(( Michael Crowe continued from Karma Chameleon
Michael stared at his bandaged hand as he walked away from the asylum. The pain had simmered down to a dull ache, and now all he could do was contemplate the fact that he was missing one of his digits.
It was kind of interesting in a weird way, he could still feel it. Not in the sense that the stump hurt, coz' it still did, it stung like a bitch if he accidentally touches something with it, but outside of that, it still felt like his pinky was still there. Like he could wiggle it, close it, all that shit that a normal pinky does. He could feel it still there, even if it wasn't there.
He placed his axe underneath his arm as he tried to see if he could touch his other hand with his ghost finger. He didn't really feel anything on either side. His pinky obviously went through his hand, but neither one could feel each other. He felt himself wiggle his ghost back and forth.
Man, this was so fuckin' weird...
He looked up and saw a chapel in front of him. Knowing how much of a dick Irony was, one of the big killers were hiding out here. He laid his axe upon his shoulder and walked towards it, imagining some dramatic fight with Holy Diver
playing in the background. The Dio
one, not the shitty Killswitch Engage
He stopped outside the doorway, and looked at his reflection through one of the stained glass windows. Shit he needs to fix his hair. His revenge conquest had to wait a moment, as he pulled his comb out and got to work.
He overheard a commotion within the chapel, something about "speaking up or gee-tee-eff-oh'ing". If there were people in there, maybe they could also tell him the whereabouts of people on his shit list.
Well, that was his cue.
He pressed his foot against the door, and opened it with the laziest of kicks. After all, who needs arms with legs like these, right?
It was casual enough to not be over-dramatic, but dramatic enough to not be boring. It meant he could totally stomp the door open if he wanted to, but he didn't really feel like it. He treated it like kicking doors open was an everyday occurrence for him. He had made his appearance known, he had shown that he had no fucks to give, he had shown that...
Oh shit he fucked up.
Crybaby with a pickaxe to his right. Mall goth with a crossbow to his front. Two more people a little ways ahead of him.
No matter his position, he was right in the kill zone. He done goof'd. He could only stand there silently after announcing his big entrance, just staring at them staring at him.
There was two options now, back out slowly, live, but look like a bitch. Then there was stand your ground, still look like a bitch, but less of one, and probably die.
This wasn't a movie, the smart option was option one.
Michael stared blankly before speaking up.
"Fuck y'all lookin' at?"
He hadn't learned from the various other times he had picked option two.