Post by convict on Feb 5, 2007 12:08:44 GMT -5
[glow=red,2,300]Time 10 minutes after the first Side Effect[/glow]
I’m making my way down on of the endless hallways to the damn locker room, everything is blurry, damn blood is in my eyes from a fuckin cut from Gein. Stupid medical staff trying to get me to sit down and get some stitches. Dumb fucks will never realize it’s not gonna happen. I don’t care about my looks. They should be going to check on Gein…god knows the pretty boy is worse off then I am, he’s bleeding and his pride is fuckin with him after that lose. I am really starting to get pissed at this fuckin doctor.
Doctor: Sir, you need medical attention.
Convict: Fuck off Doc, its only blood.
Doctor: Sir, you are running the risk of serious medical complications if you don’t stop sit down and let me look at those wounds you received.
That’s the last straw for me, I always did have a short temper, I spin around and my hand is already around his throat, his staff stops their eyes wide, but his are scarred, I can feel him grasping for air as my hand slowly squeezes around his throat. Panic sets in he tries to break my grip. Fuckin pitiful really. I bring him in close, he’s never been manhandled the way he is right now.
Convict: I said fuck off, don’t make me repeat myself for a third time…if I do…you won’t be around much longer afterwards.
I stare into his eyes…He’s knows I’m serious. I glance down, and watch the puddle of fluid build and soak into his white pants. I grin at him as I release him, he gets the message…they all do eventually. I turn and continue to my locker room, I lock the door to keep anyone else from interrupting what I need to do.
I sit down on a bench next to my locker and face a mirror. I see my reflection in it. Fuckin blood everywhere…and I swear to go there are two of me in the mirror staring back. I reach into my locker and pull out a staple gun…Doc did say I needed stitches, and I figure staples are a hell of a lot better then string. I tell myself this will hurt a little…I lay the staple gun on the bench in front of me and pull out a bottle of Jack Daniels…my one and only true friend…the kind that never leaves you. I down about half the bottle then pour the rest onto my head. I pick up the staple gun, and place it next to the cut on my head. I pull the trigger on it, and the staple goes ripping into my flesh and bone. It hurts…but fuck it pain is only temporary. I continue putting in about eight more staples into the cut. Then grab a bottle of superglue. I pour it into the cut sealing the wound tight. It will hold.
Where the hell did my meds go? Fuck they were just hear a while ago before my match…that’s when I notice the next card for Side Effect taped to my locker. Fuck someone must have taken my medication…maybe that’s why he is staring at me in the mirror.
Convict: Look at you.
Convict: What the fuck do you want with me now?
Convict: What do I want? The same god damn thing I always want for us.
Convict: And what is that cum stain?
Convict: I want you to stop being the fuckin puppet…I want you to take back control.
Convict: The last time I did that…we ended back up in prison…or did you forget that part.
Convict: We ended up in prison because you stopped the fuckin getaway car to have a shootout with the S.W.A.T. team dumbass.
Convict: I DID THAT BECAUSE YOU TOLD ME TO GO DOWN THAT STREET…IT WAS A FUCKIN DEAD END!
Convict: No need for a shouting match…regardless we did kill us a few pigs.
We both fuckin laugh at the remark…God how I hate this prick…always pushing me…always hiding in the shadows and coming when I least expect him to…damn the room is starting to spin.
Convict: So what are you going to do about this new one?
Convict: Who…Genocide?
Convict: Who else would I talk about?
Convict: I don’t know yet…I’ll figure something out.
My vision starts to narrow in…and then everything gets dark.
[glow=red,2,300]Time Two Days Ago[/glow]
I exit the arena after a work out and that’s when it hits me…I see some punk ass kid standing in line with a Genocide shirt on. He’s purchasing tickets. I walk up to him, and he looks me up and down then says some smart ass remark.
Genocide Fan: My Boy Geno is gonna plant you with a Genodriver bitch.
Convict: That a fact? Hey I tell you what kid…how would you like two front row tickets to see your boy Genocide in action?
The kids expression says it all…he bought it…to bad…the kid may have been a president or some shit like that some day…but now he’ll end up as a side of meat.
Genocide Fan: What do I have to do?
Convict: Tell me everything you know about him.
Genocide Fan: Shit that’s all? All right.
Sucker…we walk over to his car and get in. It’s secluded. Its way to easy…but I never look a gift horse in the mouth. We get into his car, and he puts the keys in the ignition…that’s when I slam his head into the steering wheel…and get to work, I duct tape his hands to the steering wheel, his fingers uncovered but sticking straight up. And then I wait for him to come to…no point in him missing out on all this fun. It’s a good 20 minutes till he regains consciousness.
Genocide Fan: What the fuck dude?
Convict: Shhh…this wont hurt…me.
Genocide Fan: What the fuck are you talking about?
I slip a cigar cutter over his pinky finger. And in a simple swift motion of my thumb and index finger his pinky lays on the floor. The car is filled with his screams…then I pull the car lighter out and stick it where his pinky used to be burning the wound shut…I didn’t think his screams could get much louder…but they did all nine more times I did that to him. His saliva and tears got mixed together at some point and he became a slobbering fool. In between each cut of a finger I would ask him questions…and like a trained obedient dog he answered everything I wanted to know about Scott Briggs. Now they say when you torture someone you should let up when they tell you what you want to hear…but I do things a little unorthodox…and my way works 100% of the time.
I slit his throat to end his misery…I figure the kid wouldn’t want to go on with life without the ability to masturbate every night. I left him in the car, and pushed it into Genocides parking spot…figure it will be a nice surprise for him when he shows up for Side Effect.
[glow=red,2,300]End of Scene [/glow]
I’m making my way down on of the endless hallways to the damn locker room, everything is blurry, damn blood is in my eyes from a fuckin cut from Gein. Stupid medical staff trying to get me to sit down and get some stitches. Dumb fucks will never realize it’s not gonna happen. I don’t care about my looks. They should be going to check on Gein…god knows the pretty boy is worse off then I am, he’s bleeding and his pride is fuckin with him after that lose. I am really starting to get pissed at this fuckin doctor.
Doctor: Sir, you need medical attention.
Convict: Fuck off Doc, its only blood.
Doctor: Sir, you are running the risk of serious medical complications if you don’t stop sit down and let me look at those wounds you received.
That’s the last straw for me, I always did have a short temper, I spin around and my hand is already around his throat, his staff stops their eyes wide, but his are scarred, I can feel him grasping for air as my hand slowly squeezes around his throat. Panic sets in he tries to break my grip. Fuckin pitiful really. I bring him in close, he’s never been manhandled the way he is right now.
Convict: I said fuck off, don’t make me repeat myself for a third time…if I do…you won’t be around much longer afterwards.
I stare into his eyes…He’s knows I’m serious. I glance down, and watch the puddle of fluid build and soak into his white pants. I grin at him as I release him, he gets the message…they all do eventually. I turn and continue to my locker room, I lock the door to keep anyone else from interrupting what I need to do.
I sit down on a bench next to my locker and face a mirror. I see my reflection in it. Fuckin blood everywhere…and I swear to go there are two of me in the mirror staring back. I reach into my locker and pull out a staple gun…Doc did say I needed stitches, and I figure staples are a hell of a lot better then string. I tell myself this will hurt a little…I lay the staple gun on the bench in front of me and pull out a bottle of Jack Daniels…my one and only true friend…the kind that never leaves you. I down about half the bottle then pour the rest onto my head. I pick up the staple gun, and place it next to the cut on my head. I pull the trigger on it, and the staple goes ripping into my flesh and bone. It hurts…but fuck it pain is only temporary. I continue putting in about eight more staples into the cut. Then grab a bottle of superglue. I pour it into the cut sealing the wound tight. It will hold.
Where the hell did my meds go? Fuck they were just hear a while ago before my match…that’s when I notice the next card for Side Effect taped to my locker. Fuck someone must have taken my medication…maybe that’s why he is staring at me in the mirror.
Convict: Look at you.
Convict: What the fuck do you want with me now?
Convict: What do I want? The same god damn thing I always want for us.
Convict: And what is that cum stain?
Convict: I want you to stop being the fuckin puppet…I want you to take back control.
Convict: The last time I did that…we ended back up in prison…or did you forget that part.
Convict: We ended up in prison because you stopped the fuckin getaway car to have a shootout with the S.W.A.T. team dumbass.
Convict: I DID THAT BECAUSE YOU TOLD ME TO GO DOWN THAT STREET…IT WAS A FUCKIN DEAD END!
Convict: No need for a shouting match…regardless we did kill us a few pigs.
We both fuckin laugh at the remark…God how I hate this prick…always pushing me…always hiding in the shadows and coming when I least expect him to…damn the room is starting to spin.
Convict: So what are you going to do about this new one?
Convict: Who…Genocide?
Convict: Who else would I talk about?
Convict: I don’t know yet…I’ll figure something out.
My vision starts to narrow in…and then everything gets dark.
[glow=red,2,300]Time Two Days Ago[/glow]
I exit the arena after a work out and that’s when it hits me…I see some punk ass kid standing in line with a Genocide shirt on. He’s purchasing tickets. I walk up to him, and he looks me up and down then says some smart ass remark.
Genocide Fan: My Boy Geno is gonna plant you with a Genodriver bitch.
Convict: That a fact? Hey I tell you what kid…how would you like two front row tickets to see your boy Genocide in action?
The kids expression says it all…he bought it…to bad…the kid may have been a president or some shit like that some day…but now he’ll end up as a side of meat.
Genocide Fan: What do I have to do?
Convict: Tell me everything you know about him.
Genocide Fan: Shit that’s all? All right.
Sucker…we walk over to his car and get in. It’s secluded. Its way to easy…but I never look a gift horse in the mouth. We get into his car, and he puts the keys in the ignition…that’s when I slam his head into the steering wheel…and get to work, I duct tape his hands to the steering wheel, his fingers uncovered but sticking straight up. And then I wait for him to come to…no point in him missing out on all this fun. It’s a good 20 minutes till he regains consciousness.
Genocide Fan: What the fuck dude?
Convict: Shhh…this wont hurt…me.
Genocide Fan: What the fuck are you talking about?
I slip a cigar cutter over his pinky finger. And in a simple swift motion of my thumb and index finger his pinky lays on the floor. The car is filled with his screams…then I pull the car lighter out and stick it where his pinky used to be burning the wound shut…I didn’t think his screams could get much louder…but they did all nine more times I did that to him. His saliva and tears got mixed together at some point and he became a slobbering fool. In between each cut of a finger I would ask him questions…and like a trained obedient dog he answered everything I wanted to know about Scott Briggs. Now they say when you torture someone you should let up when they tell you what you want to hear…but I do things a little unorthodox…and my way works 100% of the time.
I slit his throat to end his misery…I figure the kid wouldn’t want to go on with life without the ability to masturbate every night. I left him in the car, and pushed it into Genocides parking spot…figure it will be a nice surprise for him when he shows up for Side Effect.
[glow=red,2,300]End of Scene [/glow]
{OOC sorry its a little late for me...got real busy over the weekend}