Bubba's Bad Day

The water from the tap dribbled out over Bubba's huge hands. The blood was taking some time to come off. But that was fine, the rest of the crew would keep any guards from coming in until he was done. Sparing a glance for the corpse of the mouthy limey, he started to whistle as he scrubbed.
The guy had been a royal pain in the ass on his first day in. Damn psychopath had shredded his girl on a street or somesuch. Kept going on about how he wasn't meant to be in New York, how he'd been a London boy born and bred and never left. Well fuck that fool, anyone who doesn't respect Bubba's need to eat their food doesn't get to keep breathing. Prick had even been given two warnings, one more than normal on account of his being a limey, keeping up relations and all.
Then last night the stupid fuck had bumped into him on the stairs and not stopped to grovel his apologies. Somehow he still thought he was the big everything.
Well, a shiv through the ribs and into his measly little heart had put paid to that idea, and ended any others he might ever have had.
As he shut the water off, Bubba turned for a last look at the fool. His eyes widened in utter shock as the guy was stood there staring pure hatred in his direction.
"I get launched across the world. The best little cocksucker I ever found who also liked it up her arse explodes all over one of my best suits. You Yankee fucks put me in this shithole. And then a big bald, fat black fuckstick stabs me with a fucking sharpened toothbrush? Do you know what, I've fucking had it. First I'm going to kill you, you useless skin wearing lump of shit, then I'm leaving this fucking place and taking as many as want out with me. But not you. Because you'll be dead."
Bubba's mind raced, the guy was dead, he had been sure of it. How could he have missed, it's not like this was his first stop at the kill-all-you-can eat buffet.
"Hey man, how the fuck?" But Bubba never got an answer, instead he got his own weapon returned at speed through his right eyeball. And unlike Mike, he wasn't going to stand back up after it.

Ten minutes later, six more dead cons from Bubba's gang behind him, Mike led the rest of the prison towards the main gate. Most of the guards had fled after shooting him to pieces, only to see his grinning face staring out behind a mask of blood as his shredded skin flaps sewed themselves back together and then he pointed in their direction.

One hour later, two thousand of New York's most dangerous were loose on the streets and Mike was heading to JFK. Ten thousand dollars in cash in his pocket and a fresh suit, courtesy of a lawyer who had really been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"I'm coming home." Mike muttered to himself, "I'm going to find out who sent me here and I'm going to fuck them up something chronic."
The reason behind his miraculous survival didn't bother him. He was alive, many other people weren't, that was all that counted.
Mike wasn't a nice guy before. But now immortal and angry, there wasn't a person on the planet you want to meet less in any circumstances.