((GM'ing approved by Lore))
Jerry finally swung. Three little paps hit Michael, followed by even littler Sorrys, and goshs, with a surprising lack of Golly Gee Willickers. Michael backed away, his arms raising. The hits hurt, well not really, small stinging little hits that were just pathetic, like a sixth grader punching or some shit. "Ay chill out a moment..." Jerry had stopped punching.
"Dude, what the fuck was that?!" Michael found himself laughing at what unfolded. Was that really his best? "Caaahhm aaaahn man! You gotta be able to hit harder than that man, wouldn't be able to put that spear of yours through a stick of butter punchin' like that!" That was pathetic but Jerry looked pissed as shit with Michael laughing at him, maybe he should give him another chance?
"Alrighty, I'm sorry, you were probably warmin' up or some shit, you wanted to see if I was serious enough, I get it." Michael hopped in place again. "Okay, this time for real, hit me as hard as yo-" Jerry cut him off with a quick jab just under the center of his chest. To say it hurt was an understatement. To say he didn't expect it was an understatement. To say it winded him, well, it was also an understatement. To say it floored him, well that too was also an understatement. To say his tongue and eyes bulged out as he rolled onto his back wheezing? Not too much of an understatement...
"G-gimme a moment, f-fuck." He rolled over, coughing. He coughed and gagged as he almost lost his lunch then and there. "H-help me up." He could hear Jerry quietly laugh under his breath, the bastard. He probably faked those punches to get Michael with the good one. Fucking Jerry and his fucking sneaky ballet-ninja tricks. Jerry asked if Michael was alright, so maybe he didn't intend to hit him that hard. Michael replied with a simple alright. "That was good, hit like that from now on."
As he stood up, he took one last breath in to make sure he recovered, before turning around and elbowing Jerry right in the nose. Michael grinned and spoke, his voice still a bit hoarse. "Or hit like this..." Michael went closer to Jerry, asking him if he was alright. They were even right now, shot for shot, tit for tat, they both knew how hard the other could hit, they could stop there, but that would've been too good to have been true, Michael didn't know he'd awoken the beast that is Jerry Larkin. Michael should have known something was up when Jerry started laughing. He certainly knew when his back smashed against a nearby jeep, with Jerry's fists smashing against his face. Oh now it's on...
Michael shoved Jerry back, and ducked the next swing Jerry gave. He followed through with a quick punch to the gut, followed by his own flurry of punches. Jerry's arm swung out and caught Michael right in the side of the jaw, sending him stumbling to the left. Michael yelled out "That's the spirit motherfucker! Hit me in my fuckin' face you bitch!" as Jerry bum-rushed him. Jerry attempted a tackle, but Michael caught him, sending an elbow into his back before tumbling him to the side. Normally, he didn't hit people on the ground, let alone someone friendly, but these were different circumstances, Jerry had also tried to knock him on the floor with that tackle after all. He grabbed Jerry's shirt with one arm and began pounding on him with the other, before Jerry swung his own arm out, hitting Michael right in the dick. He stumbled back, lamenting the fact he didn't have a tire codpiece to protect him as Jerry got up and rushed him again...
--- --- ---
It was now day 2, Jerry and Michael were sitting outside the vehicle depot, bruised and bloodied. Michael stared at his face through the reflection of his sunglasses, boy did he look like shit. His hair was every which way, black eye, cut on his cheek, swollen lip. He looked over at Jerry, who had his own battle scars, black eye, knots on the forehead, a bloody nose, yep, Jerry wasn't looking too much better. Their clothing was also rather worn and covered with dirt as well. Michael's eyes trailed along his blue aloha shirt as he searched his bag for food. "You ruined my favorite shirt, ya' jerk..." He heard Jerry laugh, and to be honest, he laughed with him.
There wasn't any ill will about the fight. It was practice, and there was that guarantee the rest of the island was gonna hurt a lot worse. Besides, if you could fight someone like that, then sit by them for the rest of the night, you knew there was trust somewhere. He'd forgotten to eat his packed lunch before the trip, so now he had to deal with a soggy PB&J sandwich, lukewarm Gatorade, and a small bag of spicy Cheetos. It's still better than soggy ration bars, lukewarm water, and dry crackers though. He finished the sandwich, it wasn't too bad, flavor was still good, it was just that the texture was just off, before taking a drink of his Gatorade. He opened the Cheetos, before looking over to Jerry. Did he have anything to eat? Well, barring the tasteless shit the terrorists gave, should have at least gave them something with flavor for Christ's sake. Maybe he should offer him the Cheetos?
"Ey, you got anything to eat?"
70's Horror Movies
tagging toxie (pm for entry)
Jerry was looking like a mess, felt like shit, and the grogginess in his body didn't make him feel any better. He wanted to go back to sleep, even though his ''bed'' was nothing more than a couple of tires. With all of this things combined, he couldn't care about eating.
Actually, he didn't care about anything. Everything felt numb. Whether it was the stress or the awakening, he didn't like it.
His body, especially his arms and chest, ached from the punches he gave and the punches he received. He didn't want to check under his shirt in fear of finding a yellowish-purple bruise. He was pretty he had more than one, but he rather not know about it.
His throat was asking for water, so Jerry gave some to it right away. With the dryness washed off, he felt able to answer Michael's questions,
"I guess we have the same thing. I didn't bring any snacks."
With the small talk done, Jerry could pass to the serious business of planning ahead. Planning where they'd go, what they'd do, if they wanted to find someone.
He opened his mouth, about to ask his first question when the announcement started.
The dead manifested themselves in front of his face, and one in particular stood out of the rest.
Scarlett.
"Fuck."
Actually, he didn't care about anything. Everything felt numb. Whether it was the stress or the awakening, he didn't like it.
His body, especially his arms and chest, ached from the punches he gave and the punches he received. He didn't want to check under his shirt in fear of finding a yellowish-purple bruise. He was pretty he had more than one, but he rather not know about it.
His throat was asking for water, so Jerry gave some to it right away. With the dryness washed off, he felt able to answer Michael's questions,
"I guess we have the same thing. I didn't bring any snacks."
With the small talk done, Jerry could pass to the serious business of planning ahead. Planning where they'd go, what they'd do, if they wanted to find someone.
He opened his mouth, about to ask his first question when the announcement started.
The dead manifested themselves in front of his face, and one in particular stood out of the rest.
Scarlett.
"Fuck."
Well shit, Jerry had nothing on him except the piled together gristle from one's un-brushed teeth into a brick you'd call an energy bar. Michael figured it was time to be a good samaritan.
"Ey, catch!"
Michael lobbed the small bag of spicy Cheeto's into Jerry's lap. "Keep 'em man, you earned the fuckers." Jerry was gonna be a good teammate. Sure, neither of them had guns, but both of them were tough motherfuckers. They had this game, they had it by the balls if they wanted to play it. IF they wanted to play it. The two of them being rational, average, well adjusted, non-batshit human beings, decided against it. Their plan was simple; find their friends, take down anyone wanting to get them got, and see how far it takes them. They were going to stick with it.
Michael put his comb through his hair before staring at his reflection again through his glasses. Despite being a bit bruised up, his beautiful visage was still top tier nine out of ten material, face and hair gonna get him paid and laid baby. This island won't take that one from him. He blew a kiss at his reflection before putting his shades back on. After all, he didn't get this pretty from losing fights did he?
"So in a bit, you uhh, you wanna look for your pals or..." The click of the announcements interrupted him. As if the stars aligned, Mars turned blue, Hell froze over, and Cthulhu took a shit, it seemed for a single moment in a millennia, Michael became quiet. No mouth, all ears. Something about an And I must Scream, or some other Harlan Ellison bullshit. He payed attention to the names, the names of the deceased, the names of the killers, the names of his friends that thankfully didn't appear. The victims from what little he knew of were all good kids. Nothing remarkable, sports team people, quiet people, acquaintances and that jazz. Damn shame it happened to them, but better them than him. The killers on the other hand...
Little stutterfuck Alvaro of all people got himself a kill. Apparently he pushed 'Big Black' off of a cliff or something. Weren't the two friends? Damn, that's fucked up... Michael mentally chalked Alvaro's name into the 'people who kill to see what it feels like' category. He knew Alvaro was 'out there' but that? Damn, couldn't emphasize how fucked killing a friend like that was. Jasmine Reed and Nancy Kyle both killed people. Two of the weeb warriors were already killing people. Well shit, at least Michael can take pride in knowing Darius wasn't one of them. The question was how'd the weebs go at it. Self defense, or are they already trying to recreate some shitty tsundere crap or whatever the fuck body pillow bait Darius watched.
That Alex dude from the paintball battle? Shit didn't think he had it in him. Got that douchey British dude's girl too. She didn't deserve it. Michael could write that one up as a 'possibly self defense'. Maybe Will tried some shit and used Rea as a shield or something. Wouldn't surprise Mike one bit. Rich British snobs are always assholes. Still, Rea didn't deserve it, wrong place, wrong time. Chances were Rea wasn't with Will. He was on the fence on that one. If he saw him, he'd ask.
Class president got someone then got himself got. Yeah, figured there'd be at least one of those. But it wasn't revenge, considering who his killer was. Isabel fuckin' Ramirez. Call Michael bad, sure you wouldn't be wrong, he was loud and loved to swing fists, but Isabel was a whole 'nother ball game. Massive bitch, hates damn near everyone, probably puts hamsters into socks then swings them around like nunchucks for fun... Could chalk her into the 'kill to see what it feels like' except she got two on day one, and probably not in the same time period. He had a feeling he'd hear her name a lot. Y'know what? Fuck it, put her in the 'Kill on sight' list. Don't think anyone would judge too much if her name popped up because of his name.
He looked at the dirt below him. He still had his spirits, Jerry still had his spirits, right. They'd be fine. Michael glanced over, and from the look on Jerry's face, he realized that Jerry was in fact not fine. Michael wasn't really concerned about the list until just now. Someone Jerry knew had died. Ah shit... Michael's perpetual grin faded into a look of concern. This wasn't good, his new friend just lost an old friend. And old friends? Nothing was more important than them, except for family if you had a good one. He knew right away Jerry wasn't alright, but he wasn't quite sure what else he could ask him. He didn't know Jerry all too well to know which of his friends died. Maybe it was that one of his friends killed someone. He had to ask, but he had to say the right thing.
"Hey, man, you uhh, you alright?"
"Ey, catch!"
Michael lobbed the small bag of spicy Cheeto's into Jerry's lap. "Keep 'em man, you earned the fuckers." Jerry was gonna be a good teammate. Sure, neither of them had guns, but both of them were tough motherfuckers. They had this game, they had it by the balls if they wanted to play it. IF they wanted to play it. The two of them being rational, average, well adjusted, non-batshit human beings, decided against it. Their plan was simple; find their friends, take down anyone wanting to get them got, and see how far it takes them. They were going to stick with it.
Michael put his comb through his hair before staring at his reflection again through his glasses. Despite being a bit bruised up, his beautiful visage was still top tier nine out of ten material, face and hair gonna get him paid and laid baby. This island won't take that one from him. He blew a kiss at his reflection before putting his shades back on. After all, he didn't get this pretty from losing fights did he?
"So in a bit, you uhh, you wanna look for your pals or..." The click of the announcements interrupted him. As if the stars aligned, Mars turned blue, Hell froze over, and Cthulhu took a shit, it seemed for a single moment in a millennia, Michael became quiet. No mouth, all ears. Something about an And I must Scream, or some other Harlan Ellison bullshit. He payed attention to the names, the names of the deceased, the names of the killers, the names of his friends that thankfully didn't appear. The victims from what little he knew of were all good kids. Nothing remarkable, sports team people, quiet people, acquaintances and that jazz. Damn shame it happened to them, but better them than him. The killers on the other hand...
Little stutterfuck Alvaro of all people got himself a kill. Apparently he pushed 'Big Black' off of a cliff or something. Weren't the two friends? Damn, that's fucked up... Michael mentally chalked Alvaro's name into the 'people who kill to see what it feels like' category. He knew Alvaro was 'out there' but that? Damn, couldn't emphasize how fucked killing a friend like that was. Jasmine Reed and Nancy Kyle both killed people. Two of the weeb warriors were already killing people. Well shit, at least Michael can take pride in knowing Darius wasn't one of them. The question was how'd the weebs go at it. Self defense, or are they already trying to recreate some shitty tsundere crap or whatever the fuck body pillow bait Darius watched.
That Alex dude from the paintball battle? Shit didn't think he had it in him. Got that douchey British dude's girl too. She didn't deserve it. Michael could write that one up as a 'possibly self defense'. Maybe Will tried some shit and used Rea as a shield or something. Wouldn't surprise Mike one bit. Rich British snobs are always assholes. Still, Rea didn't deserve it, wrong place, wrong time. Chances were Rea wasn't with Will. He was on the fence on that one. If he saw him, he'd ask.
Class president got someone then got himself got. Yeah, figured there'd be at least one of those. But it wasn't revenge, considering who his killer was. Isabel fuckin' Ramirez. Call Michael bad, sure you wouldn't be wrong, he was loud and loved to swing fists, but Isabel was a whole 'nother ball game. Massive bitch, hates damn near everyone, probably puts hamsters into socks then swings them around like nunchucks for fun... Could chalk her into the 'kill to see what it feels like' except she got two on day one, and probably not in the same time period. He had a feeling he'd hear her name a lot. Y'know what? Fuck it, put her in the 'Kill on sight' list. Don't think anyone would judge too much if her name popped up because of his name.
He looked at the dirt below him. He still had his spirits, Jerry still had his spirits, right. They'd be fine. Michael glanced over, and from the look on Jerry's face, he realized that Jerry was in fact not fine. Michael wasn't really concerned about the list until just now. Someone Jerry knew had died. Ah shit... Michael's perpetual grin faded into a look of concern. This wasn't good, his new friend just lost an old friend. And old friends? Nothing was more important than them, except for family if you had a good one. He knew right away Jerry wasn't alright, but he wasn't quite sure what else he could ask him. He didn't know Jerry all too well to know which of his friends died. Maybe it was that one of his friends killed someone. He had to ask, but he had to say the right thing.
"Hey, man, you uhh, you alright?"
Jerry felt like throwing up, vomiting everything he had in his stomach and emptying his body on the floor. The knot in his throat was choking him, he couldn't breath. The cat got his tongue and it wouldn't give it back, it kept it just close enough for Jerry to see but a little bit too far for him to reach. He slowly raised his hands to his face while his teeth chattered.
His voice was muted, put on an indefinite hold. As he tried to speak, only a quiet a moan left his body as the tears rained down. He wiped them off with his hands, bit his lips and squeezed his cheeks in an attempt to stop the tears and then he heard the buzzing again. This time however, the bugs were crying with him, they cried the death of Jerry's beloved. That last part may have been one-sided, or even just a crush, but that was the only thing that mattered.
There was only pain in Jerry, nothing else and then
the sadness in his heart was transformed to anger by the name of a girl.
Nancy Kyle.
His tears became napalm, they burned through his eyes and set a fire around him. The bugs were confused for a brief moment their host wasn't fighting them, and they decided to help Jerry. They didn't have much energy left, a lot of them escaped through his tears and moans and sobs and the rest was tired. They wanted to call it a day and go back to sleep, but the buzzing inside of Jerry was needed for his survival. Even though both Jerry and the bugs hated each other, they knew when to cooperate.
His anger evaporated his tears, they disappeared one last time with the wipe of his hands. Tthe bag of Cheetos that rubbed against his eyes wasn't the nicest feeling, but it did the job of quieting the tears.
He gathered up courage, he harvested it on the corpses of the deceased. He could see them, in front of him, he could see her.
He could see her talking.
He could see her smiling.
He could see her beaming.
He could see her happy.
He could see her corpse.
"If we find this Nancy chick," his voice was shaking from the anger, he was horrified about the thing he was about to say, "Please, let me kill her."
His voice was muted, put on an indefinite hold. As he tried to speak, only a quiet a moan left his body as the tears rained down. He wiped them off with his hands, bit his lips and squeezed his cheeks in an attempt to stop the tears and then he heard the buzzing again. This time however, the bugs were crying with him, they cried the death of Jerry's beloved. That last part may have been one-sided, or even just a crush, but that was the only thing that mattered.
There was only pain in Jerry, nothing else and then
the sadness in his heart was transformed to anger by the name of a girl.
Nancy Kyle.
His tears became napalm, they burned through his eyes and set a fire around him. The bugs were confused for a brief moment their host wasn't fighting them, and they decided to help Jerry. They didn't have much energy left, a lot of them escaped through his tears and moans and sobs and the rest was tired. They wanted to call it a day and go back to sleep, but the buzzing inside of Jerry was needed for his survival. Even though both Jerry and the bugs hated each other, they knew when to cooperate.
His anger evaporated his tears, they disappeared one last time with the wipe of his hands. Tthe bag of Cheetos that rubbed against his eyes wasn't the nicest feeling, but it did the job of quieting the tears.
He gathered up courage, he harvested it on the corpses of the deceased. He could see them, in front of him, he could see her.
He could see her talking.
He could see her smiling.
He could see her beaming.
He could see her happy.
He could see her corpse.
"If we find this Nancy chick," his voice was shaking from the anger, he was horrified about the thing he was about to say, "Please, let me kill her."
Michael stared as Jerry slowly lost his composure. He thought they were safe. Their friends were safe. Nothing would happen, and some expendable kids would die instead of them. This hit harder than anything. His partner was breaking down right now as his friend was killed by some fucking rando. All that shit of thinking the people they'd be fighting were just some faceless mooks for the show? All the names? Someone was linked to them. It didn't end on their death. Around this island, someone was mourning someone else. Someone was wandering around, killing people. It wouldn't just be randos killing randos, it were his classmates.
He remembered this was all recorded, live streamed, not only the people here would know, everyone else was watching, not just the sick fucks who jacked it to this shit, or the edgy kids who thought putting the John Cena theme over someone walking off a cliff was funny, or even the curious people who'd unwittingly found themselves in the worst part of the internet; no, it were the families at home watching their kids kill and be killed. Scarlett's family? They saw Nancy gut her more than likely. Nancy's family also saw the same thing.
That's the part that got him, not the actual death. Once it's over you got two places to go, it ain't the end, but for everyone else? They won't see you for a long while, if ever again, depending on their beliefs. You had to think about who'd witness it all.
Michael watched Jerry cry. There was nothing wrong with showing some emotions, but crying? It meant two things. You either gave up and felt sorry for yourself, or you manned up and got angry. Crying means you're either going to nut up, or shut up. Michael had watched Jerry, he saw him dry his tears and look up. He saw the look in his eye, he knew it too well, himself. He remembered that he'd made faces like that back in Tennessee, when he stopped crying for himself, and started getting angry. He knew his answer before Jerry gave the question.
Jerry had asked him to not kill Nancy, to save her for him. Michael nodded and stood up, helping Jerry up to his feet. " 'Course, I'll cripple the bitch, you skewer her..."
He hoped Nancy's family was watching. Hell, he hoped his own family was watching. He was gonna show the world what would happen to those coward rats like Nancy. He wanted to show the world that even here, he'd take no shit, that he wouldn't tolerate these little back stabbing fuckers, that he wasn't someone to be walked over. After Jerry killed her, they'd hang her body up from the bell tower so the island could see, so the world could see. So Danya would see...
" We'll make sure she'll regret that she ever lived, right?"
This wasn't just for him however, he knew Jerry needed this more than anything. If the same thing happened to Jonathan? Michael would ask him the same thing. You don't just make a pact and ask a man to kill for you if you needed him to, then not follow through with your own promise. Michael would never make one of his friends do something he wouldn't do. There was no point in saying 'no' now. Not after what the two have done already, what they've planned.
"After all, what're friends for?"
((Michael Crowe continued elsewhere.))
He remembered this was all recorded, live streamed, not only the people here would know, everyone else was watching, not just the sick fucks who jacked it to this shit, or the edgy kids who thought putting the John Cena theme over someone walking off a cliff was funny, or even the curious people who'd unwittingly found themselves in the worst part of the internet; no, it were the families at home watching their kids kill and be killed. Scarlett's family? They saw Nancy gut her more than likely. Nancy's family also saw the same thing.
That's the part that got him, not the actual death. Once it's over you got two places to go, it ain't the end, but for everyone else? They won't see you for a long while, if ever again, depending on their beliefs. You had to think about who'd witness it all.
Michael watched Jerry cry. There was nothing wrong with showing some emotions, but crying? It meant two things. You either gave up and felt sorry for yourself, or you manned up and got angry. Crying means you're either going to nut up, or shut up. Michael had watched Jerry, he saw him dry his tears and look up. He saw the look in his eye, he knew it too well, himself. He remembered that he'd made faces like that back in Tennessee, when he stopped crying for himself, and started getting angry. He knew his answer before Jerry gave the question.
Jerry had asked him to not kill Nancy, to save her for him. Michael nodded and stood up, helping Jerry up to his feet. " 'Course, I'll cripple the bitch, you skewer her..."
He hoped Nancy's family was watching. Hell, he hoped his own family was watching. He was gonna show the world what would happen to those coward rats like Nancy. He wanted to show the world that even here, he'd take no shit, that he wouldn't tolerate these little back stabbing fuckers, that he wasn't someone to be walked over. After Jerry killed her, they'd hang her body up from the bell tower so the island could see, so the world could see. So Danya would see...
" We'll make sure she'll regret that she ever lived, right?"
This wasn't just for him however, he knew Jerry needed this more than anything. If the same thing happened to Jonathan? Michael would ask him the same thing. You don't just make a pact and ask a man to kill for you if you needed him to, then not follow through with your own promise. Michael would never make one of his friends do something he wouldn't do. There was no point in saying 'no' now. Not after what the two have done already, what they've planned.
"After all, what're friends for?"
((Michael Crowe continued elsewhere.))
Before leaving, Jeremiah "Jerry" Larkin decided to watch the place around him, looking crooked and pale. Rather than feeling ill, he felt like he grew roots and he was now engrained. Each of his thoughts were about his revenge and his anger toward Nancy, he felt the hate boiling inside of him. Nothing matter other than the anguish inside of him. Donning a mask, he didn't respond to Michael either. After all, he didn't have to reveal his plan. Nobody could reach him since he was lost in the midst of his thoughts, exploring a world far away from the island, or even the world.
Without a light, the place he explored wasn't a nice one, it was filled with corpses and suffering. It wasn't pretty, nothing was good, everything was rotten to the core. Idealizing the earth, the one that died a long time ago, the one who died quietly in night, he shaped it back up. Laborers dug and constructed mansions. Lovers spread the word about their new hero.
Killjoys showed the real face of Jerry, the real him. ''I didn't think he was like that,'' said many of the lovers and laborers of the new world. Liars decided to bring up the dirt on his shoes, pointing the vile thoughts he had. Ladies of the night enticed Jerry back into the pain of the game, leaving him numb and crying in the bath as he thought about the deads and the losts.
He was now covered in the blood of his victims, yet he stood in the world he shaped. ''I'm sorry,'' he begged to his victims. Many didn't know how to react before the blades fell unto them, before the bullets pierced them, before the hands fed on the air in their throats.
He did it to survive. But in the world he shaped, no-one treated him as the winner. They all treated him as the biggest loser. They either pitied him or feared him. Jerry hated both them, so he removed them from his life. Then he went for the people that adored him, the ones spreading pictures, videos, interviews of him. He made them leave.
Last, he decided to exile out the ones that didn't care, the ones that were indifferent to him,
(Jerry left the set)
and when he was over, God's sentinel was on its way toward him.
Without a light, the place he explored wasn't a nice one, it was filled with corpses and suffering. It wasn't pretty, nothing was good, everything was rotten to the core. Idealizing the earth, the one that died a long time ago, the one who died quietly in night, he shaped it back up. Laborers dug and constructed mansions. Lovers spread the word about their new hero.
Killjoys showed the real face of Jerry, the real him. ''I didn't think he was like that,'' said many of the lovers and laborers of the new world. Liars decided to bring up the dirt on his shoes, pointing the vile thoughts he had. Ladies of the night enticed Jerry back into the pain of the game, leaving him numb and crying in the bath as he thought about the deads and the losts.
He was now covered in the blood of his victims, yet he stood in the world he shaped. ''I'm sorry,'' he begged to his victims. Many didn't know how to react before the blades fell unto them, before the bullets pierced them, before the hands fed on the air in their throats.
He did it to survive. But in the world he shaped, no-one treated him as the winner. They all treated him as the biggest loser. They either pitied him or feared him. Jerry hated both them, so he removed them from his life. Then he went for the people that adored him, the ones spreading pictures, videos, interviews of him. He made them leave.
Last, he decided to exile out the ones that didn't care, the ones that were indifferent to him,
(Jerry left the set)
and when he was over, God's sentinel was on its way toward him.