James couldn't figure out where he was or what he was doing. He'd been stumbling around the dark, dank, smelly prison for hours. He found a few drawings in one cell, and some weird wax doll in another. A guillotine rested in a large room on one side. He considered hanging himself to end the torment presented by the maze like prison, but the prospects of getting laid were too great to pass up. Maybe afterwards.
Pyramid Head was felt a little uneasy. He swayed from side to side. The 47th empty gallon in his hand. Every thing was working out nicely.
James' collection of seemingly useless items grew steadily. In one pocket was a wax figure, a lighter, a pack of condoms, minus one, a bullet clip, a broken handle, and a map. In the other pocket, a red pen. Then an idea came to him. A brilliant idea.
Pyramid Head, the poor bastard, was on his 62nd gallon of water. Where he got this water, know one knew. But he got it from somewhere. And he put it to his advantage. Plan B. Also known as Plan Exodus.
James' brilliant idea wasn't so brilliant. In fact, it was just plain stupid. But it was the best James could come up with. He pulled out the wax figure.
99 represents many things. The number of bottles of beer on the wall. The year a man named Harry came to this town. The number of gallons of water Pyramid Head drank. Only one more to go and his plan would be half-way complete.
James marveled at his creation. It was his best plan ever. He thought it was the most amazing plan anyone could ever come up with.
When the only witness to James' idea, a small girl with a large bump on her head, was questioned weeks after these events took place, her reply was nothing short of what anyone else would've thought. She was quoted as saying, "I've seen better ideas in first grade science projects! The big poopy head is a moron!"
Pyramid Head wasn't looking so good. His face, or where his face should've been, was a pale shade of green. His eyes would've been, if he had any, floating. His legs shook at the extra weight. His belly bulged. His bladder was ready to burst. It was time.
James was overcome with joy. The miniature model of Pyramid Head he had made out of the wax would prove very useful.
In reality it did, but not as James had planned.
Voodoo was not something James excelled in. In fact, he didn't know the first thing about it. But he didn't know he didn't know. He thought he knew. He withdrew the lighter from his pocket. A shadow crept by in the background, but James didn't notice. Flames were reflected in his eyes, which glowed with malace and content.
Pyramid Head stumbled around, looking for his great knife. It took him a few moments to remember he left it in his guest room. He grabbed the nearest instrument of destruction, which happened to be a spear, and stumbled towards the door. In one hand was the spear. The other hand was clutching the spot of his belly where his bladder hid.
The wax figure of Pyramid Head was slowly melting, creating a puddle of wax in the crevice on the hatch that once was host to a handle. But James was not aware of this. Poor James wasn't aware of a lot of things. Like the person in the shadows watching his every move.
Pyramid Head was a little more perceptive. He knew what he was doing. He swilled as many gallons of water as his massive bladder would hold, and it was time for release. Release of the urine, and the toxins within the urine from the alcohol. He found a nice corner, and began Plan B.
Frustrated and burnt thumbed, James was not happy. His wax figure had melted and formed a puddle in the handle-less crevice on the hatch bellow. In his rage, he pulled the handgun from his pocket and threw it with anger at the ground bellow. It landed with a sickening thud in the puddle, and remained there. The watcher in the shadows couldn't help but giggle. James heard the noise and spun on one foot, facing the spot where the noise orginated.
"Who's there? PHead? Is that you? Hey, buddy, come here. I just want to... uh... hug you. Yeah, hug..." There was no reply.
"Damnit PHead, would you just come out? I won't hurt you, I promise," James said with a fake smile. Still no reply.
"Fine then, be that way!" Frustrated, and in a sour mood, James turned back to the hatch. He finally noticed that the handgun had landed in the wax, and cursed. Then it hit him. The wax would hold the gun in place and provide a mock handle, but he'd have to leave the gun. He bent down, grabbed the gun, and lifted. 'Huzzah!' he thought as the hatch opened. He started to make his way down.
The stranger in the shadows crept foward. It was Lara, with a noticable bump on her head. She tip-toed closer to where James stood, arms streched out, ready to push James down the hole. But she was too late. James had blindly lept in before she could reach him. And cause something terrible to happen. The force of the hatch closing caused the hand gun to fire. Sadly, it was aimed right at Lara's right knee cap. As the bullet exited her flesh, blood spraying behind it, she clasped the wound with her hands, and fell to the floor, tears in her eyes.
But James didn't care. Not only for the fact that he didn't know, cause even if he did know, he still wouldn't care. He just didn't care about anyone. James was that kind of bitch. He cared about one person, and one person only. Himself.
And like wise, no one cared about him. His parents hated him. His ex-girlfriends wished death upon him. Any one else he crossed didn't even realize he existed, for the most part. But this didn't bother James. As far as he knew, he was the greatest person alive. No one agrees.
Pyramid Head was felt a little uneasy. He swayed from side to side. The 47th empty gallon in his hand. Every thing was working out nicely.
James' collection of seemingly useless items grew steadily. In one pocket was a wax figure, a lighter, a pack of condoms, minus one, a bullet clip, a broken handle, and a map. In the other pocket, a red pen. Then an idea came to him. A brilliant idea.
Pyramid Head, the poor bastard, was on his 62nd gallon of water. Where he got this water, know one knew. But he got it from somewhere. And he put it to his advantage. Plan B. Also known as Plan Exodus.
James' brilliant idea wasn't so brilliant. In fact, it was just plain stupid. But it was the best James could come up with. He pulled out the wax figure.
99 represents many things. The number of bottles of beer on the wall. The year a man named Harry came to this town. The number of gallons of water Pyramid Head drank. Only one more to go and his plan would be half-way complete.
James marveled at his creation. It was his best plan ever. He thought it was the most amazing plan anyone could ever come up with.
When the only witness to James' idea, a small girl with a large bump on her head, was questioned weeks after these events took place, her reply was nothing short of what anyone else would've thought. She was quoted as saying, "I've seen better ideas in first grade science projects! The big poopy head is a moron!"
Pyramid Head wasn't looking so good. His face, or where his face should've been, was a pale shade of green. His eyes would've been, if he had any, floating. His legs shook at the extra weight. His belly bulged. His bladder was ready to burst. It was time.
James was overcome with joy. The miniature model of Pyramid Head he had made out of the wax would prove very useful.
In reality it did, but not as James had planned.
Voodoo was not something James excelled in. In fact, he didn't know the first thing about it. But he didn't know he didn't know. He thought he knew. He withdrew the lighter from his pocket. A shadow crept by in the background, but James didn't notice. Flames were reflected in his eyes, which glowed with malace and content.
Pyramid Head stumbled around, looking for his great knife. It took him a few moments to remember he left it in his guest room. He grabbed the nearest instrument of destruction, which happened to be a spear, and stumbled towards the door. In one hand was the spear. The other hand was clutching the spot of his belly where his bladder hid.
The wax figure of Pyramid Head was slowly melting, creating a puddle of wax in the crevice on the hatch that once was host to a handle. But James was not aware of this. Poor James wasn't aware of a lot of things. Like the person in the shadows watching his every move.
Pyramid Head was a little more perceptive. He knew what he was doing. He swilled as many gallons of water as his massive bladder would hold, and it was time for release. Release of the urine, and the toxins within the urine from the alcohol. He found a nice corner, and began Plan B.
Frustrated and burnt thumbed, James was not happy. His wax figure had melted and formed a puddle in the handle-less crevice on the hatch bellow. In his rage, he pulled the handgun from his pocket and threw it with anger at the ground bellow. It landed with a sickening thud in the puddle, and remained there. The watcher in the shadows couldn't help but giggle. James heard the noise and spun on one foot, facing the spot where the noise orginated.
"Who's there? PHead? Is that you? Hey, buddy, come here. I just want to... uh... hug you. Yeah, hug..." There was no reply.
"Damnit PHead, would you just come out? I won't hurt you, I promise," James said with a fake smile. Still no reply.
"Fine then, be that way!" Frustrated, and in a sour mood, James turned back to the hatch. He finally noticed that the handgun had landed in the wax, and cursed. Then it hit him. The wax would hold the gun in place and provide a mock handle, but he'd have to leave the gun. He bent down, grabbed the gun, and lifted. 'Huzzah!' he thought as the hatch opened. He started to make his way down.
The stranger in the shadows crept foward. It was Lara, with a noticable bump on her head. She tip-toed closer to where James stood, arms streched out, ready to push James down the hole. But she was too late. James had blindly lept in before she could reach him. And cause something terrible to happen. The force of the hatch closing caused the hand gun to fire. Sadly, it was aimed right at Lara's right knee cap. As the bullet exited her flesh, blood spraying behind it, she clasped the wound with her hands, and fell to the floor, tears in her eyes.
But James didn't care. Not only for the fact that he didn't know, cause even if he did know, he still wouldn't care. He just didn't care about anyone. James was that kind of bitch. He cared about one person, and one person only. Himself.
And like wise, no one cared about him. His parents hated him. His ex-girlfriends wished death upon him. Any one else he crossed didn't even realize he existed, for the most part. But this didn't bother James. As far as he knew, he was the greatest person alive. No one agrees.