Dramatic Death Scenes!

Crooks glanced down at the mask, then slowly back at T.Mor. He smiled charismatically but didn't take it. There was no fun in that. No prize, or souvineer. Anyone can buy something. Few kill for it. "How ironic," he wondered aloud. Suddenly he swung a hard punch at T.Mor's temple.

Mr.Face-

This was becoming infuriating to Mr.Face. Cricket simply would not scream. He took it upon himself to force him to. "Well...That's really the last we'll be having of this...awkward silence I hope..." Mr.Face said, twisting the arm over. Something cracked. He made an incision on the other side of Cricket's wrist, and worked on peeling the skin off the top of his hand as well. "This is the one irritating thing about shackles..." He muttered as he worked. " This all becomes a multistep process, in which I cannot simply peel off all the skin on your arm. It's actually worse when you peel it all at once...I've tried it. But see, the inevitable predicament there is that then...you would punch me. And I can't have that happening..." Mr.Face finished peeling, and pulled the ligaments free of their homes in Cricket's fingers. Completely free. He let the arm roll back into its place, and pulled the loose ligaments down though. "I bet you can't move your fingers..." He grinned.

T.Mor-

T.Mor reeled. He had not expected that. At all. Defense from a stabbing..Maybe. Alright, yes. He would have been prepared to dive out of the way of a knife. But the punch was...a complete shocker. T.Mor steadied himself against a wall, waiting for his equilibrium to return, as he knew it ultimately would. He just had to deal with this horrible, throbbing punch for a second...and equilibrium would show back up. It always did when he was punched in the head.
"What? What was that for?" T.Mor asked, one hand reaching for his pistol and the other on his throbbing head. He wouldn't want to actually use the gun, of course...He hated killing people outside of office hours...But...the situation kind of...Warranted its presence, he felt.

Cricket had never so deperately wished to remain unheard. His lungs cried for air. His head swam. And slowly his attempts to remain silent weakened until he could no longer ignore the blade digging into his flesh or the spidery hands tearing him apart. It took one sharp crack and a scream rose through his chest, overpowering the sound of tearing flesh. He quickly bit his tongue again, though every inch of him wanted to complete what he'd started. The metal tore into the exposed flesh, and he could no longer move his hand.

Crooks knocked T.Mor's feet out from under him while he was still disoriented, somehow ending up on top of him with his knife pressed against his throat. "I believe I've already answered that," he said with a wink. "For...my collection."

Mr.Face-

Mr.Face stopped everything when he heard Cricket scream. The grin expanded exponentially, showing off the rows of pointed teeth that made their home there. He chuckled, and the thought the sound of it brought to mind was inexplicably 'dead babies'. "It took you long enough..." He said through the chuckle. "I'm met with the irrisitible urge to Remove your entire ribcage...Just...Well, I haven't done that in a while, and I feel that it may be more fruitful in the scream department. But then, I realise that I am obliged to give you a say in the matter. So...here is your next choice, my prisoner...Would you rather I remove your ribcage forcefully...or de-spine you...also with...I'm guessing...some level of force?" Mr.Face asked calmly, as he ripped the ligaments further down Cricket's arm...like pulling up a piece of tape.

T.Mor-

"Wait...So you collect things and..punches to the head?" T.Mor asked, dropping his pistol so he could try to dislodge himself from the floor. The attempt to dislodge came in the form of a reciprocal punch to the face. It was a surprisingly hard punch for his terribly skinny arm and fist.

Cricket hung his head, wincing as something else tore away from his arm. Well...there went his pride. He let his hair fall into his eyes, though he didn't know what the use of that was. Mr. Face was blind...then why did he still feel so studied? Softly he asked, "Which is quicker?"

Crooks was thrown back, but simply shook his head and regained composure again. "You don't get it...not at all." He chukled and twirled his knife. "Let's make this interesting, shall we?"

Mr.Face-

Mr.Face unstared at him. He was constantly ambivalent about answering this question truthfully. If he answered truthfully..well...less screaming for him. But then, He would not be able to say that at least he was honest, and despite himself, he sometimes got wrapped up in the none-existent moral implications of the whole mess. "Ribs...and the probability that I accidentally stab you in the heart with your own ribs goes up 100%. Seeing as I wouldn't have any ribs to stab you with if I was removing your spine..." He explained. He kind of had wanted to drag this out a bit more. Oh well. "I'm guessing that that is what you're going to go with then? Shame. I packed the string for nothing." Mr.Face said, leaning over his toolbox. He felt around for the appropriate saw. "Hmm...I'm going to have to go get this sharpened next week..." He muttered. He had wanted to remove his ribs though, even if it was the quicker option.

T.Mor-

T.Mor took the opportunity he had given himself by punching Crooks, and rolled out from underneath him. "Make it interesting? You trying to kill me isn't already interetsing enough for you?" T.Mor asked from about 2 feet away. He was covered in a fine layer of floor dust from being on the floor. "And...NO. I DON'T GET IT. YOU REFUSE TO EXPLAIN." He added angerily. He hated being confused like this.

The muscles in his arm continued to feel like a fraying rope. It's funny how when you're in excrutiating pain, a little bit more doesn't matter. As long as it's one step closer to ending it all. Cricket breathed shakily, desperately trying to remain calm. It wouldn't hurt as bad...right? He just had to focus on other things. The bright side...bright side? He was dead. But on the bright side...it could have happened a lot sooner. At least he'd had a year that promised a small suggestion of a bright future. Met a girl...made friends...eluded death...maybe it was just death catching up to him. Maybe he was lucky. Or maybe...he was simply dead. He kept his head down, waiting for more pain.

"I'm a MURDERER, smartass." With that, Crooks made one swift motion to stab him in the gut. Not a kill...yet. Only an inconvenience.

Mr.Face-

"Your verticality is going to prove a challenge...Here..." Mr.Face unshackled him rather politely, and Cricket collapsed to the floor. "If you could just...Lie flat on your back for me...That would be quite helpful." Mr.Face instructed him, picking up the bone saw again.

T.Mor-

He curled up in pain, still not having made his way off the floor. The word murderer hit his ears. "What." The pain dropped from him for a second, and he turned to look at Crooks in shock. "What. No...Wait...Were you telling me I'm a murderer, or were you telling me you were? I couldn't hear over being stabbed..." He was for once happy that Mr.Face and company had tortured him so much...That sentence woould have been murder to get out if he wasn't able to repress his pain so well.

Cricket gasped in relief and caught himself with his good arm, landing--or rather, crumpling--over one knee. The ground. Glorious, cold, hard, solid, ground. He didn't need to be instucted to lay down, and hardly heard Mr. Face anyhow. Wearily he sank onto his back, trying not to scrape his half-dead arm too hard against the stone. "Thank you..." He tried to forget about what would happen next, for a little while.

Mr.Face-

Mr.Face chuckled again. "You're thanking me? That's a first." He said calmly, sitting down next to his victim, oblivious to all the gore and everything that had made a home there. He didn't waste any time with pleasantries here though, without a moment's waste he'd carefully cut through the fabric of Cricket's shirt, as shirts always got in his way while he was doing this. He reached up to his box for a hammer. "Excuse this for a moment...I forgot that there is that bit of cartelage we have to detach from your ribs before we do anything." He drove the hammer with a measured force into the centre of Cricket's chest...Not enough to kill him, not nearly enough. But enough to detach that bit of cartelage? Oh yes.
He dragged the saw casually across the bruise that was already forming, easily breaking through the skin. He peeled this as well. "Erm. Any last words before you start screaming?" He asked conversationally.

"I am. That's th' point," Crooks said nonchalently. "Now, would you like t' be stabbed through th' 'eart, 'ave your throat slit of be shot with your own gun?"

T.Mor-

This man was as bad as Mr.Face with the options here. "You sound like my employer." T.Mor muttered, forcing himself into a sitting position. He was getting blood all over the place, and mentally, he wanted to clean up the mess. "Why don't I just give you the mask, and the money...and you can just leave and we'll both pretend this never happened?" T.Mor suggested, trying to pull himself off the ground.

Cricket let out a small gasp with the force of the hammer, squeezing his eyes shut again. He was itching to raise a hand to protect himself. "You don't remember me...do you, Mr. Face?" he managed. It now hurt to breath. Gingerly he feathered over the center of his chest, then forced himself to draw his hand back.

Crooks shoved him back down again. "Ah, there's no fun in that! It's like cheating th' game," he said, and chuckled. "Or more like, giving up on th' game altogether. Th' thing about my games is I always win, see." He smiled charismatically. "Same question."

Mr.Face-

"Remember you? Wherever from?" He asked curiously, cutting through a layer of muscle with his saw. It hit bone, you could hear it. "Well, that was fast." He peeled some more tissue back, revealing Cricket's ribs. Mr.Face had spatter all over him by this point, and pulled on the uppermost rib. It was nicely stuck where it was suppoused to be. Mr.Face didn't want that to be the case however, and used the saw to disconnect it from its sinewy home.

Cricket couldn't answer. Gritting his teeth, he muffled a scream that he was desperately trying to control. If he didn't squirm, it would go faster, but he was having a hard time with that. He pressed his back harder against the floor as if it could suck him up completely and let him escape the saw. Something came loose. In a daze, he realised that there were twelve of them he'd have to go through. "Oi my my..." he said breathily.

T.Mor-

He shut his eyes for a moment. The way he saw it, he had a few options. Try to run, or pick something. Neither felt like a good option. He could yell...His house was across the street. He could yell, His sister could come...His siter wouldn't come for him...He realised. She had been taught very carefully not to go running if something was happening outside. Taught by T.Mor himself. And she wouldn't have done anything but scream or interject with some form of condecending comment anyway. He sighed. The bloodloss from his knifewound was really startiing to get to him, causing his vision to swim a little bit. "Hmm...Surprise me. Like I said...My employer, he plays the same game. I'd rather not be expecting it...Personally. It takes the...The...fear out of it...a bit...when you know what's coming..." T.Mor explained hazily. Screw it, he decided. He'd been considering this as an option for a while anyway, suicide. This...well, this effectively sorted out the technicalities for him. Just let someone else deal with it. "You know...You kind of showed up at a good time...actually..." He added, the world spinning slightly. "I'm a terrible human being you see..."

Crooks laughed. "Good thing I showed up then, aye?...Why don't you 'and me your gun, there?"

Mr.Face-

That phrase. He knew that phrase. "Maybe I do remember you...You were in a revolution a little while back, no?" Mr.Face asked, trying to remember the details. Well, the details regarding him. He remembered Peter vividly of course, from all the screaming and swearing he did. He pulled on the next one, repeating the same process. He did this a few more times, The bones starting to pile up next to him. He stopped momentarily to allow Cricket the chance to respond. It was rude to kill someone before they had the opportunity to answer a question.

T.Mor-

He hesitated to do that. He really did. Now that he had decided to go through with it...he was trying to convince himself to decide otherwise. He couldn't do it. He found no logical reason to keep going, except for the well being of his sister. "Can you Call my job for me...Tell 'em I won't be in for the rest of eternity? And tell 'em to tell my sister that too?" He asked, leaning forward a bit to pull the gun off the floor in front if him. He looked at it for a second, as if...As if he was torn. But really what option did he have? None. "Thank you by the way...For...convincing me..." He muttered shakily. He handed the weapon up, trembling horribly.

Cricket clenched a fist, screaming again behind closed teeth. Then he relaxed a little when Mr. Face paused, not answering for a moment. He was starting to feel lightheaded with blood loss. "...aye." It was hard to say an answer, mostly because he was getting his ribs cut out and also because once he said something, Mr. Face would start sawing again. Once again, his hand itched to stop the saw. Just let me bleed out...

Crooks cocked his head. "Now. This is something new." He took the gun, but paused a moment. "Would you believe you're th' first person I've killed who 'asn't pleaded miserably for their lives? An aided suicide is more like it." He aimed the gun at the man's chest. "Your welcome. Goodbye." He waited one moment before pulling the trigger.

Mr.Face-

Mr.Face grinned at the screams, even if they were muffled by teeth. "Hmm. Interesting..." He said, before picking up the saw again. He continued as though he were just...slicing up a thanksgiving turkey or some such innocent thing. He ran out of ribs on that side. "Excuse me...I have to move..." He said, unfolding himself to go to the other side. "See, This is where problems normally arise. Your heart is in there...and ideally...I won't puncture it...But...This side isn't as...easy typically as the other...so really...just, be prepared to die of a punctured aeorta."Mr.Face Muttered, as he hacked away gleefully, taking deliberate care when he was moving ribs around. Despite his coution though, Something popped. "Ah. Well...That's...Remember when I mentioned that you ought to be prepared to die of a punctured aeorta?...Well...That time is now..." Mr.Face said somewhat guiltily. He didn't sound guilty about the massive amounts of damage he'd just inflicted on Cricket...but more about the fact that he accidentally ended everything before he really wanted to.

T.Mor-

Pain blossomed trhough his chest...A nicer, much cleaner pain than he was used to, actually...And he remembered that he ought to...Maybe...answer that question "No...That's....interest---" He trailed off, his mind having become too muddled to articulate any further. He tried to pull his knees up to his chest, for the coldness he was suddenly feeling along with the pain...but he just twitched...and then...Well. That was it Really. He died. Alone in a room with someone who wanted him dead, just like he spent most of his life up to that point.

There was a rush of blood, and in a bittersweet half-second Cricket realised his wish had been granted. "Thank you," he forced, thoughts now spinning. This was it; he was dead, finally, truthfully. Numb darkness started to close in. He relaxed deeper into the cold floor and...freedom.