Crack!fic
Title: A Series of Unfortunate Events
Author: Ferryn/ferrynheit
Genre: Complete crack!
Characters: Michael, Lincoln, Sara, Veronica, T-Bag, C-Note, Abruzzi, Sucre, LJ, Bellick, and Maricruz
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Warning: Character deaths
Summary: Michael just wants to play Twister, but his gut gets in the way. Lincoln just wants to get into Sara’s pants, but Veronica ruins it all. Bellick just wants some nookie, but he’ll have to settle for fries and shakes.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing style and parts of the idea.
Notes: This idea was jointly thought up by lissa_bear and me. Half of the ideas in it are hers. In fact, I’d go as far as to say 60% of the ideas are hers. It was a discussion she and I had after we read this dropped prompt in the pbficexchange. We completely bastardized it. I assume full responsibility for any mistakes or extreme stupidity that came out during the writing of it. No blame on lissa_bear. It was supposed to be written a long time ago, but then I got lazy. And, actually, that prompt had been picked up by one of the participants, who took it just a tiny bit more seriously and came up with this gem.
Word count: 2821
One tiny house, ten clashing personalities - there was bound to be trouble sooner or later.
Abruzzi and C-Note were always on Michael’s ass about his gradual weight gain. It was becoming quite noticeable, especially since he insisted on running around in midriff-baring t-shirts and denim way-too-short shorts. His newfound sexual freedom was not as pleasing as some of the others had thought it might be. Sara, who had once thought Michael to be so intelligent and sexy, had to avert her eyes and was embarrassed that Lincoln knew she once had a thing for his little brother.
Lincoln, on the other hand, was more interested in what was on Sara’s body - though, he preferred there to be nothing on it - than what was on her mind. Despite Veronica’s repeated attempts to get him to notice her - she had tried tube tops and even whipped cream bikinis - Lincoln just wasn’t into her anymore. Frankly, she annoyed him, and her lawyerly jibber jabber was more boring than the sexual harassment seminar Lincoln had to attend at the only job he had ever held longer than three days. (He fell asleep during “Helping or Hurting?: When a Touch Becomes Inappropriate.” The next day, Sheila - that fucking tease - got him fired.) Lincoln only had eyes for Sara and constantly tried to get in her pants, using every line in the book.
Veronica, naturally, hated Sara. She couldn’t accept that Lincoln had moved on. They were supposed to be together. That’s where everything was leading. That’s why Veronica took his case. He owed her for all she had done to help his case along. He was supposed to be locked away in a room with her that very minute, fucking her brains out. Instead, he was chasing the redhead around.
T-Bag mostly annoyed everyone. He found a way to grate on everyone’s nerves with specially-tailored insults for each one of them. No matter what their race, intelligence, or sexual orientation, T-Bag had a word or two for them. He made fun of Michael’s protruding gut, Abruzzi’s butchered English, and Bellick’s inability to get laid.
Bellick laughed off any insult T-Bag threw his way. He had power in the house. He could blow their cover at the drop of a hat. He was always using his threats as ways to get what he wanted, though he was still, somehow, unable to get into either Sara’s or Veronica’s pants. He settled for free fries and milkshakes for the time being, but he’d get what he wanted sooner or later. He had made Sara promise to give him a blowjob or he’d blow the whistle on them all. She hadn’t delivered yet, but he knew his time would come. Just for kicks, he made one of the cons promise as well, even though he didn’t really wish to be blown by a man. Although, if Sara continued to stall on her promise and Bellick was desperate enough, he’d probably take it in a pinch. Hell, why not?
Tired of Lincoln ignoring her, Veronica decided to inflict some pain of her own. She was going to flirt with one of the other guys. That was sure to fire him up. Checking her cleavage, Veronica set her sights on C-Note. Toned, intelligent, charming - the perfect candidate for her feminine wiles.
“Hey, C-Note, whatcha doin’?” He sat at the end of the couch and Veronica leaned over, placing her hands on the armrest, to give him a good view of the twins.
“Being monogamous,” he replied, never once looking at her.
“Oh. Right. Oookay then.” She glanced around to see who else might work. Abruzzi? Too greasy. Sucre? Too sappy. Michael? Too gay. LJ? Too illegal. (Not to mention, Lincoln would kick her in the head.) Bellick?
With one last adjustment to her push-up bra, she stepped up to him. “Brad, you’re lookin’ good today.” She placed a hand on his bicep. “Ooh, you been workin’ out?”
Bellick grinned, making Veronica feel icky, and leered at her breasts. “You like that?” He flexed. “I’ve been lifting lots of heavy stuff.”
“Like what?” She twirled a lock of her hair around a finger, pretending to be interested.
“Uh… stacks of dirty magazines mostly. You wanna see them?”
“Ew. This is so not worth it.” Veronica quickly made a break for it before Bellick could leer her clothes right off.
This left her with only one option. She zeroed in on T-Bag, who leaned cockily against a wall, looking every bit like he was posing for a picture, but there were no cameras around. Sometimes Veronica wondered if T-Bag thought he was in some sort of TV show. She shook her head. There was no way she was going there. With a sigh of resignation, she plopped down on the couch between C-Note and Abruzzi, watching as Michael got out the Twister mat.
Meanwhile, Bellick stood in a corner, rage filling him. He was sick of getting turned down. He needed a damn milkshake.
“Sucre!” he barked. “We’re going out.”
“But her shift doesn’t start for another hour.”
“Then, we’ll wait. I’m not sitting around this Goddamn house another second.”
Sucre sighed. “Alright,” he grumbled. He had been looking forward to watching Michael get chewed out by C-Note and Abruzzi. Grabbing his coat, hat, and sunglasses - a fugitive’s essentials - Sucre followed Bellick out the door.
Maricruz worked at a nearby McDonald’s. She was able to hook Sucre up with free food. Bellick used this to his advantage, getting all the free fries and shakes he could stand. That was part of his deal in exchange for not turning the cons in.
Back at the house, Lincoln was smarmier than ever - with Sara - and Veronica couldn’t stand it. Not even the show going on in front of her could distract her from shooting daggers at Sara with her eyes.
“Michael, I’d be too scared to play Twister with you. What if you fell on me? I’d be crushed,” C-Note pointed out.
“I am not fat!” Michael objected. As he stamped his foot on the floor, his belly jiggled.
Abruzzi laughed. “Okay, Santa Claus, whatever you say.”
Veronica imagined an elephant crashing through the wall and impaling Sara on its tusks. She glanced at T-Bag again. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that T-Bag would be more perfect than any of them. Coming on to a murdering pedophile was sure to set Lincoln off. It was her last shot.
Sidling up to him, Veronica flashed a dazzling smile, quickly thinking up a way to get his interest. “Hey, T-Bag. Ya know, I get carded every time I try to buy beer.”
T-Bag snorted. “Beat it, missy. Some lawyer you are, can’t even lie properly. Get some other poor, hapless sap to help you through your midlife crisis.”
“I beg your pardon! This is not the body of a middle-aged woman!” When T-Bag didn’t even bother to respond, she had to do some quick thinking. “Oh, come on, T-Bag. I know it’s been a while for you. What’ll it take? I can cut my hair! Yeah, I’ll get a boy’s haircut. Would that help?”
“Why don’t you convince the real boy to meet me outside? That would help me out immeasurably.” T-Bag eyed up LJ, who sat on the floor beside the couch.
Veronica frowned. This wasn’t working. She glanced at Lincoln. He wasn’t even watching. With all the rage of a woman scorned burning inside her, Veronica grabbed T-Bag’s hand and pulled him into the kitchen, saying as she went, “Oh, T-Bag, I’d love to see how you got your nickname.”
“Big mistake,” T-Bag warned. “For every wrong-doing there are consequences.” He backed Veronica against the counter. She thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed. She struggled against him, but he was too strong.
“Did you see that?” Lincoln asked Sara.
“See what?”
“Veronica totally went into the kitchen with T-Bag. You think they’re gettin’ it on?”
Sara swatted his arm. “Lincoln! That’s sick.”
“I’m just gonna go look.”
“Pervert!”
“Yeah, so?” He left Sara standing there, arms crossed, as he crept towards the kitchen doorway. Hearing faint noises, he grinned and peered around the corner.
“Holy shit,” he whispered, unheard by T-Bag and Veronica. Shrugging, he turned around and rejoined Sara in standing around.
She hadn’t moved from her position and still didn’t budge even as Lincoln slid his arms around her. “Well?”
“Well what, baby?”
“Were they doing it?”
“I thought you didn’t care.”
“You looked. You may as well tell me,” she replied.
Lincoln only shrugged again. “Nope. I think T-Bag is as annoyed with her as I am. Now, where were we?” He nuzzled her neck, his right hand slipping lower, cupping her ass. “Damn, girl, with an ass like this, you could make it into Playboy.”
Sara pushed him away. “And with an ass like you, I could make it onto Jerry Springer. Quit messing around, Linc. What exactly were Veronica and T-Bag doing? You said he’s annoyed with her.”
Lincoln dismissed her query with a wave of his hand. “Oh, it was nothing, don’t worry about them. You should be worrying about what my hands are gonna do once they reach your pants.” He reached out, fingers wiggling, but Sara slapped his hands away.
“I’m serious, Linc. I think I heard something. I’m going to go check on her.” Turning on her heel, she briskly walked away.
“Aw, come on, baby!” Lincoln called after her. Rolling his eyes, he decided he’d wait for her to return, figuring she’d realize it was no big deal.
When Sara entered the kitchen, she saw Veronica lying very still on the floor, mouth slack, purple marks on her neck, and T-Bag stood over her, hands held out. She put a hand over her mouth, wanting to scream but not able to.
T-Bag moved to leave the room and saw her standing there. They locked eyes. Sara was about to turn and flee, but T-Bag lunged forward and grabbed her arm, pulling her to him.
“Uh-uh-uh,” he said. “I’m afraid I can’t let you leave, Doc.” His hands once again found themselves wrapped around a warm, pulsing neck. “Too bad, too. You had some real potential.”
Sara stared up at him in shock as she began to sink to the floor, T-Bag going down with her. With the last ounce of life she had in her, she managed to choke out one last thought.
“Thank God, I won’t have to blow Bellick.” And then she was gone. Those would become famous last words.
“Sara? What’s takin’ you so long? My dick doesn’t wait forever.” Lincoln entered the kitchen to find two bodies on the floor and T-Bag leaning over the more important of the two, his hands traveling down her body.
“You sick fuck!” Lincoln shouted, charging into the room like an angry rhino. “Get away from her!” He ripped T-Bag from Sara’s body and slammed him against the refrigerator. “I loved that woman. She made awesome brownies. Special brownies, if you know what I mean.” He winked.
“I didn’t mean to, Sink, honestly! There’s no controlling what these hands do,” he said as he held up his hands.
“Bull fucking shit, man! You’re the biggest liar in the world.” He seized T-Bag by the neck and did to him what he had done to Sara. Oh, and Veronica, but Lincoln couldn’t be bothered to muster up any sorrow over her. He was kind of glad he wouldn’t have to put up with her anymore. She had wanted him to go on Dr. Phil with her so that they could get some relationship counseling, for fuck’s sake! Veronica was one crazy bitch.
Before T-Bag reached complete darkness, he managed to whisper something.
“Thank God, I won’t have to blow Bellick.” See? Famous last words.
Lincoln tightened his grip even more, lowering T-Bag to the ground. “Oh, you’re gonna blow him! You’ll be blowing Bellick for an eternity in Hell, you child-raping son of a bitch!” Once he was sure T-Bag was gone, he stood up and looked around him. Death all around. Three bodies, all lifeless, scattered at his feet.
He had one horrible moment where he realized that he really was a murderer after all. “Oh no,” he said, hand to his face, “Michael’s gonna be so mad at me!”
He needed to act quickly. He dragged the bodies outside. Veronica and T-Bag were tossed in the dumpster, while Sara got a quickie burial with a few words from Lincoln about how nice her ass had still felt even though she wad dead, and he hoped she’d be happy in Heaven even though she never got to know what it was like to have sex with him. Oh, and the cooking! Lincoln was going to miss that. Sara had been a pretty good cook. Now who would cook for him? Michael? Lincoln put a hand over his midsection. The thought of Michael’s food made his stomach hurt.
When Lincoln got back inside, he noticed that no one had missed him. They were too busy making fun of Michael. No one had heard a thing.
“Drop and give me twenty!”
“Drop? But I’m already down here! And I just did twenty!” Michael protested. He was looking up at C-Note from the floor.
C-Note leaned in close. “You will address me as ‘sir’! Do I make myself clear?”
With a loud groan, Michael complied. “Sir, yes, sir.”
Abruzzi and LJ just took it all in and laughed, pointing every time Michael’s hanging gut touched the ground.
“Uh, hey, guys,” Lincoln nervously began. “So, what’s up?”
“C-Note’s trying to turn Uncle Mike into a man,” LJ replied.
“So far,” Abruzzi added, “he has only succeeded in turning him into a whiny brat.”
“Hey, shut up!” Michael huffed and puffed, stalling before his next push-up attempt. “I’m not a whiny brat. C-Note’s being an asshole!”
C-Note nudged Michael in the ribs with his shoe. “You just earned yourself another twenty push-ups.” Michael collapsed, wheezing.
“Yeah, well, that’s great, but… Sara, Veronica, and T-Bag are gone. I think they all ran away together.” Lincoln rubbed his neck, awaiting everyone’s reaction.
Michael lifted his head. “What! Why would they do that?”
Lincoln shrugged. “I have no idea. But I have a feeling we’ll never see them again.” He hung his head, thinking about all those wasted nights that could have been spent sexing up Sara.
The room became silent, until Sucre and Bellick showed up.
“I’ve got burgers for everyone!” Sucre announced.
“All right! Burgers!” Abruzzi shouted. He hopped up from the couch, tossing the forgotten Twister spinner to the ground.
“Right hand, blue,” said LJ, before climbing to his feet to receive a burger.
Lincoln put a hand to his chin, wishing he had a bigger beard to stroke. “Hmm, burgers, eh?”
There was no way Michael was cooking for Lincoln - not when Lincoln had a contact at McDonald’s. He began sneaking away with Sucre and Bellick every day, and he took LJ with him. Michael, meanwhile, was left to cook for C-Note and Abruzzi, which was very much not appreciated. He couldn’t even make toast. The only way his bread left the toaster was charred and resembling a lump of coal, which only reinforced Abruzzi’s Santa Claus theory.
After a week of burnt toast, watery mac n’ cheese, and chewy fish sticks, Michael was banned from the kitchen. C-Note and Abruzzi began sneaking out to McDonald’s, only to find out the rest of the guys had been doing the same thing. They all got Maricruz fired when so much food had gone missing. Escaping police surveillance, she was able to go with Sucre and live with the fugitives in the tiny house.
Since no one had actually told him, it had taken Bellick a week to realize that three-tenths of the household were missing. It didn’t help that Maricruz had suddenly been added. She filled the house’s quota of one brunette chick.
“What the hell?” he bellowed. “Where are Sara and T-Bag?”
Lincoln spoke up before anyone else could. “They ran off with Veronica.”
“Who in their right mind -”
“Would run off with T-Bag?” Lincoln cut in. “Yeah, I know. I don’t understand it either.”
“No! Who would run off with Veronica? That fuckin’ cocktease was all over me one night, until I offered to show her my porn collection. The bitch is damn crazy, is what she is.”
Lincoln had to agree with that.
“Well, shit.” Bellick looked around at everyone. “I lost my two promises. So, who’s gonna blow me now?”
Michael hadn’t been listening. He was too busy prancing around in his new Daisy Dukes. He stopped when he noticed everyone staring expectantly at him. “What?”
Author: Ferryn/ferrynheit
Genre: Complete crack!
Characters: Michael, Lincoln, Sara, Veronica, T-Bag, C-Note, Abruzzi, Sucre, LJ, Bellick, and Maricruz
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Warning: Character deaths
Summary: Michael just wants to play Twister, but his gut gets in the way. Lincoln just wants to get into Sara’s pants, but Veronica ruins it all. Bellick just wants some nookie, but he’ll have to settle for fries and shakes.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing style and parts of the idea.
Notes: This idea was jointly thought up by lissa_bear and me. Half of the ideas in it are hers. In fact, I’d go as far as to say 60% of the ideas are hers. It was a discussion she and I had after we read this dropped prompt in the pbficexchange. We completely bastardized it. I assume full responsibility for any mistakes or extreme stupidity that came out during the writing of it. No blame on lissa_bear. It was supposed to be written a long time ago, but then I got lazy. And, actually, that prompt had been picked up by one of the participants, who took it just a tiny bit more seriously and came up with this gem.
Word count: 2821
One tiny house, ten clashing personalities - there was bound to be trouble sooner or later.
Abruzzi and C-Note were always on Michael’s ass about his gradual weight gain. It was becoming quite noticeable, especially since he insisted on running around in midriff-baring t-shirts and denim way-too-short shorts. His newfound sexual freedom was not as pleasing as some of the others had thought it might be. Sara, who had once thought Michael to be so intelligent and sexy, had to avert her eyes and was embarrassed that Lincoln knew she once had a thing for his little brother.
Lincoln, on the other hand, was more interested in what was on Sara’s body - though, he preferred there to be nothing on it - than what was on her mind. Despite Veronica’s repeated attempts to get him to notice her - she had tried tube tops and even whipped cream bikinis - Lincoln just wasn’t into her anymore. Frankly, she annoyed him, and her lawyerly jibber jabber was more boring than the sexual harassment seminar Lincoln had to attend at the only job he had ever held longer than three days. (He fell asleep during “Helping or Hurting?: When a Touch Becomes Inappropriate.” The next day, Sheila - that fucking tease - got him fired.) Lincoln only had eyes for Sara and constantly tried to get in her pants, using every line in the book.
Veronica, naturally, hated Sara. She couldn’t accept that Lincoln had moved on. They were supposed to be together. That’s where everything was leading. That’s why Veronica took his case. He owed her for all she had done to help his case along. He was supposed to be locked away in a room with her that very minute, fucking her brains out. Instead, he was chasing the redhead around.
T-Bag mostly annoyed everyone. He found a way to grate on everyone’s nerves with specially-tailored insults for each one of them. No matter what their race, intelligence, or sexual orientation, T-Bag had a word or two for them. He made fun of Michael’s protruding gut, Abruzzi’s butchered English, and Bellick’s inability to get laid.
Bellick laughed off any insult T-Bag threw his way. He had power in the house. He could blow their cover at the drop of a hat. He was always using his threats as ways to get what he wanted, though he was still, somehow, unable to get into either Sara’s or Veronica’s pants. He settled for free fries and milkshakes for the time being, but he’d get what he wanted sooner or later. He had made Sara promise to give him a blowjob or he’d blow the whistle on them all. She hadn’t delivered yet, but he knew his time would come. Just for kicks, he made one of the cons promise as well, even though he didn’t really wish to be blown by a man. Although, if Sara continued to stall on her promise and Bellick was desperate enough, he’d probably take it in a pinch. Hell, why not?
Tired of Lincoln ignoring her, Veronica decided to inflict some pain of her own. She was going to flirt with one of the other guys. That was sure to fire him up. Checking her cleavage, Veronica set her sights on C-Note. Toned, intelligent, charming - the perfect candidate for her feminine wiles.
“Hey, C-Note, whatcha doin’?” He sat at the end of the couch and Veronica leaned over, placing her hands on the armrest, to give him a good view of the twins.
“Being monogamous,” he replied, never once looking at her.
“Oh. Right. Oookay then.” She glanced around to see who else might work. Abruzzi? Too greasy. Sucre? Too sappy. Michael? Too gay. LJ? Too illegal. (Not to mention, Lincoln would kick her in the head.) Bellick?
With one last adjustment to her push-up bra, she stepped up to him. “Brad, you’re lookin’ good today.” She placed a hand on his bicep. “Ooh, you been workin’ out?”
Bellick grinned, making Veronica feel icky, and leered at her breasts. “You like that?” He flexed. “I’ve been lifting lots of heavy stuff.”
“Like what?” She twirled a lock of her hair around a finger, pretending to be interested.
“Uh… stacks of dirty magazines mostly. You wanna see them?”
“Ew. This is so not worth it.” Veronica quickly made a break for it before Bellick could leer her clothes right off.
This left her with only one option. She zeroed in on T-Bag, who leaned cockily against a wall, looking every bit like he was posing for a picture, but there were no cameras around. Sometimes Veronica wondered if T-Bag thought he was in some sort of TV show. She shook her head. There was no way she was going there. With a sigh of resignation, she plopped down on the couch between C-Note and Abruzzi, watching as Michael got out the Twister mat.
Meanwhile, Bellick stood in a corner, rage filling him. He was sick of getting turned down. He needed a damn milkshake.
“Sucre!” he barked. “We’re going out.”
“But her shift doesn’t start for another hour.”
“Then, we’ll wait. I’m not sitting around this Goddamn house another second.”
Sucre sighed. “Alright,” he grumbled. He had been looking forward to watching Michael get chewed out by C-Note and Abruzzi. Grabbing his coat, hat, and sunglasses - a fugitive’s essentials - Sucre followed Bellick out the door.
Maricruz worked at a nearby McDonald’s. She was able to hook Sucre up with free food. Bellick used this to his advantage, getting all the free fries and shakes he could stand. That was part of his deal in exchange for not turning the cons in.
Back at the house, Lincoln was smarmier than ever - with Sara - and Veronica couldn’t stand it. Not even the show going on in front of her could distract her from shooting daggers at Sara with her eyes.
“Michael, I’d be too scared to play Twister with you. What if you fell on me? I’d be crushed,” C-Note pointed out.
“I am not fat!” Michael objected. As he stamped his foot on the floor, his belly jiggled.
Abruzzi laughed. “Okay, Santa Claus, whatever you say.”
Veronica imagined an elephant crashing through the wall and impaling Sara on its tusks. She glanced at T-Bag again. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that T-Bag would be more perfect than any of them. Coming on to a murdering pedophile was sure to set Lincoln off. It was her last shot.
Sidling up to him, Veronica flashed a dazzling smile, quickly thinking up a way to get his interest. “Hey, T-Bag. Ya know, I get carded every time I try to buy beer.”
T-Bag snorted. “Beat it, missy. Some lawyer you are, can’t even lie properly. Get some other poor, hapless sap to help you through your midlife crisis.”
“I beg your pardon! This is not the body of a middle-aged woman!” When T-Bag didn’t even bother to respond, she had to do some quick thinking. “Oh, come on, T-Bag. I know it’s been a while for you. What’ll it take? I can cut my hair! Yeah, I’ll get a boy’s haircut. Would that help?”
“Why don’t you convince the real boy to meet me outside? That would help me out immeasurably.” T-Bag eyed up LJ, who sat on the floor beside the couch.
Veronica frowned. This wasn’t working. She glanced at Lincoln. He wasn’t even watching. With all the rage of a woman scorned burning inside her, Veronica grabbed T-Bag’s hand and pulled him into the kitchen, saying as she went, “Oh, T-Bag, I’d love to see how you got your nickname.”
“Big mistake,” T-Bag warned. “For every wrong-doing there are consequences.” He backed Veronica against the counter. She thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed. She struggled against him, but he was too strong.
“Did you see that?” Lincoln asked Sara.
“See what?”
“Veronica totally went into the kitchen with T-Bag. You think they’re gettin’ it on?”
Sara swatted his arm. “Lincoln! That’s sick.”
“I’m just gonna go look.”
“Pervert!”
“Yeah, so?” He left Sara standing there, arms crossed, as he crept towards the kitchen doorway. Hearing faint noises, he grinned and peered around the corner.
“Holy shit,” he whispered, unheard by T-Bag and Veronica. Shrugging, he turned around and rejoined Sara in standing around.
She hadn’t moved from her position and still didn’t budge even as Lincoln slid his arms around her. “Well?”
“Well what, baby?”
“Were they doing it?”
“I thought you didn’t care.”
“You looked. You may as well tell me,” she replied.
Lincoln only shrugged again. “Nope. I think T-Bag is as annoyed with her as I am. Now, where were we?” He nuzzled her neck, his right hand slipping lower, cupping her ass. “Damn, girl, with an ass like this, you could make it into Playboy.”
Sara pushed him away. “And with an ass like you, I could make it onto Jerry Springer. Quit messing around, Linc. What exactly were Veronica and T-Bag doing? You said he’s annoyed with her.”
Lincoln dismissed her query with a wave of his hand. “Oh, it was nothing, don’t worry about them. You should be worrying about what my hands are gonna do once they reach your pants.” He reached out, fingers wiggling, but Sara slapped his hands away.
“I’m serious, Linc. I think I heard something. I’m going to go check on her.” Turning on her heel, she briskly walked away.
“Aw, come on, baby!” Lincoln called after her. Rolling his eyes, he decided he’d wait for her to return, figuring she’d realize it was no big deal.
When Sara entered the kitchen, she saw Veronica lying very still on the floor, mouth slack, purple marks on her neck, and T-Bag stood over her, hands held out. She put a hand over her mouth, wanting to scream but not able to.
T-Bag moved to leave the room and saw her standing there. They locked eyes. Sara was about to turn and flee, but T-Bag lunged forward and grabbed her arm, pulling her to him.
“Uh-uh-uh,” he said. “I’m afraid I can’t let you leave, Doc.” His hands once again found themselves wrapped around a warm, pulsing neck. “Too bad, too. You had some real potential.”
Sara stared up at him in shock as she began to sink to the floor, T-Bag going down with her. With the last ounce of life she had in her, she managed to choke out one last thought.
“Thank God, I won’t have to blow Bellick.” And then she was gone. Those would become famous last words.
“Sara? What’s takin’ you so long? My dick doesn’t wait forever.” Lincoln entered the kitchen to find two bodies on the floor and T-Bag leaning over the more important of the two, his hands traveling down her body.
“You sick fuck!” Lincoln shouted, charging into the room like an angry rhino. “Get away from her!” He ripped T-Bag from Sara’s body and slammed him against the refrigerator. “I loved that woman. She made awesome brownies. Special brownies, if you know what I mean.” He winked.
“I didn’t mean to, Sink, honestly! There’s no controlling what these hands do,” he said as he held up his hands.
“Bull fucking shit, man! You’re the biggest liar in the world.” He seized T-Bag by the neck and did to him what he had done to Sara. Oh, and Veronica, but Lincoln couldn’t be bothered to muster up any sorrow over her. He was kind of glad he wouldn’t have to put up with her anymore. She had wanted him to go on Dr. Phil with her so that they could get some relationship counseling, for fuck’s sake! Veronica was one crazy bitch.
Before T-Bag reached complete darkness, he managed to whisper something.
“Thank God, I won’t have to blow Bellick.” See? Famous last words.
Lincoln tightened his grip even more, lowering T-Bag to the ground. “Oh, you’re gonna blow him! You’ll be blowing Bellick for an eternity in Hell, you child-raping son of a bitch!” Once he was sure T-Bag was gone, he stood up and looked around him. Death all around. Three bodies, all lifeless, scattered at his feet.
He had one horrible moment where he realized that he really was a murderer after all. “Oh no,” he said, hand to his face, “Michael’s gonna be so mad at me!”
He needed to act quickly. He dragged the bodies outside. Veronica and T-Bag were tossed in the dumpster, while Sara got a quickie burial with a few words from Lincoln about how nice her ass had still felt even though she wad dead, and he hoped she’d be happy in Heaven even though she never got to know what it was like to have sex with him. Oh, and the cooking! Lincoln was going to miss that. Sara had been a pretty good cook. Now who would cook for him? Michael? Lincoln put a hand over his midsection. The thought of Michael’s food made his stomach hurt.
When Lincoln got back inside, he noticed that no one had missed him. They were too busy making fun of Michael. No one had heard a thing.
“Drop and give me twenty!”
“Drop? But I’m already down here! And I just did twenty!” Michael protested. He was looking up at C-Note from the floor.
C-Note leaned in close. “You will address me as ‘sir’! Do I make myself clear?”
With a loud groan, Michael complied. “Sir, yes, sir.”
Abruzzi and LJ just took it all in and laughed, pointing every time Michael’s hanging gut touched the ground.
“Uh, hey, guys,” Lincoln nervously began. “So, what’s up?”
“C-Note’s trying to turn Uncle Mike into a man,” LJ replied.
“So far,” Abruzzi added, “he has only succeeded in turning him into a whiny brat.”
“Hey, shut up!” Michael huffed and puffed, stalling before his next push-up attempt. “I’m not a whiny brat. C-Note’s being an asshole!”
C-Note nudged Michael in the ribs with his shoe. “You just earned yourself another twenty push-ups.” Michael collapsed, wheezing.
“Yeah, well, that’s great, but… Sara, Veronica, and T-Bag are gone. I think they all ran away together.” Lincoln rubbed his neck, awaiting everyone’s reaction.
Michael lifted his head. “What! Why would they do that?”
Lincoln shrugged. “I have no idea. But I have a feeling we’ll never see them again.” He hung his head, thinking about all those wasted nights that could have been spent sexing up Sara.
The room became silent, until Sucre and Bellick showed up.
“I’ve got burgers for everyone!” Sucre announced.
“All right! Burgers!” Abruzzi shouted. He hopped up from the couch, tossing the forgotten Twister spinner to the ground.
“Right hand, blue,” said LJ, before climbing to his feet to receive a burger.
Lincoln put a hand to his chin, wishing he had a bigger beard to stroke. “Hmm, burgers, eh?”
There was no way Michael was cooking for Lincoln - not when Lincoln had a contact at McDonald’s. He began sneaking away with Sucre and Bellick every day, and he took LJ with him. Michael, meanwhile, was left to cook for C-Note and Abruzzi, which was very much not appreciated. He couldn’t even make toast. The only way his bread left the toaster was charred and resembling a lump of coal, which only reinforced Abruzzi’s Santa Claus theory.
After a week of burnt toast, watery mac n’ cheese, and chewy fish sticks, Michael was banned from the kitchen. C-Note and Abruzzi began sneaking out to McDonald’s, only to find out the rest of the guys had been doing the same thing. They all got Maricruz fired when so much food had gone missing. Escaping police surveillance, she was able to go with Sucre and live with the fugitives in the tiny house.
Since no one had actually told him, it had taken Bellick a week to realize that three-tenths of the household were missing. It didn’t help that Maricruz had suddenly been added. She filled the house’s quota of one brunette chick.
“What the hell?” he bellowed. “Where are Sara and T-Bag?”
Lincoln spoke up before anyone else could. “They ran off with Veronica.”
“Who in their right mind -”
“Would run off with T-Bag?” Lincoln cut in. “Yeah, I know. I don’t understand it either.”
“No! Who would run off with Veronica? That fuckin’ cocktease was all over me one night, until I offered to show her my porn collection. The bitch is damn crazy, is what she is.”
Lincoln had to agree with that.
“Well, shit.” Bellick looked around at everyone. “I lost my two promises. So, who’s gonna blow me now?”
Michael hadn’t been listening. He was too busy prancing around in his new Daisy Dukes. He stopped when he noticed everyone staring expectantly at him. “What?”