I wanna give a shout out to DeepDarkDebt09, who has recently returned to FanFiction after a lengthy hiatus, and is in the process of writing Paradise Getaway, which is kinda like a reality show with a killing twist. He explains it better than I do, but rest assured, he is one of the better writers I've seen on FanFiction. The thing is, he needs a few OCs to kick-start Paradise Getaway, so I'm appealing to you guys reading this to help him out. You know the drill, click on his story and toss some OCs in the mix. You know you want to.

That being said, let us continue our journey deeper into the story of Bloody Vengence with chapter 21: Insanity Plea.

Shifty was a sobbing mess.

Seeing the only person he probably ever cared about ripped in half had truly shattered his mental stability. Lifty's corpse, or rather what was left of it, had quickly been buried by Toothy as Sparky tried to console the remaining raccoon twin. After a few minutes, Shifty's sobbing had ceased to quiet heaving, and Toothy motioned to Sparky that they should probably get going.

Sparky patted Shifty lightly on the shoulder. "Shifty? We should be getting back to the hospital. People will be wondering where we are."

Shifty remained silent, his face hidden underneath his wide-brimmed fedora.

"Are you alright to walk?" Sparky asked.

Slowly, ever-so-noticeably, Shifty nodded.

"Alright, c'mon." Sparky offered Shifty a hand, helping him up. Looking like he was on the verge of tears, Shifty got to his feet, and wiped his face with the fedora.

"Shifty?" Toothy joined the two. "I'm sorry about your brother." He said as the trio began the long walk back to the hospital.

Shifty breathed, willing himself not to burst into tears. "He was all I had." He croaked, his throat as dry as the Sahara Desert.

"I know what you're going through, Shifty." Sparky said, remembering Sniffles. "He's taken loved ones from all of us."

"I want to kill him, Sparky. I want to fucking kill him." Shifty hissed, the sorrow giving way momentarily to anger.

"There's a long line ahead of you, Shifty."

"Bingo." DJ whispered, finding the door to the Toxicology lab. "Let's just hope the damned thing works now." He pushed the door open and strode in purposely, the opportunity to help out (and therefore prove he's not that much of an asshole) glinting before him. Petunia followed behind him, casting a wary eye behind herself, not so sure of this grand idea as she was minutes ago. The search for the Toxicology lab had taken them deeper into the hospital, into hallways where she was doubtful anyone had entered for years. If DJ suddenly attacked, her scream would go unheard in these massive hallways…

DJ smiled a small smile of relief as the main screen of the computer booted up. Grabbing the needle out of his pocket, he squirted a small amount of the liquid into a small plastic cup nearby, dripping it into the machine when prompted to.

VERIFYING RESULTS: … 5% … 10%...

Awaiting results, DJ sat himself down on a nearby table and looked at Petunia. "So, how's Fluffee?"

"Hmmm?" Petunia snapped out of her thoughts, her mind having wandered away.

"I asked how Fluffee was." DJ repeated.

"What do you care?" Petunia asked, and DJ paused in hesitation.

"I care because Fluffee is the closest thing I've got to a friend right now." He confessed. "He's pretty much the only person who believes that I'm not responsible for these slayings. Hell, even you think I've got something to do with them."

"The thought has crossed my mind once or twice…"

"Look, Petunia. I understand where you're coming from, really. If this were a murder novel, I'd be a prime candidate for the killer. Number one suspect. But, and you're just going to have to trust me on this, I am not a bad person."

"How can I trust you?"

"You're still alive, aren't you?" DJ snapped, his irritation rising.

"Could be a ploy to lower my guard and falsely gain my trust." Petunia shot back, before she could stop herself.

There was a short silence, then DJ grinned. "I see you've read your fair share of crime novels."

A small ding sounded, catching both their attention. The computer had finished analyzing what the liquid was. DJ glanced at the jumble of numbers and words on the monitor, the dark glow of the screen illuminating his face as his grin fading.

"What is it?" Petunia asked, the maze of information complete gibberish to her.

"Not good…" DJ cryptically noted.

Roughly around the same time, Ruffy was perched at the side of his boss, Rager's bed. Still K.O'd from the blow to the head, Rager's chest inflated and deflated with each passing breath, the only reminder that this person on the bed was still alive. "Rager?" Ruffy whispered, not looking forward to waking his boss up. "Wakey wakey…"

No response. Ruffy leaned forward, closer to Rager's face, and gently poked him in the face.

Rager's eyes shot open.

Before Ruffy could comprehend this, Rager leapt out of the bed, tackling Ruffy to the floor with a loud clatter, hands going for his neck. Ruffy kicked and struggled as Rager's hands tightened around his throat, his lungs beginning to burn for oxygen.

"Rager," Ruffy whispered. "Rager, it's me, Ruffy, let go!"

The squeezing on his airways halted, then slowly reversed. Rager let go of his partner's throat, the surprise of being awoken so suddenly having taken over for just a moment. Rager rubbed a hand at his temple, suddenly aware that he had the WORST headache. Ever. Ruffy gasped for air, the beginnings of bruises on his throat.

"Fuck… Do NOT do that again!" He wheezed.

"Sorry, reflex." Rager weakly said, shrugging.

"Your first reflex when someone wakes you up is to try and throttle the life out of them?"

"You surprised me." Rager offered a hand, helping his young partner back to his feet. "What happened? I remember talking to, uh… Spades, and then… Nothing."

Ruffy coughed. "Uh, yeah, see… Thing is… Let's not dwell on it." Perhaps wisely, Ruffy chose not to say what happened. It'd probably convince Rager that stopping the strangulation was a bad idea. "The important thing is, you're awake, and I've got DJ in custody."

"Hmmm…" Rager, murmured. Then, it clicked. "Wait, what?"

"Flippy found him at the docks. Said he blew up the boat."

"The boat… Where is he now?"

"Petunia wanted to talk to him…"

"And you just let him go along with her unsupervised?"

"I thought you'd want to know…" Ruffy shrugged. "I doubt he'd try to escape again. He showed no resistance when Flippy brought him in, so…"

But Rager had already ran past Ruffy, out the door into the hallway.

Flippy wasn't that much of a coffee drinker a few weeks ago, but wasn't complaining as the warm brew of freshly-made coffee soothed his throat. Sure, the coffee tasted about as good as cough medicine, but it helped nonetheless.

Sitting at a dining table in the hospital's café, he was silently marveling at how the coffee maker still worked when Flaky placed a plate of pancakes in front of him.

"There's heaps of supplies in the store room." She explained, handing Flippy a fork. "I couldn't find a use-by date, but it smelt fresh, so it should still be edible."

"What, no waffles?" Flippy grinned, stabbing the first pancake with the fork. Flaky smiled back, a shaky smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Flippy, we need to talk." She said, taking a seat across the table.

Flippy glanced around the café, suddenly feeling like he was being watched, then sighed. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

"Flippy… Are you alright?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you've been more… Unstable recently. And with, you know, Evil, I was wondering…" She trailed off, her silence finishing her sentence adequately.

Flippy was quiet, waiting for the voice of his darker side to pop in with his usual sadistic opinions.

But nothing came.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm afraid that I'm losing control over him." Flippy admitted. "Just last week, I could even go to a fireworks event knowing that I'd be able to stop Evil from reaching the surface. But now… Now I'm not sure. He doesn't seem to be talking to me, which is sending warning signs all over the place… But my grip on him, his voice, his whereabouts… It's losing, Flaky. I don't think I can hold him off for another week. He's going to fight his way to the surface soon, real soon, and I don't think I'll be able to stop him doing whatever he wants when he does."

Flaky quietly pondered this for a minute, then nodded. "We'll get you through this. If we leave… WHEN we leave, you'll get help. Professional help. Therapists, pills, whatever it takes to stop Evil from trying to take over your life."

"I can't do it alone." Flippy replied, shaking his head.

"Then I'll come with you." Flaky said after a pause. The two smiled, and their hands met in the middle of the table.

I whistled a cheerful turn as I lugged Fluffee along, the Siberian Husky tied with the old standby, duct tape, as he was slung over my shoulder. Sure, the second he realized who I was, he struggled. But he wasn't a match for me. I'm strong, smart. Fluffee has just recovered from a triple-K.O, so naturally he's uncoordinated. I've done this many times before. I doubt Fluffee's been in this situation before.

See? The odds are in my favor.

"If you'd stop kicking so much, we'd be there quicker." I snapped, as Fluffee's incessant struggling caused him to kick me ineffectively in the chest. Little bastard. He mumbled something in response, which was barely understandable thanks to the duct tape, although I do believe I heard a thinly veiled threat to put him down, lest he would kick my ass.

The thought made me grin. He's not going to kick anyone's ass in anytime soon. Duct tape does that.

Another kick wiped the grin from my face. Now it's just annoying. I threw Fluffee to the floor, not caring about the echo his body made as it connected with the hard tile floor. It's the 5th floor of the damned hospital. No-one's been up here for years bar me. I ripped the duct tape from his mouth, taking several delicate bits of fur out too, and instantly the Siberian Husky shouted.

"Let me go, you ASSHOLE!" Fluffee yelled, struggling against his bonds. "What do you want from me, you piece of shit? Hey, help! Anyone, hel-"

He was cut off when I kicked him firmly in the ribs, then just to get my point across, I placed a foot on his throat and added pressure. His shout died out to a whisper, the sudden lack of air being the number one priority right now as I slowly crushed his neck.

"Alright, now you listen here." I snarled, leaning down so we could be face to face. "I could snap your neck in an instant if I wanted to, and absolutely no-one would notice. And the only reason I haven't done that, Fluffee, is because I have a bigger plan in mind. A bigger plan in which you are an integral part of. THAT is why your head is still attached to your shoulders, why your eyes aren't ripped out, why your heart is still beating. So, unless you want to be in such agony that you'll be screaming for a death that won't come, you're going to quieten down and stop kicking so damned much. Got it?"

Slowly, silently, Fluffee nodded. I released my hold on his throat, and smiled darkly.

"I'm proud that we've reached a same level of understanding." I said, slapping him lightly in the face. Fluffee, gasping for air, offered no resistance as I picked him up and slung him over my shoulder like a wounded soldier. I took a few steps forward, and paused.

The hair on the back of my neck prickling up in suspicion, I felt someone's eyes drilling into the back of my skull. Watching me.

I spun around, Fluffee making a small sound of protest, and scanned the hallways.

No-one was there. My paranoia got the best of me, perhaps? For a long time, I've been wary of everyone, eyes in the back of my head. Was I slipping? Was my mental stability getting the better of me?

No, of course not. That's silly. There's no-one on the 5th floor except me and Fluffee.

Speaking of which…

"Let's stop wasting time." I said, turning around and continuing my course. Fluffee made no audible response, but for the remainder of our journey I kept my eyes and ears open.

And maybe, once or twice, I caught a shadow out the corner of my eye.

"It kills me not to know this
but I've all but just forgotten
What the color of her eyes were
And her scars or how she got them.

As the telling signs of age ring down
A single tear is dropping
Through the valleys of an aging face
That this world has forgotten…"

Cue brilliant guitar riff. Sikks mimed playing an imaginary guitar to the tune of Rise Against's 'Savior', the Ipod next to him belting out the tunes like there's no tomorrow. Beside him, Niki bobbed her head along with the beat, a content smile on each of their faces.

Petunia watched this from the doorway, standing awkwardly with the test results in her hand until Sikks noticed her mid-chorus and waved her inside, tapping the 'pause' button on the Ipod. "Where'd you go?" He asked.

"Well…" Petunia paused, mentally weighing her options, before moving on. "I decided to go down to the toxicology lab and find out what was in that needle."

Sikks raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What were the results?"

Petunia paused again, glancing at the words printed on the paper.

"Well? C'mon, I'm a big boy, I can take it." Sikks said.

"You were injected with several milligrams of a highly concentrated mixture of muscle-numbing tranquilizer-like drugs." Petunia explained, reading off the paper. "I don't know how to pronounce most of them, too many letters, but the bottom line is that they're slowly, part by part, bit by bit, shutting your body down. Apparently, it starts off with the area of injection, in your case your leg, causing it to go numb and lose all feeling in it… then it spreads. It kills the muscles in your body one by one, until your heart is unable to keep functioning… And you die." She lowered the paper, tears in her eyes. "Sikks, I'm so sorry."

Sikks sat silently, dumbfounded. He subconsciously rubbed the spot where the needle hit him, wondering how something so small could be so devastating. He put his face in his hands, breathing deeply, trying to maintain his composure.

"So…" He stuttered. "So… Am I going to die?"

"I'm so sorry, Sikks." Petunia repeated, bursting into tears.

DJ watched this from the hallway with curious eyes. He was wondering how Sikks would react, being told he was going to die. So far, it seemed that the shock of this new information had overwhelmed Sikks. Petunia, on the other hand, was already crying. Then again, she always was a tad over-emotional.

"DJ?"

DJ glanced behind him, and sighed at the sight of Rager and Ruffy standing behind him. Rager was twirling a new pair of handcuffs, grinning in satisfaction. Wordlessly, DJ held his hands out, letting Rager snap the handcuffs on him with no resistance.

"Desmond Jazed, you are under arrest under suspicion of mass murder." Ruffy told him, speaking from memory. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and, um… It can and…" Ruffy fell silent, having forgotten what comes next, and shrugged helplessly.

"Anything I say can and will be used against me in court." DJ finished for him. "Blah blah blah, something about lawyers, let's just go." He breathed, and glanced at Rager. "You look happy."

"I feel happy." Rager replied.

"Congratulations." DJ deadpanned. "Lead the way."

With a curt nod, Ruffy and Rager began walking down the hallway, DJ between them. Their footsteps echoing, DJ glanced around, hoping to find someone, anyone to talk to, reassure him it'd be okay.

No-one greeted him.

With a sigh of resignation, DJ allowed himself to be led down the stairwell.

The gate to the southern docks swung idly in the wind, it's metallic creaks sending shivers up Spade's spine. If this wasn't the worst week of Spade's life, he didn't know what was. The nerve of that asshole… Threatening to lump Laces with his legacy… Precious, innocent Laces, who wouldn't even hurt a fly. It would devastate her. Ruin her life. Spades could not… WOULD not, let that happen. But does that mean he should continue this merciless killings?

No. Spades decided here and then, that after he checked these docks for… whatever he was looking for, he was done. He'd commandeer a motorboat, go get help. Save everyone. Become a hero. No-one would have to know what he's done.

But that left the question of Laces. Spades thought of his young sister and he felt her pink wristband, hidden inside his pocket. The chances of Laces being on the island with them should be extremely low… Yet, the fact that he had the wristband with him suggested otherwise. Perhaps she was hidden somewhere on the island? If so, where? Surely if someone else had seen her, they're tell Spades. He was her brother after all.

Or maybe the killer had paid Laces a visit before the boat set off on the journey…

No. No. Spades would not dare to think that.

Spades crept forward, through the gate, and scanned his surroundings. The hot afternoon sun shined on the wet docks, glinting from the surface of the sea. It was then that Spades caught the scent of… something.

"Hello?" He shouted, the smell stinging his nose. "Anyone here?"

The clatter of something falling over answered him.

"Who's there?" Spades stepped cautiously in the direction of the sound, near a small shack at the side of the docks. He rounded the corner of the shack, and gagged.

The smell was the scent of death. Painful, burning death. Emitting from a blackened smudge on the ground, which Spades suspected was once a person, now nothing. Holding a hand over his nose, he backed off, the urge to turn around and run rising.

But something caught his eye at the other end of the shack.

It seemed like the bloodstain on the side of the shack, several small holes protruding from the wall where something had embedded itself in it. Several nails, possibly the source of the holes, lay on the ground, having been ripped out by something. The bloodstain led across the ground, around the corner, as if someone had dragged the body somewhere else.

His curiosity overcoming his panic, he stepped over the dark smudge, careful not to touch it at all, and approached the bloodstain on the wall. Crouching beside it, he noted that the bloodstain was exceptionally small…

His eyes fell on the blood trail on the ground. Against better judgment, he got up and followed it around the corner.

The blood trail led to what appeared to be a cot, the perfect size for a small baby.

Spades slowly stepped towards the cot, his mind telling him to stop and run away, his body not listening. Reaching the cot, he observed that it contained a pillow and a dark red gown, the gown covering a small lump.

His mind was screaming for him not to do it.

His body was still ignoring it.

Spades grabbed the gown and pulled it off.

"Oh my god…" Spades breathed, dropping the gown.

The bloodied corpse of Cub greeted him.

"Oh my god…" He repeated, backing up in terror and tripping over. Scrambling to his feet, he turned around to run-

And came face to face with Pop.

To say Pop was slightly shaken by his son's death would be a tremendous understatement. Pop's eyes were blank, the lights on and nobody home, the eyes of a man who has lost everything.

Spades noticed Pop held a sharp screwdriver in his hand a second too late.

Pop attacked, tackling Spades to the ground. The only though in his deranged mind was to protect his son. Perhaps it wasn't exactly getting through to him that he had no son to protect anymore. Regardless, Pop had lost his mind. Pop held the screwdriver, the metal shaft glinting in the sunlight, and thrust it down towards Spade's face.

Spade's hands came up and grabbed Pop's lowering hand just short of the screwdriver impacting.

Spades kicked and struggled, but Pop was keeping him pinned down by the waist, and Spades was losing the battle as Pop forced the screwdriver closer and closer to Spade's right eye.

Spades pushed the screwdriver away by a bit, Pop not relenting, and looked around for something, anything that could help.

His eyes feel upon a bloodstained hammer, next to Cub's cot.

He reached out an arm to try and grab it, but it was just out of his reach. And it was getting increasingly harder to hold Pop off with his remaining hand. Still, Spades stretched for the hammer, knowing that Pop was not going to stop until one of them was dead.

Turning his gaze back to Pop, Spades was terrified to see how closer the screwdriver was to his eye. Blindly groping for the hammer, Spades struggled harder, his holding arm dropping just a bit…

The screwdriver scratched the tip his eye. Searing, burning pain rung through Spade's body as the blood rushed to his right eyeball, his thrashing becoming increasingly more drastic. Finally, his fingers brushed against the handle of the hammer, and in a mad panic, Spades gripped it and swung the hammer as hard as he could at the side of Pop's head.

Pop instantly toppled off of Spades, the hard blow of the hammer probably giving him an instant concussion. He grabbed the side of the cot for support, and the cot simply broke apart, Cub's body tumbling out onto the dirt.

"Cub?" He whispered, blood trickling down from his ear from where the hammer struck.

Spades swung the hammer again, connecting with the back of Pop's head. Pop collapsed to the dirt, the life leaving him, as Spades struck with the hammer again and again in a blind panic. In his last moments, Pop reached out amid Spade's desperate hammer blows, and gripped his son's hand before it all went black.

Pop died holding his son's hand. I don't know about you guys, but that's kinda poetic. Father and son lived together and died together, the father embracing his son one last time before death welcomed them…

Great, now I've got a tear in my eye…

Not long til the end, guys. Got any predictions? Who's the killer? Who's gonna die next? Any and all predictions are welcomed. Reviews are good for my self-esteem, constructive criticism will be taken under advisement (you can never be too good a writer), and flamers will be pointed and laughed at. And don't forget to check out DeepDarkDebt09's works and help him out with the OC problem.

Cheers.