter than he'd thought. He had just realized he'd been wearing the things all night. Shit, imagine if he took them off at night, he'd be like a bat. Could fucking see all sorts of shi- "Augh!"

The tip of his glasses poked him in the stump where his pinky used to be as if to remind him. Task at hand motherfucker! Task at hand...

He moved around the corner of the stairwell, staying just behind the door. Anyone walked through, it'd mean shock knife ambush for them. He pulled out the first aid kit, looking through it's contents. He pulled his pinkey finger out of his coat pocket and examined it. Yeah... no way it would come back on. No reason for saving it either, all it was now was a damn paperweight. He still put it back in his pocket anyways, when he fucked Alex's shit up, he'd make him eat it. When he'd eventually shit it back up, Michael would make him eat it again, then kill him... Yeah, fuck that chode. Fucking shit-licker.

So... How in the fuck was he gonna do this. He couldn't just wrap it up and hope it'd stop bleeding, he'd have to close it some how. There was a lighter and some hand sanitizer...

"Fuck me, this is gonna sting like a bitch..." He looked over at his hand. And that wasn't even going to be the worst part... There was exposed bone, just sticking out. He'd have to get that out of the way if he wanted to fix it as proper as you could fix shit like this. This is fucking Third-world shit man, and he was from the First! Some grade A medieval doctor-y shit! How was he gonna get the bone out?!

Tweezers? Maybe scissors... "Let's uhhh.... Let's try the scissors first. Yeah..."

He picked them up with his left hand, and pointed them to his right. It'll be like a chicken bone, it'll snap right off, it would only hurt for a moment... He closed the blades around the bone-

"OOOHHH HOOO HOO, FUCK!" Michael's feet kicked at the ground below him! He didn't even close in yet! He just touched it holy shit this fucking hurts like a son of a fuck on flying fuckbuddy day what the fuuuuuuuck! He let off and looked up, inhaling and exhaling deeply. Just getting started, and he already wanted to give up. Damn dude. Okay, attempt numero dos.

Open scissors. Surround bone. Close scissors. On the count of three... Okay, one- "AUUUUGH FUCK WHY ISN'T IT WORKING, GAHDDAMMIT!" Michael screamed as the blades ground against bone. That was supposed to work! He fucking tricked himself and everything with the counting! That only works if you get someone else to do it, Mikey... Fuck off!

He tossed the scissors to the side and looked at the bone. All he did was indent it. Okay, tweezer time. Yank it off like a chicken bone. That's all it is, a chicken bone. The tweezers clamped around it. He moaned in pain.

Just yank it off, like a chicken bone, you know how chicken bones break, hell you eat a lot of chicken, that's why you still haven't lost that third half-tire- "UWAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHNNNN FUUUUUU-HUUUU-HUUUUU-UUCCCK!" This is not like a chicken bone at all brain! You lied, you fucking lied you dick, it's like a fucking tooth, oh my God what the fuck!

His arm jerked left and right before a odd crack like sound echoed in his ears. There was a sudden surge, then numbness. Michael pulled the tweezers up, and saw the little bone in it. Victory you fuckers!

Michael's head leaned back against the wall, all he could do was laugh.  He looked towards the camera staring at him, getting all those juicy details in.

"Laugh it up you fuh-fuckers, oh you rat bastard fucks... I'ma- I'ma put these tweezers in your dick, you- you- ah fuck, you're lucky I can't think of a-anything right now, aheh... Aheh..."

Halfway done, take a breather, halfway there... Cauterzemize it, then bandyaids. Yeah. Something like that. He grabbed the lighter, and the hand sanitizer. This will do.

Famous last words.

He angled his hand under the bottle, lighter in hand on top. In one quick go, he'll drop a blob of cleaning material that burns already, then bring his arm down to actually burn it.

He deciding against hyping himself up this time, instead opting to just breath and do it. It...didn't really help. He hissed like a pissed off cat as the cleaning fluid landed in the stump. One flick of his finger later, it glowed like a ball of light.

To say this was the loudest Michael has ever screamed is an understatement. To say it was the loudest scream on the island? Also an understatement. To say you could probably hear it all the way from the bell tower? Probably pretty plausible.

--- --- ---

Michael woke up a few hours later after bandaging himself up. That was... Most certainly the worst experience of his life. The announcements caught him off guard.

All in all, he expected everything he heard. People killed people. Isabel and Nancy killed more people. Brendan's a fucking rat, yada yada yada. There were however, two things that did catch him off guard.

One was Kimiko and her killing of Brad. That fucking bitch was next on the list. Michael tilted his head in a moment of silence for both him and Jerry.

The second was Brendan getting rewarded for being a coward ass bitch. Michael was gonna push that reward straight up Brendan's nose next time he saw him.

Time to get back to it then. He'd have to change his tactics up a bit. No more talking, just do it. Get it done.

He pulled himself up off the ground, dusted himself off, took a moment to adjust his hair, put his shades back on, finally, after the long self inflicted preparation montage, he grabbed his axe and walked back in the asylum.

(( Michael Crowe continued elsewhere))