Trapped In Nowhere

The games aren't over yet

The corridor in which he is now is heavily darkened, and a sulphurous, green light shimmers on the floor and the walls, which gives him little visibility. It is still difficult to find orientation here because this literally poisonous looking light often tends to not function correctly. He dares to take every step carefully, because you will never know what to expect in front of your feet in the fog or in the dark. This place is so suspiciously abnormal. Everything seems so deserted, so calm, so dead. As if you were separated from the rest of the world. The people, animals and plants ... everything and everyone swallowed up by the ground. Until now, Manson was convinced that he would only encounter such locations in the midst of a nightmare. But the most scary thing about it is the fact that someone ... or something ... has to be here and Marilyn is not all alone. Someone not particularly nice. Marilyn has been pounding me into his head so hard that he almost forgets himself. His wounds, his scars, his experiences, his life ... his everything. He can feel the gnawing teeth of the clock eating the time, engraved in his consciousness. Increased worry, panic, fear, time pressure, despair and states of shock pelt down on him like rain on an umbrella, and become more and more similar with a larwine. They get bigger, heavier, until you can hear them shaking across the floor. A roaring noise and a jarring vibration that rolls over him, buries him under itself and sound the bells that will ring into his suffocation-death. He's been caught in this insufferably state for hours. But this hunger for food of the starving, gray and dark bellies increases. When will the high point be reached?

....It's only a matter of time.

These long, wide and large rooms are embroidered with all sorts of unusual things. In the Smoky Mantle of Light, the outlines of tables can be seen with things placed on them. Faint, dark, shadowy outlines of angular, pointed and sharp objects. X-ray images of bodies, printed in a glowing black and white tone, serve as a measly illumination of the operating tables. Marilyn Manson would like to take a quick or long look at it. He finds things like that interesting, but now is really not the right time. He and I are in much, serious danger. Nevertheless, he pulls the moldy, stinking blankets away from the unknowns that he then gets to face at this moment. And it is as he suspected 99.9%. Smoldering corpses fill his field of vision. They exude an unbearable smell in a straight line directly to his nose and predict how he will look and smell soon. How I may look and smell soon ...
He covers his nose and chokes again. Spit trickles from his throat. He had the crazy idea of ​​finding a suitable jaw for his head and sewing it onto it himself. There are numerous surgical tools here. He insists on not imagining what ... for what kind of operations these devices were used and how old they are ... but what he intends to do must happen in his opinion. He doesn't want to melt into my new memory of him as a monster like a welding torch. I'm not supposed to get any more damaged than I already am since a few hours.

I want to keep Manson in mind as I know him.
A handsome, tall, thin man with goth makeup. And even without makeup, he's gorgeous. His brown eyes, his full mouth ... his whole unique face, his whole being.

Of course, with a different jaw it will not look the same as it used to, it will look mistakeful. But that doesn't really matter.

Marilyn Manson puts on two gray rubber gloves, grabs a scalpel, one of the medical aids that happens to be in the right place, in a pile of utensils that he may be able to use after he has severed the jaw from the rest of the head. He just cuts, cold on it, with great effort. Rotting blood spreads over the cutting, sharp blade and makes him feel weaker in the trembling knees. His blood-soaked hair that reaches to the end of his shoulders falls into his face and hinders his work. But he just keeps cutting until he felt the jawbone with the flick of the knife. He doesn't even want to imagine what the noises will sound like when he grinds the bones with this bone saw next to the corpse. Marilyn tries to empty his head. Suddenly It's like he literally doesn't have any functioning emotions at all. Untouched by these glimpses of dead people, all the blood and the rusty killing machines, manson grabs the bone saw like a robot and sets it to the visible jawbone, which is the only bond between the jaw and the remnant of the surreal head. He starts sawing. He keeps his eyes closed. In his imaginary environment he stands alone in a lonely forest and grates the bark of the tree with a wood saw. When the tree falls after a few advances, Marilyn Manson convulsively opens his burdened eyes and sees a head without a jaw lying before him. The jaw is tilted to one side. The whole corpse is soaked in blood. A bit has even spread over the table and floor. The smell of a morgue was now even clearer. Manson picks up the blood-splattered jaw and looks around the room again. He pays no heed to the shattered head. Like ... like nothing happened.
After a little search, he finds an open crate filled with blue disinfectant. This liquid looks disgusting chemical. A bright blue. It shimmers across the room on the walls. If you drink it, you could die of an overdose of dangerous alcohol. In any case, he grabs the handle of the vessel, leaves his new jaw on the floor and ensures that this wound healing agent flows over this part of the body. An interesting foaming comes up, with bubbling bubbles, a vapor rises and dirt stains and melts away from there. The harmful bacteria drown like convicted witches in the Middle Ages who were tied to a heavy stone and pushed into deep water. They suffocate like victims trapped in a gas chamber. A crackling hiss frequencies through the air.
Again the jaw lies on one of the operating tables. Now the self surgery should begin. The scalpel came into play again, and for the first time needles and sutures. He cuts the jaw to size and sews pieces of skin onto it as well as other pieces of other bodyparts. Marilyn feels like a crazy doctor. The jaw is somewhat improved, not perfect, but less mistakeful than before.

Manson burrows his reflection in the glassy crater of the mirror. He reminds himself of an undead who rose from the grave. His current, shattered shell is a twin brother of himself in the vision he had a while ago, but is slowly decaying from his memory. Inexplicable why, but it makes him sad that this daydream is moldy. It might be the only thing, or one of the really few things, that give him hope in his situation. He gently lets his jaw melt onto his own tattered head. Stitches and seams hold it together. Marilyn gently moves his new jaw, opens it and tries to talk. "H-help" stumbles out of his operated mouth with a stutter. It seems like it works. To make it more safe, Manson looks for a flamethrower to incorporate his flesh more stronger and to close his hard-scraped belly. He finds more than just a flamethrower
... he finds another victim ...

Manson's widening his terrorized eyes, is that really her? This woman? Nancy? That insane, obsessed ex of him? "Karma strikes back apparently" is all Marilyn manages to mumble with emphasis. He smiles mean at her. "Marilyn! Help me! Prove to me that you are not such a sick sadist!" She screams with a strong, desperate volume in her voice. He leaned his body towards the telephone the whole time. He grabs it before he plays the answering machine, he replies: "Maybe I'll prove this to your naked, bodyless soul when I'm done here."
The dark, distorted voice of the strange "gameleader" begins to be audible.
"Hello Marilyn. Do you remember that woman who is tied to this chair? ... You're right, it's your obsessed, psychopathic ex-girlfriend, Nancy. The one who took her chance to blackmail you for months. She did call your friends and family members to influence them negatively. She sent you murder threats in letters and answering machines to get you under better control and to steer you like a puppet. You, Marilyn, even gave her a chance to Change, you accepted Nancy as the monster she is in the beginning. But she didn't take her gift that you offered her, it only got worse. She fed you Lsd to make you feel like you were in a mindless and confused state, so she could sexually rape you. She never felt guilty for what she did. Believe me Marilyn, I have watched Nancy for a long time. I know her better than anyone else . But karma now has the right situation to strike back. I want you to make a choice, Marilyn. As you can see, there is a collar adorned with grenades attached to Nancy's neck. In a few minutes the bombs will go off and Nancy's entire skull will explode. Will you let the bombs grind her sinful life to dust, or will you save her by taking the fire-breather and igniting your own skin? Live or die, make your choice. "
"The way he talks about you, I even get a little weak sympathy for the guy." Marilyn admits and lowers his gaze on Nancy, who is sobbing in panic and begging for Manson's forgiveness. "I'm not forgiving. If the police hadn't come back then, you'd have been dead for a few years. Powdered to ashes by the fire and carried away by the crying wind. On a garbage heath or something." Marilyn has to laugh. Nancy is not sure if it is a joke or if it is meant seriously, this saying with the garbage heath. Marilyn Manson is a mystery. "Me and a friend of mine had this plan for days to burn your damn house down while you were inside. We were excited to see you burn, to see these helpless movements of your weak body, caused by the pain, and to feel the screams of torture echoing in our ears . What an interesting sound of the illegal music." He smiles and looks like the joker.
"Too bad that an explosion lasts so quickly. Unfortunately you won't feel anything. Or has this guy already done other things to you? I would wish so." No matter how cloudy manson's eyes appear, there is still room in them to see hatred glow.
"Only 3 minutes left. Then it will be over with you."

"Oh god! You are such a evil person! You are so damn sick! You deserve to die Manson! You deserve to burn in hell! You deserve everything bad this world is able to do to you!"

"What are you talking about? I'm sorry, I stupidly can't really understand you. Your crying is louder than your shaky words. Come on bitch, speak louder! Scream your soul out of your body. The impression of your negative emotions is for me not clear enough yet, hehehe "

"Die! Let the killer get you next!"
Manson's reaction to this saying is pretty questionable and confusing. He thanks Nancy.
"Hm ... really? Are you sure about that? Have you thought carefully about what you said? Do you want me to find peace? That I can rest? How nice of someone like you. I didn't expect that."
Before Nancy can answer, the construction squeezes her throat and goes up in the air. A ring of fire leaves a blood volcano, all that is left of her upper half. The heated blood heaves out of the blasted opening.
"And now, welcome your own hell in eternity." Are manson's last words to her corpse. The metal door behind her opens and Marilyn is one step closer...