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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:50:47 GMT
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:51:19 GMT
Originally posted by SupineSnake.
Hello all. Wanted to take some time to talk about the A.I. related issues in the fed this week.
For those who didn’t see, we posted an announcement in the Discord on Wednesday stating that we had found that A.I. tools have been used in promos and were offering those who had used it a chance to come forward and discuss this with the moderators. We would then think about the next steps based on these discussions. We had no intention of publicly naming those that were flagged and still don’t.
In terms of how promos were flagged, we checked using a tool used by one of the moderator's employers, which checks a passage of text (in this case, a whole promo) and returns a percentage score for how much the passage has been written by A.I. The vast majority of promos for the last couple of shows returned low scores (mostly 1% or lower) indicative of original work. Promos from three handlers were flagged as having minor or significant uses of A.I.
Of course, the tool's veracity is something we had little knowledge of (except it being a paid service used by a company, rather than a free online tool), and so we asked those who had used A.I. to come forward. We wanted to know if any others had used A.I. in substantial ways that hadn't been flagged to gauge the system’s veracity. The three handlers that were flagged by the tool all accepted to having used A.I. to varying extents, and the scores are correlated to the extent to which A.I. was used. Talking to those handlers helped ascertain how the use of A.I. looked and what level of input was required to generate the A.I. elements. No other handlers came forward other than those flagged by the tool (other than those who didn't know what we meant by using A.I. tools).
It seems like rephrasing and restructuring tools on Grammarly (or other A.I. systems), as well as automatic synonym replacement tools like Quillbot, were mostly responsible for the high scores. I didn't really know what these things were until earlier this week and I imagine a lot of you don't either. Just as an example of what a rephrasing tool can do, Tommy ran some of his Winter Wasteland promo through the one on Grammarly.
Here is the original, scoring less than 1% on the A.I. detection tool:
Rocco was startled out of his slumber around 4:30 on Saturday morning. Tommy was angrily shoving the Christmas tree that Randi had put up in the living room back into its box. For the first time that he could remember, he was actually looking forward to the holidays, but the nightmares and Keres’ looming presence in the apartment had ruined all of that. He had allowed himself to get excited about the idea of waking up on Christmas morning and watching Randi and Walker open gifts. He didn’t even care that Walker was too young to fully understand what was going on. He finally had the family he had never had before, but Keres had ruined it all.
It had been more than a week since Tommy had seen Randi and Walker. The minutes felt like hours, the hours like days, and the days like weeks. The man who had once enjoyed life as a bachelor suddenly missed the family that he had started. Of course, he wasn’t truly alone. Rocco had set up homestead in Tommy’s apartment the morning that Randi took Walker and fled to her aunt’s home in Tulsa.
And the reworked version, scoring 97% on the A.I. detection tool:
Rocco jolted awake around 4:30 on Saturday morning, startled by the commotion. Tommy was forcefully packing away the Christmas tree Randi had lovingly decorated in the living room. Despite his anticipation for the holidays, his excitement had been overshadowed by nightmares and the ominous presence of Keres in their apartment. He had been eagerly anticipating spending Christmas morning with Randi and Walker, relishing in the joy of giving gifts, even if Walker was too young to fully grasp the occasion. For the first time, he felt the warmth of having a true family, only to have it shattered by Keres' interference.
It had been over a week since Tommy last saw Randi and Walker. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, amplifying his longing for the family he had begun to cherish. Despite the sudden absence of his newfound family, he wasn't entirely alone. Rocco had taken up residence in Tommy's apartment since the day Randi left for her aunt's home in Tulsa, seeking refuge from the turmoil caused by Keres.
You can argue about which version is better but obviously the original is already very good. I imagine the results would be more marked when running something less refined through the same tool, and other tools from other A.I.s may be more or less powerful. Regardless, the difference is clearly noticeable to the point where I don't think the reworked version can be truly considered the writer's own work. Although there is no specific rule in our rules thread about using A.I. in this way, we feel there is an obvious expectation that work put out in a competitive setting is your own.
Although we do not intend to publicly name those handlers concerned, we will reach out to handlers who have lost to a promo that used A.I. in a significant way, such as the use of rephrasing/restructuring tools. This is not a large number of people. We will discuss with them if there are any ramifications for their character. I also just wanted to make clear that no mod character is involved in this as an opponent (successful or otherwise) of a promo that was flagged as having A.I. I should also point out that this is completely unrelated to Cap’s decision to step away from the fed. Cap’s promos were not flagged as having used A.I. in any way and Cap is welcome back to the fed if he should ever choose to roleplay here again.
Going forward, we would like to establish what is considered okay and what isn’t:
- Use of a standard spell/grammar checker, like those found on Google Docs or Word, is fine.
- Use of A.I. to generate images used in promos is fine, as is sourcing images from elsewhere on the internet.
- Use of rephrasing/restructuring tools, such as those found on Grammarly, or using an A.I. tool to rephrase or restructure your promo, in a way that alters the writing in a meaningful manner is not allowed.
- Use of automatic synonym replacement tools like Quillbot is not allowed.
- Essentially, you have to write it all yourself.
You are welcome to discuss or share your opinions in this thread, but we’d rather discussion be kept to the use of A.I. in promos or A.I.-related issues raised above rather than discussing specific members or results (for obvious reasons).
You can reach out to a mod if you have any questions or thoughts or concerns you’d rather share privately.
Thanks
Mods</font>
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:51:52 GMT
XXXVIII.
“NIGHT TWO.”
Live from 올림픽체조경기장 [the Olympic Gymnastics Stadium in Seoul, South Korea.
Thursday 8th February, 2024.
FIRST MATCH || 1/20.
Konchu Hao vs. Michelle von Horrowitz.
Singles Match - F1 Climaxxx Pool A.
Match writer: SS.
Meltdown XXXVIII will kick off with Pool A action, as the two competitors currently sitting atop of that division will go head to head. They are Michelle von Horrowitz, who triumphed over long-term rival Mike Parr in Hanoi’s main event, and Konchu Hao, who started his own campaign with a victory over Xperienx Xtacee. A win here will mean going clear at the top of Pool A, putting an all-important bye within reach.
SECOND MATCH || 1/20.
Xperienx Xtacee vs. Mike Parr.
Singles Match - F1 Climaxxx Pool A.
Match writer: SS.
Both Mike Parr and Xperienx Xtacee will be looking to turn around their fortunes in week two of F1 competition. Xperienx was defeated on XXXVII by Konchu Hao, further compounding the disappointment of his recent Trios Championship loss at Winter Wasteland. Mike Parr, meanwhile, took Michelle von Horrowitz to the limit, the match going well past the four minute warning and nearing a tie before a top rope clothesline put the Prodigy away. Both will want to get off the mark in Seoul, knowing that a win here elevates their chances of making the post-Fight Night knockout stages.
THIRD MATCH || 1/20.
Chris Peacock vs. Halloween Knight.
Singles Match - F1 Climaxxx Pool B.
Match writer: Man.
In perhaps the biggest shock of week one of F1 action, Chris Peacock was defeated in a little over two minutes by Xavien Marshall in the tournament’s opening contest. The former World Champion allowed himself to be distracted by the presence of Jay Kenny, but will be pleased to have the boon of his own tag partner - Alyster Black - at his side as the tournament continues. Halloween Knight, meanwhile, was overwhelmed in his F1 debut against North American Champion Big Bryan Bastard. Both will be hoping to get off the mark in Seoul.
FOURTH MATCH || MAIN EVENT || 1/20.
Big Bryan Bastard vs. Xavien Marshall.
Singles Match - F1 Climaxxx Pool B
Match writer: Dubb.
This battle at the top of Pool B is between the tournament’s two champions. Xavien Marshall, who holds the FWA World Tag Team Championships alongside Jay Kenny, made short work of Chris Peacock in Hanoi, whilst FWA North American Champion Big Bryan Bastard proved too much for Halloween Knight. It will be another interesting opportunity for Marshall to measure himself up against the FWA’s main event talent, whilst Baxter - who puts his championship on the line in the tournament - will hope to extend his impressive winning streak to seven F1 pool stage matches.
{F1 STANDINGS & FIXTURES} 
038: “対馬.”
Live from the Island of Tsushima in Japan.
Saturday 10th February, 2024.
FIRST MATCH || 1/20.
Deathswitch (Chris Crowe and Tommy Bedlam) vs. FTN (Alyster Black and Chris Peacock).
Tag Team Match.
Match writer: Man
With Alyster Black returning to Chris Peacock’s side, the two former FWA World Champions vowed on Fallout 037 that they would be reclaiming the tag championships they held last year. In a scathing video segment, FTN criticized their treatment by the FWA and their fellow competitors, whilst calling out Deathswitch. Crowe and Bedlam had picked up a good win against Aka Manto, and this match will be valuable experience for Crowe as he prepares to challenge for the tag titles at Fight Night with Randy Ramon. Bedlam is gearing up for the King of the DeathMatch tournament and defending his X Championship there in, and here he takes on the longest reigning X Champion in history in Alyster Black.
SECOND MATCH || 1/20.
Madison Gray vs. Colby Sol.
Singles Match.
Match writer: SS.
Madison Gray picked up a big win on Fallout 037 and in doing so, became the #1 Contender to the FWA Television Championship. Whilst a date with Brooklyn Steiner at Fight Night is on the cards, she must turn her attention first to Colby Sol. The newcomer picked up a convincing victory himself against La Sombra Filosa on that same show. Defeating a championship contender in his second match would be a great boon for Sol, but as is known, ‘The Young Lioness’ will not go down without a fight.
THIRD MATCH || 1/20.
XYZ vs. Gabrielle Montgomery.
Singles Match.
Match writer: Tommy.
XYZ was scheduled to go up against FWA Television Champion Brooklyn Steiner on Fallout 037, which was a huge opportunity for him to place himself into contention for that title. That was not to be, however, with X not even showing up for his match during the event. We did catch up with him later in the evening, where XYZ was searching through Mexico City’s many parks for unknown reasons. Let’s hope he finds time in his schedule for Fallout 038, where he finds himself one-on-one against a former two-time FWA World Champion in Gabrielle. The Caramel Naiad came up just short in the five-person main event of Fallout 037, during which Cyrus Truth emerged as the first contender to Jeremy Best’s world title. The former Goddess will look to rebuild, starting with XYZ on Tsushima.
FOURTH MATCH || 1/20.
Leafdom vs. Doug LuPone.
Singles Match.
Match writer: AON(?).
Newcomer Leafdom impressed, even in defeat, during a four-way match on Fallout 037 in Hong Kong. That match was eventually won by Medina Alvarez, but Leafdom did enough to earn this singles contest against Doug LuPone. Rumour has it that LuPone, one half of the Lumberjacks alongside his brother Dan, expressly requested this one-on-one match-up with the newcomer, which is scheduled for one-fall with a twenty minute time limit.
FIFTH MATCH || 1/20.
Medina Alvarez vs. Jackson Fenix.
Singles Match.
Match writer: Jimmy.
Speaking of that four-way match on Fallout 037, Medina Alvarez was the woman who managed to outlast Savior Hawkins, Maria Cappitani, and the aforementioned Leafdom. Alvarez, who is rumoured to be in talks to enter King of the Deathmatch III in March, will look to follow up on this maiden victory as she takes on Jackson Fenix of the Undisputed Alliance. Fenix and tag partner Nate Savage were also victorious last week, defeating Ctrl Alt Repeat in Hong Kong, and both will hope to maintain their momentum in this one-on-one contest.
SIXTH MATCH || 1/20.
Ctrl Alt Repeat (Kenji Marufuji and Marmaduke Whistle) vs. Aka Manto (Keiko Hirabayashi and Aka Yurei).
Tag Team Match.
Match writer: Tommy.
Ctrl Alt Repeat had their first taste of defeat on last week’s Fallout 037 show in Hong Kong, where they were overcome by Jackson Fenix and Nate Savage of the Undisputed Alliance. Aka Manto - the recently returned team of Keiko Hirabayashi and Aka Yurei - came up just short against Deathswitch’s Tommy Bedlam and Chris Crowe. With Crowe now set to team up with Randy Ramon to challenge the champions (the Birmingham Cleveland Violence Department) at Fight Night, the rest of the division strives to move themselves to the front of the chasing pack. Both Ctrl Alt Repeat and Aka Manto will surely hope a victory here re-inserts them into the championship picture.
SEVENTH MATCH || 1/20.
Jason Randall vs. Kleio De Santos.
Singles Match.
Match writer: Jimmy.
Jason Randall returns to singles action ahead of the King of the Deathmatch tournament, which ‘the Wildcard’ will again enter during his third installment. Previous editions of the tournament have both included Kleio De Santos, with the Boa Constrictor going to the final in 2022 and the semis in 2023. Perhaps this match against the unpredictable Randall is the perfect time for De Santos to officially enter the Part III, although she has had other preoccupations as of late, with XYZ once again the subject of her focus during Fallout 037 in Hong Kong.
EIGHTH MATCH || MAIN EVENT || 1/20.
Trixie Bordeaux vs. Brooklyn Steiner.
Singles Match.
Match writer: Dubb.
Fallout 038’s main event sees two of the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance’s champions going one-on-one in this non-championship contest. Trixie Bordeaux currently reigns with the Ravenwood Sisters as the FWA Trios Champions, but was unsuccessful in her most recent outing in 037’s five-way main event. Bordeaux may not be challenging for the FWA World Championship at the Grand March, but with the King of the Deathmatch on the horizon, Spring promises to be busy for the self-proclaimed Deathmatch Queen. Steiner, meanwhile, defeated XYZ via forfeit during 037, but will be desperate to get back into the ring when Fallout comes to Tsushima. His Fight Night opponent for his FWA Television Championship, Madison Gray, is already building up momentum ahead of their Tokyo encounter, and Steiner will want to ensure he does the same, starting with this huge main event for two of FWA’s up-and-coming stars.
Promo deadlines:
Sunday 4th February, 23:59PM Pacific Time.
Monday 5th February, 03:00AM Eastern Standard Time.
Monday 5th February, 08:00AM Greenwhich Mean Time.
Monday 5th February, 16:00PM Australian Western Standard Time.
There will be no extensions! None! Ha!
GLHF. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:52:49 GMT
Originally posted by Cake.  [MEDIA=youtube]el2BXV7r5uw[/MEDIA] [the past - Marmaduke] 'What is the biggest lie you have ever been told? The earth is a sphere? You can’t see the Great Wall of China from space. McDonald's is better than Burger King? Journey isn’t a metal band? Well, do you know what the biggest lie of all is? Video games aren’t real. If you think they aren’t real, then why has it turned into a multi-billionaire industry? Do you really think something based on fiction could be so profitable? Come on now, that is just a zero IQ smooth brain thought process. That is why you should pick up this book and buy it. It will change your life."
Marmaduke slid the book back into the gap of the shelf that he had taken it from. The book was incredibly skinny for a book that was being sold at retail for £27.99, to the point where he couldn’t work out whether it was even a real book or just a prop. Honestly, he wasn’t really sure if he should even ask. He could only imagine what his dear father would say if he were to make a poor first impression. That was when he realized this was a book written by a man he had already worked for in the past. And a man who apparently wasn’t at all pleased that he and Mr. Marufuji had been invited, so he had been told to keep his voice level to the bare minimum. It had been a bit embarrassing that he had never understood until today that it had nothing to do with bears.
Sir Marmaduke Whistle: So, may I ask just one question before we officially begin the ceremony?
A loud and annoyed sigh emanated from the son of the original Kommander. Marmaduke had only previously spoken with him over the phone, but he could already tell that his new boss shared many of the negative qualities that had been plentiful in his father.
Von Truck, Jr.: As long as you keep the questions to a minimum. We are on a tight schedule, and I would prefer if we could follow the itinerary to the letter. I was up all night planning this war meeting, so if you have a question, just spit it out already. You are stealing time from everyone else, so let me hear it already.
The most confusing thing about this whole situation was that out of the four men who had been invited to the meeting, Von Truck, Jr. was by far the tallest, and yet it seemed he didn’t want to get his hands dirty at all. He was physically more impressive than his father had ever been, in many ways, but it seemed he was just as much of a coward as his old man. Which was disappointing, but also to be expected. After all, Marmaduke knew that he was far from the greatest wrestler, so if there was one less roadblock, then he wasn’t going to complain about it.
Sir Marmaduke Whistle: It was a long journey to get here. I was in the air for a long time, and I really have to ask: Will there be any food?
Kenji, who had barely said a word or even introduced himself, finally spoke up.
Kenji Marafuji: Food would be much appreciated. I haven’t eaten a bite of anything since I arrived in San Francisco. Heartache is hard enough as it is, but an empty stomach is a pain I could live without. I could do with a snack or even a light supper. You must be able to afford some kitchen staff if you own your own private town.
If Von Truck, Jr. were capable of breathing fire, Marmaduke guessed this would have been his Bowser moment from the Super Mario Games. His eyes were bulging, and when he hammered his fist down on the table, Marmaduke could feel the vibrations of frustration rattling down his spine.
Von Truck, Jr.: Now is not the time for food! Now is the time for business. You were summoned here at my request, and you are guests in my house. If you are hungry, then you are going to have to wait until we have finished, and then you can worry about your stupid stomachs.
Marmaduke was just going to accept it as an answer. It seemed that his new tag team partner was not as passive as he was, because his Japanese counterpart abruptly stood up and pushed the table forward. If Marmaduke were a betting man, he would have put all the money in his pocket that Marufuji was going to walk out on them and the team was going to dissolve before it had ever officially begun.
Kenji Marafuji: I am going to go and call my girlfriend.
He pointed at Von Truck, Jr.
Kenji Marafuji: So when I get back, you are going to make sure that there is either some food on this table or some food is on its way here. Otherwise, I am just going to call myself a cab and get the fuck out of here. I am here out of respect to your father, not to you. You are a stranger to me, so you either need to fix your attitude, or I am getting out of dodge.
Kenji then turned to the door and exited the room before Von Truck, Jr. could even get a word in. Marmaduke was sure of one thing: this working relationship had already started badly.
Von Truck, Jr.: I knew that guy was going to be bad news. These long-term jobbers always end up having attitude problems. We know we can trust in you, Marmaduke. You were always obedient and respectful when my father was holding the reins, so I fully expect you to do the same now that I am leading The High Command.
He wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or an insult. He was just going to remember his manners.
Sir Marmaduke Whistle: I will do as you command, Sir. As long as my wages are wired into my account, I am here to serve.
It sounded like something he should say. His mum had suggested that if he wanted to be a success, he needed to avoid ever breaking kayfabe, even when he wasn’t working, even when he wasn’t on camera. Which was perfectly fine with him because his whole family had been living the kayfabe life since they had been cast to be the residents of Posh Parts many moons ago.
Von Truck, Jr.: Don’t move a muscle. I am going to have to wake up the Chef. I can’t afford for this team to skydive before we have even begun. You two just behave yourself, okay?
Marmaduke looked over at Burger Mane, who at this point hadn’t spoken a single word, and from the way things were going, he didn’t seem keen on breaking his silence anytime soon.
* * * * * * *[the past - Kenji]
Kenji was far from pleased. He had no problem playing a character in front of the camera, but he wasn’t going to allow himself to be disrespected by someone who hadn’t even made their on-screen debut. Rather than lose his mind completely and punch the rude twerp in the mouth, he had chosen flight over fight. He had chosen to instead try and enjoy the fresh air and call a friend. He had considered calling Bao Bao, but at this time of day, it was unlikely that she would have phone reception on the Pacific Blue. Stefan had always proven himself as a solid dude to chat with and had a great ear. A former surfer turned firefighter, whom he had met once in the streets of Shinjuku. A solid dude who worked hard and played harder.
Stefan Du Pont: Dude Bro! What’s popping, man? How are you enjoying America? Land of the soaring eagles and the red, white, and blue! God, I love those guys.
Stefan had a slight South African accent that had faded over time, largely due to a life as a world traveler, but he also seemed to be in a good mood 24/7.
Kenji Marafuji: I wouldn’t say I am in the best of moods. Having to deal with some real pricks, and one of them is meant to be my boss on-screen to make it an even more difficult situation. This wasn’t what I was expecting. Maybe I didn’t come into this with both my eyes open.
Stefan Du Pont: You just need to pop a chill pill and relax, bro. If this job was going to be easy, everyone from Shinjuku to the Himalayas would have jumped on the first plane and battled with you for the same spot. You just need to ride the wave, dude; you are going to crush it! You just got to believe. Believe in your present, and your future will become everything you’ve ever dreamed of.
Kenji Marafuji: I suppose you’re right. I just don’t know if uprooting myself, without being surrounded by any of my friends, was the best thing for me mentally. I’ve only been in the country for a few days, and I feel like I could explode at any second.
Stefan Du Pont: Then the solution is simple.
Kenji Marafuji: And what exactly would that be?
Stefan Du Pont: You need to make some new friends. You can’t be truly happy if you aren’t surrounded by people you actually love. You need to find some like-minded people and live that happy life, dude. That is the only way to move forward, man. Let the cosmic rays guide you down the road of enlightenment. That is the only way to get through this, man. You’ve got to be a smooth operator!
Kenji knew it was good advice and replaced the phone back into his pocket. He knew Stefan was a good dude, and that he would be wise to follow his advice. Having friends was always a good idea. Kenji heard the doors behind him slide open and another person joined him outside. He turned around and found himself face to face with the original Kommander (and father of Von Truck, Jr.) standing in front of him. He had been one of the most distinguished men to ever work in the world of professional wrestling and managed a number of teams throughout his illustrious career with times spent in Australia, Europe, and the States managing various singles and tag team talents, with the most notable being Russian heavyweight Igor the Strong, Australian tag team the Bondi Blondes, and The High Command. He was the only reason he had originally agreed to even travel to America.
The Kommander: I hate to break it to you like this, but this idea of my son’s is never going to work out. The High Command should stay dead, and if you have any sense, you will get on the first flight home. I have seen your work, and you are better than this. You don’t want to ruin your career for my son’s stupid dreams.
Kenji liked honesty. There was nothing worse than someone saying they believe in something, only to find out they think the whole thing is just a joke. He didn’t need an infamous wrestling manager blowing smoke up his arse. That wouldn’t remedy anything at all.
Kenji Marafuji: I will admit, with no disrespect, but your son seems to think quite highly of himself without anything to warrant it.
The Kommander: My son is nothing short of an idiot. He takes after his mother—a complete fool with no sense of reality and unreasonable expectations. There was a reason I left her on the roadside in Taipei, and if I knew it wouldn’t come back to me, I would have tossed him out of the son years ago. My son is a loser, and he will amount to nothing. And everyone that comes into contact with my son becomes a loser by default. So the longer you spend in Nuke Town, the higher chance you will turn into a loser too. Although, to be honest, if you actually got on a plane out of choice, then maybe you are already too far gone. I have been surrounded by losers my entire life. So it would make sense if you were one too.
There was a voice inside Kenji’s head that rarely came out. He did his best to suppress it. Right now, it was telling him to charge forwards and take out the old man with the La Sanza. That would be the dumb decision to make though, and he would quickly find himself in handcuffs and being deported with absolutely no chance of returning to the States. Instead, though, he realised that the father was a much larger cock than the son. And now a very large part of him wanted to prove this old man wrong.
Kenji Marafuji: I’m sorry, but I need to excuse myself.
The Kommander: It is nice to see someone in this house is taking my good advice. Clearly, you have a brain lodged somewhere in that head of yours.
Kenji Marafuji: Actually, I am going back inside to work out plans with your son. The stench of prehistoric dinosaurs is starting to make me feel nauseous.
Kenji then made his way back inside but had absolutely no intention of apologising to Von Truck, Jr. He would just have to suck it up and deal with the situation. Maybe if he got lucky, he could figure out a way to ditch the son at the soonest opportunity. Was he turning into the bad guy? A better question: Had he ever been one of the good guys?
* * * * * * *[the present - Von Truck, Jr.]
Von Truck, Jr. had decided that following the second match against the Undisputed Alliance, he would take The High Command² on a night out that would serve as a bonding session while they were all still in Hong Kong. He had dipped into his monthly allowance and rented out a Party Bus. Or rather, he had paid for four tickets on the bus, as there were also drunk revelers aboard.
Von Truck, Jr.: I must offer my high praises to both Kenji and Marmaduke. We are only two matches into our adventure, but we remain the only tag team in the FWA that is undefeated. You have both shown me that you were truly worth the investment, and let us look to the future. We have two more victims waiting for us in Japan, so enjoy tonight, and then we will push towards three in a row.
The foursome of Von Truck, Jr., Marufuji, Marmaduke, and Burger Mane had been drinking for a while and all seemed to be in a good mood.
Kenji Marafuji: I am going home! Three cheers for Japan! Hip Hip Hooray! Hip Hip Hooray! Hip Hip Hooray!
A few of the other people on the bus joined in with Kenji, although they likely didn’t know what they were cheering for. Burger Mane leaned into Marmaduke and whispered into his ear.
Burger Mane: Didn’t you lose this week?
Sir Marmaduke Whistle: I thought so, but I don’t really see the point in putting my hand in the air and questioning it. I would be in poor form to ruin a night out, aye old chum?
Burger Mane: I suppose you’re right. I just don’t really understand what's going on.
Sir Marmaduke Whistle: I spend a large portion of my life not fully understanding what is going on. And to be perfectly honest, I just find it makes everything a lot easier.
Von Truck, Jr. loathed when people whispered. It meant they were keeping a secret. And secrets often led to betrayal or ideas above your station, and he was not intending on having disloyalty in the lower ranks. At the same time, now was not the time to create a scene. Instead, he counted slowly to ten in his head, thinking about everything he had been learning from his anger management video seminars he had been attending.
Von Truck, Jr.: We have now put the Stupid Alliance, Jackass Fenix and…
Kenji Marafuji: JACKASS!
Kenji seemed more inebriated than anyone else in their group as he shouted out and interrupted Von Truck mid-speech.
Von Truck, Jr.: …and Nate Silly Sausage has been left at the wayside, and we can now focus on our opponents waiting for us on the Island of Tsushima. Our next opponents are going to be...
Burger Mane stood up and raised his glass of beer, shouting at the top of their lungs.
Burger Mane: DRUMROLL PLEASE!
Everyone else on the bus started banging their hands on the back of chairs, and there was a collective element of enjoyment present on the bus, which actually earned a rare smile from Von Truck, Jr.
Von Truck, Jr.: Also Known As Mayo.
Burger Mane: Team Mayonnaise?
Von Truck, Jr.: Great shout! Great fucking shout, Burger Mane! We shall refer to our next opponents forever more as Team Mayonnaise. And you know what we do with Mayo!
Sir Marmaduke Whistle: WE EAT IT!
Von Truck, Jr.: That's right, we eat it! This week we are facing the combination of Keeki Hairbashi and Acorn Urine, and I don’t think we have ever been offered an easier challenge because they are both women, and therefore they are inferior to us in every way.
The blatant sexism Von Truck displayed didn’t get a good reaction from the women aboard the party bus, not that he seemed at all bothered by their reaction to him. His father had educated him in the true values of being a chauvinist pig, and he was very proud of how he had come within the ideology.
Von Truck, Jr.: Now remember, we are living in a world of equal opportunity. So we don't see either of these two as the weaker sex. We don’t give them special treatment. Equal rights means equal lefts, so I fully expect you to fully commit and break their legs so they can never walk again. This is our future. This is our glory. And no one will take away our moment under the spotlight. We are the second coming of The High Command. We are superior to everyone else. We are the future?
Burger Mane leaned into Marmaduke’s ear once again.
Burger Mane: You do realize this dude is actually insane, right? He might actually get us canceled.
Sir Marmaduke Whistle: Oh, he is most certainly insane. At this point, I am fairly convinced he is more insane than his father, but no doubt it is going to earn us some screen time. Honestly, though, I think it will take a lot more than this to get us canceled.
Burger Mane: What makes you think that?
Sir Marmaduke Whistle: I have two words for you. Cum Truck.
Burger Mane stood up and raised his glass in the air and offered a toast.
Burger Mane: CUM TRUCK!
Kenji Marafuji: CUM TRUCK!
Sir Marmaduke Whistle: CUM TRUCK!
Von Truck, Jr.: CUM TRUCK!
Von Truck, Jr. was proud. The team had cohesion. They were all on the same page. He was certain that Ctrl Alt Repeat would very soon become the greatest tag team in the history of sports entertainment. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:53:09 GMT
Originally posted by Jimmy. One step at a time
2024 started with a bang for The Undisputed Alliance after a much-needed win over the new team of Ctrl Alt Repeat.
Maybe it’s too early to tell, but things were starting to look up for Jackson Fenix and Nate Savage after a year mixed with highs and lows for them, but for some reason, not everything was what it seemed.
Only some were feeling good.
Jackson Fenix was still feeling like something was missing. Sure, the win on Fallout felt good, and it was nice to see Nate in good spirits again, but something felt off for Jackson.
He wasn’t feeling like himself.
He had felt like this before, but that had subsided after some time, and he was able to shift his focus to other things that helped him forget about his mental struggles.
Here it was again creeping up on him, and he couldn’t shake it off no matter how hard he tried.
It always crept up on him at the worst possible times, too.
Here he was, trying to get some sleep in his hotel room located on the Island of Tsushima in Japan, just a day before his match with another newcomer to FWA, Medina Alvarez, and these feelings started to return.
Hazel had joined Jackson on this trip and was sound asleep next to him. He was lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling, and he sighed before turning back to his side to face Hazel. He closed his eyes for a moment but then opened them up, and what he saw wasn’t Hazel lying next to him but someone he thought he had gotten rid of.
“How ya doing, Jackie boy?”
Evil Jackson was lying there next to him. His old, evil self was back.
How? Jackson thought to himself.
“I bet you’re wondering how I’m here or why I’m back, huh?”
“You’re not here.”
Jackson didn’t believe the words he just said to reassure himself that this wasn’t real.
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Perhaps it’s your mind playing tricks on you again.”
“No, this isn’t real. This can’t be happening.”
“Jackson, who are you talking to?”
Hazel asks him, still half asleep.
“Nothing, just talking to myself.”
He wasn’t entirely wrong about that.
Hazel seems to have already drifted off back to sleep. Jackson gets out of bed and goes into the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face and dried it off while looking in the mirror.
“Snap out of it, Jack. It’s not real.”
He told himself, but then, in the mirror next to him, there he was again.
“Keep telling yourself that, Jackie.”
Evil Jackson had that same smug, shit-eating grin that he always had.
“What are you doing here? I thought I beat you. I got rid of you; you shouldn’t be here.”
Evil Jackson can’t help but laugh at that. It’s not a loud belly laugh but a quiet, snarky laugh.
“You never listen, do you? When you thought you beat me, I told you I’d be back. I told you I would never truly be gone. After you had your meltdown in front of Xtacee, I left you alone and let you have your fun. I let you be the good guy that you always wanted to be. I allowed you to have your moments, but now I’m back to ask you a question.”
“What is that?”
“Was it worth it?”
“Was what worth it?”
“Was trying to be a good guy worth it? Was trying to be something that you’re not worth it? You say you earned all those opportunities by doing the right thing. You earned them the right and honest way, but then what? You waste them time and time again. Then you dust yourself off and try again.”
“You talk about those doors opening up for you when another closes, but now you’ve run out of doors to have opened for you. There are no more doors of opportunity left for you to open. You’ve squandered every opportunity you’ve earned, brought in other people around you, and then brought them down. First, it was Nate, and then you brought in Xtacee, Monica, and Antonio. Now you have Hazel with you, and soon enough, she’ll go right down with you.”
“So, I ask again, was it worth it?”
Present Jackson doesn’t know what to say. He’s at a loss for words as he looks at himself in the mirror and shakes his head.
“You’re trying to be the good guy; it was a good try, but why try to fix what isn’t broken? Why disrupt a good thing? Why don’t you go back to who you truly are? Embrace me. There’s no use in fighting it, Jackie. Embrace the hate in you.”
“Your old pal Jeremy embraced it and showed his true colors, and look where he is now. He’s on top of the world as the FWA World Champion. He certainly didn’t get there by shaking hands and kissing babies. He knew what he had to do to get by in FWA, and it has finally paid off for him. That could be you right now, but you chose the noble route. While that is admirable, where has that got you? Nowhere.”
“Do you think your next opponent, Medina Alvarez, is trying to be something she’s not? I doubt it. She accepts who she is and doesn’t try to change to appease anyone. Do the right thing, Jackie; you know what I’m saying is true.”
“No, it’s not. I won’t let you win. You can try to break me down, but you won’t win.”
“You can keep telling yourself that, but it won’t help, Jackie.”
“I don’t care what you think or what you say. I don’t care what anyone like you says I should do. I will keep doing what I always do and that’s persevere. I will keep on grinding and doing what I do best by giving it my all and doing things the right way. I will keep working hard until another door opens; I don’t care how long it’ll take. I will keep doing what I do, and you can’t convince me otherwise.”
Evil Jackson looks back at Present Jackson and shakes his head in disappointment.
“Fine, have it your way. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Bad Jackson is gone now, and Present Jackson is alone with his thoughts.
“You got this, Jackson, you can do it. One step at a time.”
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:53:40 GMT
Originally posted by Jimmy. The Wildcard Origins
Chapter 2
“Here we go again.”
Jason Randall is once again sitting in front of a camera, but this time, he’s not inside a studio in an undisclosed location. Randall is at his home in San Diego, sitting outside on the beach house deck that he shares with Penny. It’s a rainy day, which is unusual for San Diego since the residents are usually used to sunny days, but they get a rainy day or two every now and then. Randall is a rare breed that prefers the cold weather, and he likes the rain despite living in a city that is not known for it. Randall likes to watch and listen to the sound of the rain as it pours out from the sky and hits the ground; he finds it calming and peaceful.
“It was about ten years ago that I took a bit of a sabbatical from wrestling, sometime around late 2013; I don’t know; my memory is a bit fuzzy. I touched on it before today in my last promo, but I had somewhat of a falling out with the promotion I had been in before that. Let’s say the falling out wasn’t amicable, but I guess most of the time, things like that never are. In a way, it was sort of a blessing in disguise, I don’t know. It opened my eyes and allowed me to see that some time away from all this was needed.”
“After a few months of not doing anything related to wrestling, I started to feel the itch again. As I said, it had only been a few months, but there it was. It was all I had ever known for ten years up to that point. It had become such a big part of my life for so long that I was not doing it here. I felt lost without it, like a fear of missing out, I guess; I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, and it sounds weird trying to explain it.”
“Eventually, I scratched that itch. I went back to my old stomping grounds and did some training to get back in ring shape, but for some reason, I wasn’t feeling it. There was something that felt off about it all. I thought it over and decided to travel to Japan to improve my craft. I wanted to expand my skills and test myself, so I went to Japan to learn a new hold, as some people in this business like to say.”
“It wasn’t my first time in Japan. I had done some shows there before but never bothered to explore the country and whatnot. At the time, I was a single man with no family nearby, so it’s not like I was leaving anyone behind as I traveled to the other side of the world.”
“Anyway, I bring all this up because Fallout will be in Japan, so I thought this would be a good way to continue the chronicles of my wrestling origins…”
********************
January 2014
Japan
It was the beginning of the year, and I had been in Japan for about a week, give or take. Like I said, I was there to improve my skills and learn a new hold or two. Anyway, the place where I was training was where I met the man who became a mentor to me in many ways. I wasn’t in Japan long before signing with FWA two months later, but I learned much thanks to him.
This story isn’t about him, though; this story is about a match I had there. It wasn’t on a major show or anything; it was in front of some other students and trainers there, including my mentor. The match was against a young woman who had also been training there. I’ll call her Luna; that’s not her name, but for the sake of this story, let’s go with Luna.
The match lasted about 15-20 minutes, and I came out as the winner, but Luna gave me a run for my money. After the match, I spoke with her and learned she had been wrestling for about a year and had been sent to Japan on an excursion. The business hadn’t eaten her up yet because she still had a positive outlook on everything and was always willing to learn. I worked with her more while I was there until I returned home.
********************
“I forgot the point I was trying to make with this story. I don’t know what I thought it had to do with me facing Kleio De Santos on Fallout in Japan would relate to this story other than it being a female I faced in Japan 10 years ago.”
“This didn’t pan out like I had hoped, so I’ll just say this. I know Kleio is going to try her best to one up. I know she’ll be looking to upset me before King of the Deathmatch. This is my road to redemption after how last year’s King of the Deathmatch ended for me, and Kleio is just this minor bump in the road that I will get over.”
“This is my time.” |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:54:22 GMT
Originally posted by Cake. LoveGames
[MEDIA=youtube]ISRrJrUvEiw[/MEDIA]Rejection.
That had been a tough pill for Madison to swallow. In her mind, she had been in a playful mood when she wore her custom weaselperson mask and bumped into Brooklyn, knowing that in just a few weeks they would be locking horns, going toe-to-toe, and battling for the Television Championship. However, when she started flirting with Steiner, the manner in which he rejected her had hurt her confidence. She had very little experience in the love department with either men or women, and she didn’t have much experience to know which side, if any, she batted for, but there was no denying that Brooklyn was a very good-looking man. So, in her mind, what could have just been some casual fun and nothing else had just resulted in a flat-out rejection. Was this the motivation she needed to go that extra yard and become a champion? Or would that rejection end up weighing her down, playing as a constant distraction in her head, a constant reminder that she had struggled with most of her life, that she wasn’t good enough?
That was why Sydney had gone out of her way to arrange a blind date for her. Madison had been feeling a bit nervous about meeting a stranger, and part of her was still lost in her thoughts about the brutal rejection she had suffered. She was meeting someone called Gregory at a Beach Bar, but secretly in her mind, she really wished she was meeting Brooklyn. Did she really want him more now that she had been rejected? The setting of the date was a really cozy table with the setting sun on the horizon and the sound of waves crashing in the background. As she looked up from her seat, a man with a large smile looked towards her.
Gregory: Madison, Hi! I’m Gregory. It's so great to finally meet you in person.
Gregory was tall, with a lean, athletic build. He had dark tousled hair that caught the last rays of sun, kissing her hair. He also had warm hazel eyes that felt like they were filled with kindness. He was wearing casual yet stylish attire, with a light linen shirt that accentuated his toned physique, paired with salmon pink shorts and Jesus-style sandals. He had an aura about him that gave him a really approachable vibe and yet also seemed mysterious at the same time.
Madison: Nice to meet you, Gregory! Sydney said you work in the boating industry? Does that mean you are a fisherman then?
Madison thought that a bit of a joke might help cut the ice, but from the response she was given, it felt like he hadn’t picked up on it at all.
Gregory: Actually, I work more on the yachting side of the boating industry. I manage yacht charters and help clients find the perfect vessel for their adventures on the water. It’s a job that lets me combine my love for the ocean with helping others create unforgettable experiences.
He seemed really enthusiastic about his job, far more excited about telling her about himself than leading the conversation anywhere else.
Gregory: What about you, Madison? What do you do?
Madison: I work in the professional wrestling industry. I'm actually in my rookie year, so I'm still very green, but I'm trying to make a name for myself. Leaving home was a bit of a shock to the system, but I really am living my best life right now. And getting to meet some great people along the way.
Madison offered a cheeky yet flirtatious wink in Gregory's direction. Gregory’s eyes lit up with genuine interest, and a small part of Madison felt a bit nervous about it, almost like he was more interested in her career than her. If he was actually a secret fan, this was the last thing she wanted to even think about. She had heard stories before, and they always had strong stalker vibes.
Gregory: Wow, Madison, that’s incredible! It takes a lot of courage and skill to become a wrestler. I know you really have to fully dedicate yourself, and there is a lot of traveling involved, even nights without getting any real money for your effort. It's like you're really passionate about what you do, and honestly, that is truly inspiring.
He returned with a wink of his own accompanied by a playful grin.
Gregory: And meeting someone as fascinating as you is definitely a highlight of my day. I’d love to hear more about your experience in the wrestling world.
Madison: Oh, we don’t have to talk about me. Let's talk about things we have in common? What do you like to do for fun?
Gregory: Fair enough, Madison.
Gregory offered a nervous laugh, and Madison felt sick in her stomach. She had been playing games and had been hoping that Gregory would press her further and really want to know more about her, so the fact that he had given up so easily and was just willing to move on had confused her. So it was only made worse when he started talking so much about himself again.
Gregory: Well, aside from being out on the water, I'm a bit of an adventure enthusiast. I love exploring new places, whether it's hiking through the mountains, surfing along the coast, or even just trying out new restaurants and cuisines. I'm also a big fan of staying active, so you might find me hitting the gym or going for a run in the mornings.
His answer was so generic. It felt rehearsed and fake. He was like the cliche of answers, and honestly, in her head, she had already decided that she wasn’t interested in getting to know him anymore. There was no depth there, and if she was going to spend her quality time with someone, she wanted it to be engaging and fun, especially when she had so little free time away from the wrestling world. She leaned towards him and whispered into his ear.
Madison: Do you ever kiss on the first date? Or more if you are interested?
Gregory's eyes widened slightly at Madison's unexpected question, a hint of surprise crossing his features. He cleared his throat, clearly taken aback by her suggestion, but at the same time, held his confidence and composed himself with a smile.
Gregory: Well, Madison, I believe in going with the flow and letting things happen naturally. But I also think it's important to respect each other's boundaries and comfort levels. If there's a connection and the moment feels right, then why not?
Madison thought back to the situation she had found herself in with Brooklyn last week. Maybe if she had been a bit braver and edged herself forward, then something might have actually come of it, instead of being on this awkward date she was on right now where she honestly wished she could put a gag around his mouth and lead him away to a dark corner and have her wicked way with him. She grabbed hold of her wine glass and took a big sip.
She then leaned forward and grabbed hold of Gregory's upper thigh, then pressed her lips against his, hoping he would reciprocate. He leaned into the kiss, his hand gently resting on her waist as he returned the embrace with an equal level of passion. As the pair shared this initial moment, the sound of the ocean and the chatter of fellow guests in the bar melted away into the background. It was as if they were the only two people in the world, and there was an undeniable sexual chemistry between them that was drawing them closer to each other. As they finally pulled away, Madison could feel her heart pounding within her chest as she looked up, her gaze locked with Gregory’s.
Gregory: That was...unexpected, but definitely not unwelcome.
Madison kept a tight hold of Gregory, so that their bodies were still pressed together.
Madison: I know this might be bold of me, but do you want to come back to my room and see where things go from there?
Gregory: Madison, you certainly don't beat around the bush, do you?
His hand gently traced a circle on her lower back, just above her jean shorts. He paused for a moment, locking eyes with her, a silent question lingering between them. And then, with a nod of agreement, he leaned in to capture her lips in another heated kiss, fully embracing the adventurous spirit of the evening. And all the while they were kissing, Madison was thinking just one thing in her mind: I wish this was Brooklyn.
The rest of the night was a flurry of flashes for Madison. Whether it was hungry kisses, exploring hands, or the entwining of limbs, she couldn’t deny that the night had been passionate. They had worked together in perfect harmony and had driven each other to new heights of ecstasy. Afterwards, they had been left in an afterglow of each other. If it had been Brooklyn, she might have reached out to him and sought to hold him in an embrace, but any special feeling that she had shared with Gregory in their hours of passion had already evaporated like water leaving a steaming kettle.
Gregory: We should do this again sometime. I think you are great.
Madison hadn’t slept with many guys or girls before, but this was the last thing she wanted to hear. She had been hoping for something casual without any strings attached, so the idea that he was already falling in love with her after just a couple of hours was seriously giving her the ick.
Madison: Gregory, I will say this respectfully. Would you please be ever so kind and get the fuck out of my room!
She could see the look of surprise on his face, and he couldn’t hide his disappointment. He pushed himself off the bed, giving her space immediately.
Gregory: If that is what you want?
Was this guy serious? Why did he have to be so nice, even when she was being so rude to him? She knew she was acting like a crazy person, but at this point in time, she was not in a headspace to deal with him.
Madison: That is what I fucking want! Get the fuck out of my room.
Gregory: If that is what you really want. I respect your decision. I’ll go. Just please calm down and relax.
He was telling her to relax? This fucking guy. Really? Really? He quickly picked up his clothes and dressed himself, but kept making sad puppy eyes at her. Perhaps this worked on other girls, but Madison wasn’t interested in any of it. This had been about some fun and nothing else.
Gregory: I hope you find what you’re looking for, but seriously you need some help. You’re fucking crazy!
She almost reached out for the nearest thing she could see, which happened to be her high-heeled shoes, and felt the urge to chuck it at him, but she controlled herself. Americans loved to sue people, and she fully expected Gregory was the type of guy to seek revenge whenever the opportunity presented itself, and his charming attitude was likely nothing more than a facade. Maybe she was fucking crazy? Maybe that was a good thing. If she was going to make any progress as a wrestler, perhaps she needed to fully tap into her crazy side. Perhaps this had been Sydney’s plan from the start.
If she was going to become the fighting force that she wanted to be, she needed to remove the metaphorical chains around her neck and wrists and allow herself to be free. The only way she was going to become the very best version of herself was if she embraced her true self. And if that meant allowing her crazy side to escape, then so be it.
Perhaps she would have been more suited to adopting a character name like some of the other wrestlers on the roster, instead of using her real name. Something like Pandora. Because every time Pandora’s Box opens, pure chaos is unleashed upon the world around. Would that involve her reaching forward and biting out a chunk of Colby Sol’s ear in her match this week? The fact that she had even thought about it should have worried her, but it didn’t. There was just one voice in her head right now, and it was saying one word: Fight. Madison wrapped herself in a towel and then ran towards the door, pulling it open, seeing Gregory still walking away as she shrieked at the top of her lungs.
Madison: Get out of here, ya filthy animal! |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:54:50 GMT
Originally posted by Man. “I don’t understand why they’ve chosen me for this. Technology isn’t my thing… I don’t understand how these things work, Allen.”
Chris groaned as he attempted to untangle the mass of wires in front of him in his living room. He was talking to Allen Price on speakerphone whilst trying to figure out which wire he needed to hook up the brand new Playstation 5 that the FWA had provided him with to his television. This, along with a copy of the brand new FWA game, ‘Simply Business’. “I’m not even on the fucking cover, man.”
The fact that either the FWA or whatever company had developed the game had opted to go with the current hall of champions as the cover stars irked Chris greatly. It seemed like everyone had forgotten that he held the FWA World Championship for the majority of last year and won in the main event of Back in Business.
“My guess is that it has something to do with what you said on Fallout, Chris,” Allen called out loudly, not realising that he did not need to shout when he was on speakerphone. It had not occurred to Chris that he had called someone as equally deficient in understanding technology as he when he initially reached out for assistance. “Was taking on a tag match as well the wisest move?”
Chris was unsure whether Allen was right or not. Deciding to challenge Deathswitch along with Alyster just after suffering a crushing loss to Xavien Marshall was reactionary. That much he could admit. However, the buzz and excitement to have his friend back - and have FTN back - had actually left him in reasonably high spirits, despite everything.
The two of them were angry with the FWA and everyone within it. It made sense that they would want to be together again. As for the F1 Climaxxx, just having Alyster back was enough of a boost for Chris to feel somewhat confident, despite his recent fortunes in the ring. It was just Halloween Knight, after all.
“I’m going to be fine, Allen.”
Both knew Chris was not completely convinced, even in his own words, but before it could be addressed further, the television burst into life with colour, “Okay, something is happening. There’s some sort of menu… and how do I choose something? The controller… is turned on… and here. Where’s the fucking game or whatever?”
“You need to insert the disc… Bing says it should be in the box.”
There was a small crack as Chris opened the game box for the first time. He pressed on the plastic in the centre of the game disc and it popped out into his hand. There was a small opening in the console to insert it, and he was taken by surprise by the force of the machine swallowing the disc out of his hand.
“There should be a mini poster in the box, Chrissy. Read it, play the game and then we’ll speak later on and you can tell me what you thought about it… I’ll take it from there.”
As Chris read the flyer, the game loaded. The loud menu music took him by surprise and caused him to drop the flyer on the ground of his already-messy living room. It took him a few minutes to understand how to use the controller. Allen shouting random button combinations at him over the speakerphone only served to make this task even harder. As a result, Chris hung up on him mid-sentence.
Once he had finally navigated the menu and selected the brand new ‘Climaxxx Mode’, he was presented with a screen showing the eight participants in the 2024 F1 Climaxxx.
He used the left joystick to flitter through the options several times. He wondered whether this could be used as a chance to gain a newer prospective on future opponents, including Halloween Knight. Chris decided against this, though. Cycling through each opponent and understanding their strengths and weaknesses was not something that interested him.
No, Chris decided that he needed to focus on the person out of the eight that really mattered to him- Chris Peacock. After making his choice, ‘He’s the Greatest Dancer’ blared out of the television set and a title screen presented him with a large image of himself.
********************
MELTDOWN XXXVII
XAVIEN MARSHALL DEF. CHRIS PEACOCK
Where will you go?
GORILLA POSITION
Chris sat alone, watching the show pass him by. No one came to speak with him or even acknowledged he was there. Everyone completely ignored him for unknown reasons, with the exception of one person.
Michelle von Horrowitz discarded her cigarette at Chris’s feet and smirked as she walked past him, ready for her main event match. He had decided not to speak with her in the smoking area after losing to Xavien Marshall in such embarrassing fashion. Chris opted not to stay and watch Michelle’s match with Mike Parr. It was surely going to simply serve as a reminder of what he would not be able to achieve.
All he could do was go home, and try again next time.
********************
MELTDOWN XXXVIII
HALLOWEEN KNIGHT DEF. CHRIS PEACOCK
Where will you go?
LOCKER ROOM
A bunch of nameless and faceless individuals scattered from the locker room as Chris entered in a rage. His first act was to flip a bench over and then toss someone’s bag the length of the locker room. He could not fathom how he had managed to lose to Halloween Knight of all people. How it had happened was a blur. All he distinctly remembered was watching Halloween Knight celebrate with the rest of Tr1ck or Tr4sh after scoring the biggest win of his career.
The sounds of laughter from the crowd in his direction ringed through his ears. This kind of thing should not be happening to someone who is supposedly as good as he is. A former FWA World Champion; the man credited with bringing some stability to an entire company. The days of being the man to willingly enter a Steel Roulette and put the championship on the line - and win seemed like an impossibly distant memory.
Silence in the locker room whilst everyone else had dispersed allowed Chris to sit down on a bench and put his head in his hands. He scrunched his eyes up, trying to figure out how he could express himself. Thoughts of punching a wall or screaming raced through his mind but he lacked the energy or motivation to do either. He had completely blown his chances in the F1 Climaxxx. Qualifying for the next round was impossible due to already losing twice. A win in his final match would not be enough.
In his emotional reservation that he had created for himself, Chris failed to notice that someone had entered the locker room. They quietly sat down next to him and put an arm over his shoulder.
Chris Peacock: “Alyster… I’ve fucked it.”
???: “I’m not Alyster Black, Chris, but it doesn’t mean that I can’t be your friend, friend.”
The instantly recognisable voice and phrasing caused Chris to recoil and stand up. He then saw Jeremy Best sitting on the bench. The FWA World Championship rested upon Jeremy’s lap and the champion stood up to meet the confused and shellshocked Peacock.
Jeremy Best: “What’s the matter, Chris? There’s nothing wrong with allowing a bit of extra friendship into your life! We can talk about what’s bothering you if you want? I’m a great listener!”
Chris Peacock: “I don’t want to talk to you about anything, you sick bastard! Do you know what you’ve done? Your bullshit at Winter Wonderland-”
Jeremy Best: “Winter Wasteland. But I sure do like the sound of Winter Wonderland, Chris! Don’tcha think that has a much nicer ring to it? I think I might just put a call in to Jon Russnow and see about changing-”
Chris Peacock: “SHUT UP! You… you made Alyster go away. You made him leave me, and that’s what started all of this. You fucked with my car, stopped us from winning the tag titles-”
Jeremy Best: “We didn’t break your car, Chris. Was my note not clear? We knew that you’d had car trouble and tried to fix your car for you! The problem is, Frank isn’t as good of a mechanic as we thought so we might have accidentally made it a teeny tiny bit worse.”
The expression on Jeremy’s face was evasive. The excuse caused Chris to imagine pummelling his face into the wall.
Jeremy Best: “Besides, you got there in time for your match and if you want to use the ‘b’ word… I think it is Michelle you want to consider, not me.”
Chris felt his stomach sink as he imagined what Michelle’s reaction to him losing to Halloween Knight was. She probably revelled in it even more than the
Chris Peacock: “Yeah, she is a bitch…”
Jeremy Best: “No, silly! Not that ‘b’ word! I should just wash your mouth out with soap. I meant, ‘blame’. Now look, I probably shouldn’t be here, trying to help you given that you’ve got my good pal Bryan up next, but in times like this you’ve got to look to the power of friendship. There’s no better place for that than in the Friendship Wrestling Alliance!”
The pitch to join Jeremy’s group fell on deaf ears, and Peacock did not even entertain the invitation to become a member of the bubbly band of bastards. He left the locker room, leaving Jeremy alone in there;
Jeremy Best: “Think about it, Chris! Have the Best day!”
On the other side of the door, Chris looked around the corridor. Some of the scared wrestlers that departed the locker room upon his arrival into it trembled. They probably wondered what he was going to do next. All that was at stake for him in the F1 Climaxxx was pride. Even if it didn’t mean anything, he could defeat Bryan Baxter and get his victory back from the previous edition of the F1 Climaxxx.
There was something that his conversation with Jeremy reminded him of though - he was not alone and there was no requirement to deal with his disappointment in such a way.
********************
FIGHT NIGHT
BRYAN BAXTER DEF. CHRIS PEACOCK
Where will you go?
INTERVIEW PIT
People ensured to give Chris a wide berth as he stormed through the backstage area following his match. He had gone ahead and faced Bryan Baxter with nothing but pride on the line but had fallen short against the North American Champion once again. It took every fibre of Chris’s being to stop him from tearing his own arm off and beating someone unconscious with it.
To put it simply, Chris Peacock had never been so frustrated in his entire life. Losing to Xavien Marshall was disappointing, Halloween Knight was embarrassing but what frustrated Chris the most was how humbling losing all three matches of his F1 Climaxxx pool was. To think that he had entered the tournament as one of the favourites, only to crash out at the first hurdle. It made him sick to even contemplate that this was his reality.
There was one person he was looking for as he stomped along a corridor. The only person that he could depend on to bring him out of a slump and a fury like this; Alyster Black. A backstage worker correctly assumed that Alyster was Chris’s goal, and pointed him in the direction of the interview area. With nothing but his partner on his mind, Chris was like a moth to a flame.
However, he did stop abruptly at one juncture. The door to the smoking area was ajar, and Chris just knew who was going to be there waiting for him. In fact, he saw one of Michelle’s feet through the gap in the door. Her shoe bobbed up and down gently, as if she had no worry in the world. She wanted him to come to her. She wanted the chance to gloat. He would not give her the satisfaction. If there was one positive he could get out of this entire ordeal, it was that. She was not the one to bring him down, and he had denied her of that.
This was scant consolation compared to his initial goals for the F1 Climaxxx. He questioned his reasoning for entering it in the first place. After all, it was simply to spite Michelle. He had failed at doing that, and probably just empowered her instead. Thinking about it more, he realised that this outcome may have been more preferable to her, and could have actually been her plan all along. Her comments at the press conference pre-Climaxxx did throw him through a loop, after all.
As soon as Chris entered the interview pit, Alyster pulled him in for a hug. They did not speak for almost a minute. They both knew that all Chris needed was a safe space where he could let his guard down and allow some of the emotion inside of him to spill out. Anyone who wanted to deride Chris for this would have to deal with Alyster’s wrath and even their staunchest haters would not willingly put themselves into that situation.
Alyster Black: “It’s going to be okay, mate. This Climaxxx thing isn’t the be all and end all. You’re still Chris fuckin’ Peacock, you got that?”
To prevent Chris from avoiding his validation, Alyster cupped his face with both hands and forced him to look into his eyes. Chris sniffled and wiped the tears that had pooled in his eye ducts.
Alyster Black: “Trust me, we’re going to look back and laugh at this at some point, mate. Me, you, Allen, Krash and the boys. You lost to the fucking pumpkin guy, man. That’s some funny shit, and we’re going to look at it that way soon enough. It won’t feel like it now, but we will. We will, Chris.”
Such comments were not actually as reassuring to Chris as Alyster assumed. Referring to Halloween Knight as simply “the pumpkin guy” might sound funny on the face of it, but it was not a million years ago that Chris himself was just “the disco guy”.
Alyster Black: “I heard about what that fuckhole Jeremy had to say to you a couple of weeks ago, mate. It’s a kick in the dick to admit it, but the son of a bitch was right. You’re hurt and you’re struggling. You need your friends… and we’re here for you, mate. Anything you need and we’ve got your back. Look, I’ve already had a text from Krash…”
Alyster pulled up his phone and Chris read a polite message that had been sent from Krash, requesting that he pass on his best to Chris. For some reason, this helped Chris gain some perspective a bit more. He exhaled heavily and slowly nodded his head. Changing the topic of conversation, he started to look around. Todd Salum walked into the room, getting his face powdered by a much younger female production assistant.
Chris Peacock: “So… why are we here?”
Alyster Black: “I want to get you out of this funk, and there’s no point in dicking around, is there, mate? So, now that you’re freed up from the F1 Climaxxx, we’re going balls in on this tag team thing. I’ve got a surefire plan to get us back on track in this shithole. Toddy here is going to help us announce our proper comeback to the world-”
Chris Peacock: “I’m not sure, man. I could do with a break in all honesty… I appreciate what you’re doing, but-”
A finger on his mouth and a soothing shushing sound from underneath Alyster’s mouth stopped Chris mid-sentence.
Alyster Black: “Shhhhhhut your fuckin’ mouth. We’re doing this… and I know exactly what we need to get ourselves back on track. Trust me?”
With the finger still in place, Chris could not answer. Alyster slowly pulled it away and lingered expectantly. From in front of the camera which was not yet rolling, Todd Salum called over.
Todd Salum: “Are we doing this thing or not, boys? I’m a very busy man!”
Alyster Black: “Gah, I forgot how much of a dick this guy is when the cameras are off. Come on, Chris. What do you say?”
Time almost seemed to stop around them as Chris looked on earnestly, weighing up his options. A decision was required.
Chris Peacock: “Alright, let’s do it.”
Alyster slapped his hands together and then pumped his fist. It did bring a small smile to Chris’s face to see his partner so excited. Because of this, it dawned on him that it was the correct decision to make. Focusing on FTN would allow him to escape all of the pressure that he had been under and move past the devastating losses culminating from his failed F1 Climaxxx campaign.
Alyster Black: “Alright, Salum, you desiccated ballsack, you ready to do this?”
Todd Salum: “Must the two of you always be so crude?”
Alyster Black: “Only a shitty interviewer asks questions that they already know the answers to, Todd. Come on with it, we’ve got places to be.”
Once the interview had started, viewers at home would have seen Chris watching Alyster address the world in admiration. Just as it did to Aly, it pained Chris that Jeremy Best was right. Friendship indeed did seem to be the key to pulling his career out of the gutter.
Alyster Black: “So, that’s why before too long, FTN will be back on top. We’re starting with Aka Manto and then we’re running a train through this tag team division here in the FWA. This is our Second Cumming!”
The interview ended with Alyster putting his arm around Chris and the two sharing a laugh. It was the first laugh that Chris had mustered in some weeks. The first time that he thought that everything was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay.
********************
FALLOUT 039
AKA MANTO DEF. FTN
Where will you go?
RING
[MEDIA=youtube]K91qwxCWmrs[/MEDIA]
Natalie Rosenberg: “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome at this time… ‘The Exile’ CYYYYYYYRUUUSSSSS TRRRUUUUUUUUTHHHHHH!!!”
Jean-Luc Watkins: “As we get closer and closer to The Grand March and Cyrus Truth’s challenge of Jeremy Best for the FWA World Championship. Things have been heating up between champion and challenger and ‘The Exile’ has something he wants to say to the people here in Sapporo.”
As Truth enters the ring, he motions for a microphone and is passed one from someone at ringside. He sits down in the middle of the ring with his legs crossed, waiting for a moment of calm before he can address the masses. A wry smile crosses his face.
Cyrus Truth: “There’s a lot-”
[MEDIA=youtube]TDwutKpVyas[/MEDIA]
In the ring, Cyrus rises to his feet. There is a mixture of anger and inquisitiveness on his face as he sees his old rival in a way that has never seen. Peacock can barely make eye contact with Cyrus and he slowly walks up the steps, as if he is afraid to enter the ring.
Jean-Luc Watkins: “Umm… what’s going on here? Chris Peacock was of course the man to defeat Cyrus Truth in the main event of Back in Business last year but earlier tonight we saw that he was defeated by Aka Manto along with Alyster Black. What does he want?”
The music stops and this leaves Chris alone with the sounds of the fans in the arena. Everything feels like a blur though, as if he cannot process his whereabouts. A wrestling ring should feel like home to him, but he feels like a stranger to it. Above all of the hubbub and noise in the arena, Chris hears a single voice, louder than the others.
It sounds harsh and biting. He feels threatened by it, afraid almost. Looking up, he sees Cyrus Truth standing in front of him with a microphone in his hand. Suddenly, the louder voice becomes much clearer.
Cyrus Truth: “What do you want, Peacock? Why are you out here?”
Chris gulps. He can see in Cyrus’s eyes that there is no compassion. With everything that has happened between them, there was never going to be. But he had to come out here and confront him. It was his only chance. With things not even working out teaming with Alyster anymore, this was all he could think of. His final hope.
Cyrus Truth: “Well?”
Under his breath, Chris musters only five words.
“Put me in the match.”
It pained him that it had come to this. It never crossed his mind that he would have to stoop to this level of patheticness. Cyrus’s eyes narrowed as he tried to register what Chris had said.
Cyrus Truth: “What was that? Speak up! You’ve never had a problem running your mouth before, Chris. Tell me and all of these people just why exactly you have interrupted me!”
In a fit of frustration and with tears of desperation in his eyes, Chris grabbed the microphone whilst Cyrus held onto it. He shouted at the top of his lungs.
Chris Peacock: “PUT ME IN THE MATCH, CYRUS! I DID IT FOR YOU…”
He sniffled loudly, but snot still dripped from his nose and onto his moustache. Any semblance of image consciousness was forgotten at this point; this was the lowest point he had ever fallen to.
Chris Peacock: “You… you owe me, Cyrus. I did this for you… I did it for you, man.”
Chris tugged on Cyrus’s hoodie and dropped to his knees in the ring, holding into the hood cord and squeezing it close to his chest. Out of all of the possibilities that Cyrus Truth could have imagined, this was not one. Never did he think that the man who cockily ruled over the FWA for the best part of a year would have sunk to such pitiful depths. Truth forced his apparel out of Peacock’s hands, and looked down at his year-long rival with a disgusted expression on his face.
Cyrus Truth: “Let me get this straight. I need to understand this, properly. You expect me to go to bat for you? Out of all of the people in the world, you think I am going to be the one to get you out of this?
“Last year, you did get me into the main event of The Grand March. That much is true. But make no mistake, Peacock, I don’t owe you anything. You did that, not as an act of nobility, though. It was the right thing to do after what happened in last year’s F1 Climaxxx, but you didn’t do it because it was the right thing to do. You did it as an act of cowardice, Peacock. I was just your buffer because you didn’t want Michelle on your own.
“As suitable as you would be in your current feeble state, I don’t need a buffer against Jeremy Best. Just like how I didn’t need one against you, were it not for you and that cretin conspiring against me. Notwithstanding, helping you right now is not the right thing to do. All of this, everything you’re going through now, you brought entirely on yourself.
“This you are experiencing now is what you get for the months of debauchery and frat house nonsense that you and your idiotic cronies subjected this company to. Let me be crystal clear. You deserve all of this. So don’t you dare come to me and expect that you are exempt from the consequences of your actions. I’m not going to save you from your fate, and neither will anyone else. Now, leave this ring and if you know what is best for you… don’t ever come back. You don’t belong here and you’re embarrassing us all.”
After a final scornful look at Peacock hunched over on the mat, Cyrus did not even wait for the former FWA World Champion to leave the ring. Chris could not hear exactly what Cyrus was saying about Jeremy Best as he had become deaf to the world once again. He waited an amount of time - it could have been seconds or minutes - and left the ring. No one paid any attention to him as he trudged up the ramp.
********************
FALLOUT 040
BLAKE TAYLOR DEF. CHRIS PEACOCK
Where will you go?
PARKING LOT
The latest setback in his downward spiral was both predictable and unexpected at the same time. Despite his recent issues, Chris Peacock was still Chris Peacock and even in his lowly state most assumed he would be able to breeze past the hapless Blake Taylor. It was another case of something that wasn’t supposed to happen actually happening.
The husk formerly known as ‘Chris Peacock’ slowly walked out of the arena in Vancouver into the parking lot. His suitcase dragged on the ground behind him still half-open. Chris failed to notice the breadcrumb trail of his belongings that he was leaving. His most recent in-ring failure had caused him to plummet further into the abyss than he thought possible. As if grovelling publicly to Cyrus Truth and getting emphatically slammed down was not bad enough. It could get worse.
This was it. Just like when he departed after his confrontation with Cyrus, not one soul noticed Chris as he was leaving. No one cared that he was leaving before the end of the show. As he closed in on his car, he almost became the victim of an accident. The limousine driver either did not see him, or care that he was there. Mere centimetres were between Chris and contact with the vehicle.
The rear door opened next to Chris and within seconds he was face to face with Jay Kenny. The youthful-looking tag team champion contrasted with the weary and gaunt Peacock. The sight of Peacock in such a state caused Jay to immediately burst out into a fit of laughter.
Jay Kenny: “Yo Princeton, come take a look at this wasteman, bruv. Man looks like shit, ya get me?”
Chris did not react when Thomas Princeton appeared behind Kenny. The suave and sophisticated Princeton grimaced when he saw the man that he was once in business with. Without a word, he attempted to guide Kenny into the arena, but was palmed off.
Jay Kenny: “Nah, nah. There’s something I wanna say to this boy. Cuz, you acted the big man one time. That was in the past though, yeah? I think you’re finally startin’ to realise how things are run around here now, yeah? You ain’t nuffink no more, bruv. You got that? Me an’ X, we’re running this place now. It’s ours.
“We’re the new generation and your time has been and gone, bruv. So do everyone a favour and just fuck off, yeah? You’re just takin’ up space now. Tell me I’m wrong, bruv! TELL ME! Man out here gettin’ beat by ghosts and shit, only thing dead around here is your career, bruv. Wasteman…”
Even if he had evidence to disagree with anything that Kenny was saying, Peacock was not interested in engaging with the lout. His attempt to get past to his car was blocked. Kenny took a step closer to Chris.
Jay Kenny: “You’re not gonna disrespeck me like that, likkle boy. I will fuck you up now for fun, you got that? Little bitch like you I can do in no sweat. Two, three man like you at a time if I want, yeah. Man like you ain’t nuffink to me. So if you want to get past me, yeah, you either got to make me move or ask really, really nicely, yeah?”
An impasse. Chris knew that if this had happened a few months earlier, by now he would have already slapped the taste out of Kenny’s mouth. There was a small flame inside of himself that flared for a moment, almost willing him to strike first. This was extinguished by doubt almost as quickly as it had arrived. By which time, Jay Kenny had already tired of Peacock and slammed his face into the side of the limousine.
Chris did not even try to defend himself as Kenny followed up with punches and kicks to his head. In fact, it was Cyrus’s words that rang through his head each time Kenny landed a blow directly to his face.
“You deserve all of this.”
********************
THE GRAND MARCH
NO MATCH
Chris arrived in San Francisco and to his surprise, found out that he was not scheduled to play any role in The Grand March whatsoever. He pondered quizzing road agents or cornering Jon Russnow, but it quickly dawned on him that his performances as of late had not necessarily merited inclusion or a Pay-Per-View bonus to his salary.
It was with the lower card talent not deemed deserving of a spot that Chris was forced to watch the show, instead of just going home. With a frown on his face, he watched as the night unfolded and passed him by once again, with no one even acknowledging his presence. He was totally ambivalent to what he was watching on the large monitor that had been set up backstage.
Victors celebrated and those defeated mostly took it all in their stride. It bothered Chris that this was the case; after all, losing as much as he had recently had literally broken him, reducing him to almost a mute. There was one match that grabbed his attention, though. The final of the 2024 F1 Climaxxx tournament - Michelle von Horrowitz versus Xavien Marshall.
Chris watched with eagerness as the man who he commenced his fruitless campaign against did battle with the woman who he had hoped to meet in the final once everyone else had been left by the wayside. He balled his fist every time Xavien appeared on the screen, lamenting that it was not him and cursing his rotten luck under his breath. Whilst Chris failed to live up to his status against Marshall in the tournament opener, Michelle did not suffer the same fate.
With relative ease, Michelle von Horrowitz was crowned the winner of the 2024 F1 Climaxxx and the new North American Champion. It was official, she had beaten him in the race to the Grand Slam. Chris sat in situ for over an hour after the show had finished, and all of the other chairs had been cleared away by the time he finally stood up.
There was hardly anyone around at this point. The ring crew were efficient in getting everything packed up and onto the trucks whilst the roster had mostly dispersed. However, Chris just knew that someone was going to still be there, waiting for him.
SMOKING AREA
Michelle von Horrowitz: “I’ve been waiting long enough for you, Chris.”
As soon as Chris had entered the smoking area, Michelle was already on her feet to greet him. There she was, the winner of the 2024 F1 Climaxxx. The North American Championship was strewn across the bench next to where she had been sitting and despite enduring a marathon contest with Xavien Marshall in the tournament final, Michelle looked as if she was ready to go all over again.
Chris felt surprisingly at ease around Michelle. It was a strange sensation for him to experience, given her tendencies to cause him to spiral into panic attacks. Still wearing the plaster on his forehead from Jay Kenny’s parking lot assault, Chris assumed that this was perhaps because he could not actually fathom himself sinking any lower than he was at that moment. What more could Michelle actually do to him to make him feel worse?
Without a word, Chris sat down on the bench and Michelle retook her seat next to him. To his surprise, she offered him a cigarette and a light. Chris gratefully accepted it.
Chris Peacock: “Thanks.”
Michelle von Horrowitz: “You’re welcome.”
They sat next to each other without a word spoken for a couple of minutes. An occasional glance was shared. With each one, Chris noticed that Michelle seemed to be glowing. He soured when he realised that this was probably due to the level of glee she was feeling as a result of his misfortunes. Her career had been revived through this tournament whereas it had all but killed his. The fact that he was not even booked on The Grand March after headlining the event the previous year was evidence enough of this.
Michelle von Horrowitz: “You probably think that I’m taking pleasure from this, yes? After all, I achieved my goal. I’m the champion… and you’re not.”
The silence from Chris was enough for Michelle to glean a response. She waited for him to look at her again before turning away from him. Her side profile hid the small smirk not visible to Chris.
Michelle von Horrowitz: “I do enjoy this, yes. It isn’t how I imagined it, though. I’m not enjoying it enough. What enjoyment would there be to get from gloating to someone in your state? This would be a rather extreme version of kicking a man when he’s down. Although it looks like someone beat me to that anyway. You always could take a beating, tulip.
“But I can’t break what is already broken. It’s a shame, because I was really looking forward to being the one to do it. You’ve actually disappointed me, Chris. You’re not the man who I told myself I needed to beat. All of those things I said to you at that press conference, they were supposed to motivate you! But instead you started spiralling and you haven’t stopped, tulip. Like those helicopter seeds that fall out of trees… just going and going. I can see it in your eyes, you’ve hit the ground now. There’s nowhere lower for you to go.
“Beating Xavien Marshall to win this belt felt hollow. It wasn’t what I imagined winning would feel like if it was you, as it should have been. A year ago, at this event, you did the unthinkable. I didn’t believe that you had it in you to overcome me, but you did it. This year, you surprised me again. Except, it wasn’t me that you defeated this time. You beat yourself, Chris.”
Michelle took a heavy drag of her cigarette. She exhaled the smoke effortlessly and turned to face Chris once more. He remained silent, looking at the floor.
Michelle von Horrowitz: “I’ve been watching it all unfold. There are some hard truths you need to learn if you want to come back from this, Chris Peacock. Think about how this has all come to be and you may find your answers. Do it before it becomes too late, though. You can’t run from these things forever. They’re going to catch you up and devour you whole otherwise.”
She stood up and positioned her newly-won championship on her shoulder. It took her a moment to will herself to do it, but Michelle showed a slither of compassion for her defeated rival and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
Michelle von Horrowitz: “I hope you are as strong as I initially thought. I do not wish to be denied the satisfaction of defeating you once again.”
With that, she left. It was only once she had departed that Chris felt the sting of her words. He-
Chris’s right hand shook whilst retaining the grip that had once held the controller for the video game. He did not care that he had broken his television. In the cracked screen, he stared deep into his own eyes and tried to recognise the man that looked back at him. It was unknown to Chris whether he was looking at the digitised version of himself that he had just been playing as.
His eyes were cold, empty and defeated as he had seen in the game. What he had been reduced to deeply angered and upset him. He was not even worth Michelle’s time in the ring any more to the point where she actually took pity on him. It was a torrid glimpse into his own future, and he felt his chest begin to tighten. The panic attack began to take hold of him as his breathing became shorter.
Chris started to shake his head, “No… not this time. No… she doesn’t get the satisfaction. No… NO! STOP!”
Shockingly, his defiance prevented the panic attack from growing in intensity. His breathing soon returned to normal and Chris felt a small smile creep onto his face. It was an empowering feeling, and an uncommon one.
His phone ringing did not startle him and he chose to put Allen on speakerphone once more. Soon, the buffoon’s voice filled the room, “How was it, Chris? You were at it for a good few hours there.”
“I lost every match I played and then I smashed my TV with the controller.”
“Oh… perhaps your difficulty setting was too high?”
“No Allen, it was perfect,” Chris said in a clear voice. He felt like something had finally dawned on him, “It’s just like real life, Allen. In my life and in all of my matches, the difficulty level is too high anyway. I’ve got to put in that extra effort every time if I want to win, because that’s what people do against me. I need to push myself time after time because every fucker going wants to beat Chris Peacock.
“People go out of their way to beat me all the time and what’s more, I’ve got the company fucking me over as well in favour of every flavour of the month that strolls through the doors. Allen, I think this is the most realistic video game ever made… I can’t win in the game because I just can’t win in real life, either.”
Putting those thoughts into words seemed to lift a weight from Chris’s chest. He stood up and began to pace around his apartment with a bit of excitement and enthusiasm about him.
“I think… I’ve got this shit figured out now. I think I do. It’s clear that I’m too much of an emotional wreck to be able to do any of this on my own. I need you, Alyster and the rest of the guys to help me through a lot, but I can't just rely on you guys for everything. Just because Alyster is back doesn’t mean my fortunes are going to magically turn around. I still have to do the work that’s needed. I understand that now.
“What has happened to me, I get it. It’s what people want to happen to me and what they think I deserve, as well.”
The experiences in the game with Jeremy, Alyster and Cyrus had helped him reach these realisations. Chris looked down at the video game cover and saw the current hall of champions gracing it. He looked at all of them and ran his finger over their faces, lingering on the tag team champions for a moment.
His in-game and real life experiences with Marshall and Kenny led him to conclude that they were the worst people in the company at the moment. Their success grated at him and he relished the prospect of him and Alyster being the ones to relieve them of the championships. It was at a point where he was contemplating whether he wanted them to win over Crowe and Ramon, and having his revenge against Randy wait until they had been put into their places.
From the tag champions though, his eyes drifted to the remaining champions and he thought over their transgressions. Jeremy Best and Bryan Baxter? Those obviously go without saying. The Coven will have definitely done some shady shit and there had been long standing rumours going around in the locker room that Tommy Bedlam actually killed a guy. Heck, Chris didn’t know Brooklyn Steiner well but surmised that he was probably a dick, too.
Karma was a concept that Chris did not historically believe in or subscribe to. However, seeing how he has been perceived and himself being the cause of those perceptions and the bad things that had befallen him, he was reconsidering this stance. Then it clicked.
“The thing is, what happened to me is going to happen to everyone at some point. There’ll be a point where every one of these assholes overstays their welcome at the top. Then comes the fall on the other side. None of them will be immune to it. Michelle-”
It was at this moment that Chris remembered defeating The Connection alongside Alyster and becoming the tag team champions. That was Michelle’s moment to fall. Even she was not immune.
“I am going to beat Michelle in the final of this tournament, Allen. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of watching me descend into what I just saw myself become. No, she is going to get the best me I can give her at The Grand March.”
“Chrissy, just hold your horses for a second. You’ve still got a way to go before you think about that. Do you not think taking things as a given is part of why you lost to Marshall? You’ve got Halloween Knight-”
“I know, Allen. Halloween Knight is going to get the best me I can give him as well, so is Baxter. I’m not assuming anything or getting too comfortable again. Halloween Knight needs to know that he should not expect the same Chris Peacock that lost to Xavien Marshall. Once that bell rings, the only thing on my mind will be picking up those points and using them to move on to the next round.
“Halloween Knight is just the wrong guy, in the wrong place at the wrong time. The match is not taking place on October 31st, so there’s going to be nothing for him to celebrate.
“It is time to start doing this properly again. I’m done running, Allen.”
Chris could almost hear how proud Allen was on the other end of the line.
“That’s amaz-”
“Sorry Allen, other line… Hello? Alyster? A carnival?”
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:55:37 GMT
Originally posted by Antemortem.
As the sun peeked over the horizon, the sleepy town of Monterey, California, was greeted by a peaceful morning. Delicate shades of pink and gold painted the sky, casting a soothing warmth on the landscape. The sun's gentle rays cast a tranquil spell, embracing the town in a serene embrace. Cradled by rolling hills and a vast expanse of ocean, Monterey emerged as a sanctuary of breathtaking natural beauty. The gentle sway of the ocean waves against the shore creates a mesmerizing melody that resonates through this coastal paradise. The harmonious rhythm flows through the hearts of its inhabitants, an enchanting symphony that stirs the soul. With every wave that crashes, a new promise emerges—a fresh start, a vibrant canvas just waiting to be adorned with the vivid palette of life in this haven by the sea.
Nestled in the heart of this bustling community, amidst the stunning beauty of nature's canvas, resided FWA’s premier new kid on the block, Medina Alvarez, a bold and intrepid young woman of only twenty-two years. Her very essence infused the town with an extra layer of vivacity. Her untamed and lustrous locks, an emblem of her fearless spirit, radiated an undeniably captivating allure. Like cascading shadows, her hair spoke of daring exploits and untrodden paths, embodying her adventurous soul. The salty sea breeze embraced Medina, gently tousling her hair as she wandered through the captivating streets and hidden gems of Monterey. The town's delightful mix of colors and textures mirrored her lively spirit. With every stride, she could hear the crashing waves echoing, each step a symbol of her unwavering desire for what lies beyond.
As the sky underwent its breathtaking transformation, Medina couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement. The elegant hues that splashed across the canvas above spoke of the adventure that had been eagerly waiting in her mind for weeks—a scuba diving expedition to uncover the mysteries nestled beneath the ocean's surface. As the cool seaside wind caressed her like a loving companion, she couldn't wait to start methodically preparing for the thrilling voyage that awaited her beneath the waters. Medina felt a wave of excitement rush over her as the rhythmic cadence of the salty breeze continued to embrace her. With each whispering gust, she could almost hear the promise of discovery on the distant horizon. As dawn crept in, she prepared for her scuba diving expedition with an uncontainable passion for the underwater realm. Each piece of her gear, from the sleek mask that would reveal the ocean's secrets to the fins that would guide her through the liquid depths, held the potential to unlock a new chapter in her journey.
This is what she lived for.
Cloaked in a snug wetsuit adorned with vibrant shades mirroring the vibrant sea life, Medina stood poised at the edge of the shore. The wetsuit enveloped her figure like a security blanket, shielding her from the invigorating chill of the water underneath her feet. With a sparkle of excitement in her eyes, she gazed outward to the never-ending expanse, where the sky and ocean merged in a stunning spectacle.
The atmosphere hummed with palpable excitement, mirroring the fluttering of Medina's heart. The lull of the ocean was like a soothing consonance, beckoning her forward with each note. In each gentle wave that kissed her toes, the sea seemed to whisper tantalizing secrets, stored deep within its fathomless depths. It was a seductive enticement, urging her to dive into the crystal-clear waters, where an enchanting realm of marvels called her name—a world of vibrant coral gardens swaying in sync with unseen currents and elusive marine creatures gliding with effortless grace. The shoreline before her was a mystical realm where reality and fantasy intertwined, blurring the boundaries between the tangible and the intangible. In the early morning light, she inhaled deeply, savoring the ocean's salty aroma. Her excitement was evident as she connected with the natural world around her.
As Medina stood poised on the cusp of her aquatic adventure, a sudden sound pierced the blissful morning air—a distant bell chiming from the docks, its reverberations stirring something deep within her soul. For a fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still as the melodic tolling transported her back to a memory etched in the recesses of her mind—a memory of triumph and victory.
As the echo of the distant bell rang through the air repeatedly, she was suddenly transported to the center of a wrestling ring in the wild and energetic atmosphere of Fallout 37 in Hong Kong, China. Excitement coursed through her body like a fierce river, and the vivid memory of that experience flooded her mind, making her feel as though she was reliving it all over again. The memory, though momentarily intrusive, brought a smile to her face as she relived the thrill of that triumphant moment.
The march begins...
She whispered to herself internally.
Then, in a moment of pure exhilaration, the final bell rang—a triumphant declaration of her victory as her arm was raised. She stood over her three opponents, Maria Cappitani, Savior Hawkins, and Leafdom. She was victorious. The thunderous applause and cheers of the crowd engulfed her like a tremendous tsunami, a symphony of praise and jubilation that echoed in her mind well beyond the conclusion of the bout. As the chime rang out on the docks, it mingled effortlessly with her recollection, crafting a one-of-a-kind harmony that momentarily merged the worlds of water and wrestling in her mind. As Medina lingered in the bittersweet embrace of her memory, a familiar voice suddenly sliced through the echoes of the past.
"Medina!"
The call, carried on by the breeze, jolted her back to the present, dissolving the wrestling ring and its accompanying cheers into the background of her consciousness. Blinking away the residual images of her triumphant moment, she turned to find Sofia, her dear friend and companion on this underwater expedition, standing on the shore. Sofia's face radiated excitement, and her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she waved to get Medina's attention.
"Girl, are you ready for the adventure of a lifetime or what?"
Sofia called out, her voice buoyant with enthusiasm.
The juxtaposition of the wrestling victory memory and the enticing underwater world dissolved into the background as the thrill of the impending dive took center stage.
With a wistful smile, Medina acknowledged Sofia's call.
"Yeah, be right there!"
As she responded, a spark ignited within her at the merging of old memories and current realities. With a renewed determination, she ran over to meet her old friend, the echoing tones of the harbor bell now serving as a delightful prologue to the undersea venture that awaited them.
When Medina approached Sofia, the two friends shared a warm embrace and giggles that transcended the boundaries of the ocean breeze. The excitement for the upcoming underwater exploration painted Sofia's eyes with an effervescent glow, mirroring Medina's own enthusiasm. The connection between them was more than just a shared interest in scuba diving; it was rooted in years of friendship and mutual support.
Sofia, with her dark, wavy hair and seductive enthusiasm, had been Medina's constant companion through life's ups and downs. As they looked out over the vast expanse of the ocean, memories of their shared youth surged up to the surface of their consciousness. Their joyous laughter echoed through the streets of Vallarta, where they used to spend hours mastering martial arts routines in their garden. The sisterhood formed between them during those lighthearted afternoons laid the groundwork for a connection that would withstand the test of time.
"Remember those days, Medi?" Sofia remarked, a nostalgic smile spreading over her lips. "Our makeshift dojo in your backyard, where we practiced our own katas. Who would have guessed we'd be here, about to discover the wonders of the ocean together?"
"Of course I do," Medina answered, her eyes bright with recollections. "Weren't those the days? We were just two kids with great ideas and plenty of energy. My backyard served as a haven, a blank canvas on which we could create our own martial arts adventure. I can still feel the rough texture of the grass beneath our bare feet as we walk together, our laughter booming off the walls of the nearby houses. We must have driven our neighbors insane."
Sofia chuckled quietly, her gaze drifting into the distance as if reliving those treasured memories. "We were unstoppable then. Nothing could stop us, not even critics who questioned our talents. We were resolved to build our own path, driven by passion and a shared sense of adventure."
Medina nodded, a yearning expression on her face. "And here we are, on the verge of a new experience, about to dive into the ocean. Isn't it surreal? From practicing katas in your garden, even if they weren't exactly textbook, to going scuba diving together in the North Pacific."
Sofia's smile grew as her eyes shone with joy. "But certain things never change, right? Our desire and relationship remain as strong as ever. Just like those days in my backyard, we'll confront whatever problems come our way together."
Medina reached out, squeezing Sofia's hand reassuringly. "Absolutely, Sofi. I couldn't imagine confronting them with anyone else."
Sofia's eyes glinted with pride as she looked at Medina. "Speaking of the unknown, I heard you've got a big match coming up in the FWA. Jackson Fenix, right?"
Medina nodded, a mixture of excitement and nerves evident in her expression. "Yeah, it's a huge opportunity. The FWA has been an incredible journey so far, and I'm grateful for every moment. Wrestling is my passion, and it's opened doors I never thought possible."
Sofia smiled and gave Medina's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Medi, you've come so far. From our backyard dojo to the wrestling ring, and now an underwater adventure. I've watched you overcome many different hurdles. Jackson Fenix may be a tough opponent, but you've got this. Just like you always do, just like you did last week in the four-way battle. No one can stop you."
As they finalized their diving preparations, recollections of their childhood exploits flashed through their heads. From their childhood martial arts courses in Vallarta to their impromptu beach races, they had always pushed one another to new heights, urging one another to welcome life's adventures with open arms. However, Medina's other feelings persisted as they had before. The triumph in Hong Kong was a treasured memory, a monument to her ability and determination, but she couldn't let it overwhelm her. Not right now. The distant chiming bell, reminiscent of the wrestling ring, served as a subtle reminder that the past should be left as such: a collection of memories that shaped her journey but did not define her present. In her head, she took a deep breath to drown out the echoes of the wrestling arena. She thought to herself, That was then, and this is now. The water called her with its own challenges and adventures, an entirely different beast that required her full focus and attention. That victory at Fallout 37 was a stepping stone, not the final destination.
As she helped Sofia gather the rest of the equipment, Medina found herself musing internally. Jackson Fenix, her upcoming opponent, began to occupy her thoughts. She couldn't afford to let the thrill of her debut victory over Leafdom and company overshadow the strategic mindset required for her next match. A mental shift was necessary—a transition from the cheers of the wrestling crowd to the silence of the underwater world. Yes. Focus, Medina. Jackson Fenix is no ordinary opponent. The realization hit her with a sobering weight. He was known for his unpredictable style and unyielding resilience in the ring. Cunning. Medina needed to be agile, both mentally and physically, to navigate the challenge that awaited her.
That four-way triumph last week was just one victory. A victory that had shaped her and started her career, but it wasn't her sole identity. The bell's chime, now a subtle melody in the background, reminded her of the diverse chapters yet to unfold in her life. Each victory, each challenge, was just a stroke on the canvas of her personal journey, contributing to the masterpiece she was continually crafting. An eternal collage, if you will. As she exchanged a knowing glance and a smile with Sofia, Medina felt a renewed sense of purpose. It was time to turn the page.
With their scuba equipment snugly secured, Medina and Sofia made their way slowly towards the awaiting boat. The boat's solid hull gracefully swayed in unison with the rhythmic ebb and flow of the tide, beckoning them closer. The sun, at the height of its daily voyage, poured its radiant glow onto the vast ocean, casting a spellbinding display of light and dark on the rippling waves. The boat stood proudly at the dock, its timeworn exterior a testament to the myriad adventures it had weathered beneath the waves. Each scratch and weathered plank spoke of oceanic conquests and submerged discoveries, as if the boat itself bore the ingrained marks of the mysteries it had unraveled. As they stepped onto the boat, the duo felt the weathered wood beneath their feet emit a melodic creak, a subtle yet resonant prelude to the adventure that awaited them. The acoustic overture mimicked the tangible sense of anticipation permeating the air, as if the very ship could feel the exhilaration pulsing through their veins.
As the crew prepared for departure, the rhythmic sounds of ropes being secured and the creaking of the boat settling into its aquatic habitat created a lovely euphony that underscored the gravity of the impending expedition. The boat, with its chipped paint and rusted fixtures, exuded character, an emblem of resilience against the relentless forces of the sea. The engine suddenly roared to life, sending a vibration through the boat that resonated with the heartbeat of the ocean. The salty breeze grew stronger as the vessel cruised away from the familiar shoreline, leaving behind the quaint charm of Monterey. The town gradually shrank in the distance, its pastel hues blending with the vibrant palette of the open sea.
Medina leaned against the railing, completely immersed in the breathtaking panorama before her. The sea stretched infinitely in every direction, inviting exploration. The sun's rays bounced off the water, casting dazzling flickers of silver and gold that moved delicately amidst the daylight. The boat effortlessly sliced through the waves, leaving behind a frothy trail of white that added a temporary touch to the vibrant blue ocean. Sofia joined Medina at the railing, her eyes reflecting the same wonder and anticipation. The captain's voice suddenly called out, weathered and seasoned, through the speakers, "We're heading to the Blue Chasm, folks! Get ready for a spectacle beneath the surface!" The Blue Chasm is a renowned underwater wonder, with vibrant coral reefs and a wide assortment of marine life waiting to be explored.
As the boat neared its destination, the excitement on board reached a peak. The air buzzed with the shared anticipation of the unknown, and the scent of salt and adventure mingled in a heady concoction. The crew, each with tales etched in the lines on their faces, moved with purpose, preparing the scuba gear and ensuring every detail was in place for the impending descent.
Medina and Sofia, clad in their vibrant wetsuits, exchanged a glance that spoke of shared excitement and determination as they nodded in unison. The sea breeze tousled their hair, a precursor to the immersive experience awaiting them below. The boat slowed its pace, eventually coming to a halting stop as the captain's voice echoed one last time.
"Divers, get ready to explore the wonders beneath. Dive safe and dive deep!"
As the boat bobbed gently on the water's surface, Medina and Sofia enthusiastically strapped on their dive tanks, the metallic clinks merging with the melody of the sea. The tanks, loaded with expectation, held the key to revealing the mysteries concealed beneath the surface. As the rhythmic hum of the engine faded, the crew confirmed that every buckle was secure and every gauge was perfectly aligned, leaving behind a serene silence that engulfed the vessel. Medina and Sofia stood on the boat's edge, eyes locked in mutual comprehension, and nodded simultaneously once more. The moment hovered in suspended animation, like a breath caught between reality and the vastness below. Then, like synchronized dancers, they performed a graceful, backward tumble into the ocean's embrace.
The diving tanks hugged their backs like faithful partners, promising an endless supply of air for the impending fall. As they took their first breaths below, the familiar sound blended with the smooth lapping of waves against the boat. The move from the open air to the underwater kingdom was seamless, a gentle immersion into a world free of sunlight.
The chilly water engulfed them, and the switch from air to liquid was a startling shock before the world under the surface was revealed in a spectacular spectacle. The water greeted them with outstretched arms, its depths begging exploration. The initial fall was a plummet into a realm where gravity appeared to lose its grasp and the surface world's laws no longer applied as the darkness consumed them.
Medina and Sofia's movements were deliberate, their bodies adjusting to the underwater ballet. The scuba gear became an extension of their existence, enabling them to navigate the liquid expanse with a newfound grace. Schools of fish, resplendent in a myriad of hues, darted around them, their synchronized movements resembling a rainbow. The water pressure grew as they sank deeper into the Blue Chasm, serving as a reminder of the ocean's vast weight overhead. However, the sea enveloped them with a sense of weightlessness, creating the paradoxical experience of being both grounded and weightless. The subdued sounds of the ocean, like a faraway orchestra, accompanied their journey into the heart of the aquatic splendor.
In the profound silence of the ocean's depth, Medina's internal dialogue began, her thoughts echoing in the recesses of her mind like distant ripples. The pressure of the water around her became a metaphorical embrace, a reflection of the weight that accompanied her journey in both the underwater world and the wrestling ring.
It's so beautiful that it's almost haunting. Isn't it, Jackson?
She looks around her slowly, staying aware of her surroundings.
The deeper you go, the more pressure you feel. It’s suffocating, huh? The deeper you dive, the more you realize the vastness of what's at stake. The ocean is similar to the wrestling business in a way. You have an endless sea of competitors, each with their own distinct styles, strengths, and ambitions. Jackson, honey, you might think you're a challenge, but in my world, sweetheart, you're just a passing current. You might think that you’re a challenge in the ring, but just like down here, you're nothing more than a minnow in the grand scheme of things. Unaware of the dangers lurking in the shadows of the abyss.
The ocean's depth seemed to amplify her sense of purpose. In her mind, she pictured the wrestling ring transforming into a fluid battleground, the ropes replaced by swirling currents, and the mat transforming into a display of vibrant corals. She envisioned herself as an apex predator, stalking her prey in the ring with the precision of a hunter navigating the dark waters.
Aw. Little Jackson, sweetheart, thought he was the big fish for a long time. Didn’t you? That was before I entered the FWA. Welcome to the real ocean, where every move counts and the currents can change in an instant. She couldn't help but shake her head, her thoughts gaining momentum like the currents around her. Cocky, arrogant, and convinced, he's God's gift to wrestling. But let's be real, Jackson. Your ego is bigger than your accomplishments, clearly. You talk a big game, but when the waves get rough, you struggle to stay afloat. You lack common sense. You think you're invincible, but reality is a harsh tide. You haven't tasted true success in FWA. Even your tag-team title reign was just a fleeting moment, a bubble in the vast ocean of competition. And now you're stuck in a rut, swimming in circles, unable to break free. At this point in your career, you might as well run off with your darling Bubbles the clown and join the circus, because your time is up. The ocean doesn't forgive arrogance, and the currents of FWA are unstoppable and merciless. It's time to prove yourself in the deep waters, with the real big fish like me, where the competition is fierce and success is earned, not entitled. And soon, you’ll be nothing more than a footnote in my rise to the top. Just like everyone else will be.
Medina muses, her words carrying a touch of disdain. The underwater world seems to echo her sentiments, as if the ocean itself is aware of the impending clash between two forces—one fueled by success, the other drowning in its own arrogance.
He struts around like he's the king of the ocean, but in reality, all he's done is create tiny ripples in a pond. A small fish with delusions of glory is swimming in a sea of sharks who've earned their place through grit and triumph. FWA is our ocean, a vast and unpredictable expanse where only the strongest and smartest thrive. And Jackson Fenix? If you think about it..
A wry smile plays on Medina's lips under her scuba gear.
He's yet to prove that he really belongs.
He hasn't tasted real victory. His tag-team title reign was like a fleeting moment, rapidly absorbed by the unrelenting waves. And now, as he struggles in the shadows of his own inadequacy, he believes he can confront someone like me? Someone who thrives in the deep seas, where the currents are fierce and only the strong survive. Even if your partner joined you in whatever you imagine this upcoming match to be, I would still eat the both of you alive. Mama’s hungry. Hungry to prove herself, and Jackson, you’re going to make a fine snack as I continue to climb up the food chain.
A school of colorful fish darts by, perhaps sensing the energy of Medina's words. She continues her internal monologue, determined to convey the reality of Jackson Fenix's situation.
When we meet under the spotlight, it'll be like a fierce storm at sea. Waves of strikes and holds crash against the canvas, the echoes of our struggle reverberating like thunder. But unlike the ocean, where storms pass and tranquility returns, you won't find calm after our confrontation. No.. When the currents settle, I'll remain, standing tall like a resilient coral reef, and you'll be just another memory lost in the depths. Sinking and sinking into the endless void.
As Medina continues her relentless internal dialogue about Jackson Fenix, her focus is abruptly shattered by a sudden shift in the underwater vibration. A colossal silhouette emerges in the distance, its presence commanding attention even in the vastness of the ocean. Medina's words hang in the water like suspended bubbles as her eyes widen at the sight.
Her voice echoes off into the distance of her subconscious as she turns her attention towards the magnificent yet ominous figure. A great white shark, the apex predator of the ocean, glides gracefully through the water. Its sleek form cuts through the liquid expanse, a living embodiment of power and precision.
A hush falls over Medina's internal dialogue, replaced by the awe-inspiring presence of the majestic creature. The predatory grace of the great white commands respect, overshadowing even the relentless determination she felt just a few moments before. As the shark approaches, Medina instinctively turns to her friend Sofia, who signals for her to stay calm with a subtle shake of her head.
The two divers, now silent observers in the grand theater of the deep, watch as the great white zeroes in on a smaller fish, half its size. The water becomes a stage for nature's primal choreography, a dance of life and death beneath the surface. The great white accelerates with breathtaking speed, closing the distance with terrifying efficiency.
The smaller fish, unaware of its impending fate, darts frantically, its futile attempts at escape resembling the evasive maneuvers of a skilled wrestler. Medina's heart pounds in tandem with the unfolding drama as nature's brutality takes center stage. In a swift and calculated motion, the apex predator lunges forward, its jaws expanding wide like a gaping maw of impending destiny. The water erupts in a flurry of bubbles and chaos as the great white engulfs its prey. The smaller fish, caught in the vortex of nature's brutality, is ensnared within the powerful jaws, a moment frozen in time as life transitions to death.
The ocean, once a tranquil backdrop, becomes a stage for primal instincts to unfold. The great white shark, now bearing the spoils of its efficient pursuit, glides through the water with a regal yet menacing aura. The remnants of the smaller fish, fragments of scales and fleeting memories, disperse in the crimson currents, becoming a part of the ever-cycling narrative of life in the deep.
Just like Fenix will.
The great white's dominance and sheer strength leave a lasting impression on Medina's psyche. She realizes the unyielding force of the underwater world, where every encounter carries the weight of life and death. As the great white savors its hard-earned victory, Medina and Sofia share a silent exchange, a tacit acknowledgment of the primal forces that govern their underwater realm. The encounter with the apex predator serves as a stark reminder that, in the vast expanse of the ocean, even the most determined and formidable can be humbled by the unpredictable currents of nature.
As the great white shark, having secured its prey, continues its majestic journey through the oceanic expanse, a charged energy lingers in the water. Medina and Sofia, still silent observers, feel the reverberations of nature's power in the currents around them.
The massive predator glides past them—a force of nature that demands both respect and caution. The water, disturbed by the shark's passage, swirls around Medina and Sofia, creating a momentary vortex of turbulence. The great white's presence, though fleeting, leaves an indelible mark on the underwater stage.
In that fleeting instant, as their eyes meet, Medina senses a glimmer of recognition in the shark's gaze. It's a primal acknowledgment, a silent understanding of the predator within each of them. In that intense moment, as the eyes of the apex predator briefly lock with Medina's, a perceivable connection forms between the human and the sea's sovereign. The depth of those dark, predatory eyes mirrors the primal intensity within Medina herself. She glimpses the ferocious intensity of a hunter, a mirror image of the shark's predatory instinct. It's a fleeting exchange, a glimpse into the untamed spirit shared between predator and prey, a recognition that transcends the boundaries of species.
For a heartbeat, time seems to stand still as the ocean holds its breath, suspended in anticipation of what comes next. In that moment of shared understanding, Medina sees a sudden flash of her own victorious future, a triumphant image of her standing tall over Jackson Fenix in the wrestling ring. She imagines herself as the great white shark, prowling the depths with predatory intent. And in her mind's eye, Jackson Fenix takes on the role of the smaller fish, darting about in a futile attempt to escape her grasp. In this visceral portrayal of the underwater realm, Medina realizes the parallels to her upcoming clash with Jackson Fenix. Just as the smaller fish in her imagination struggles against the inevitable, so too does Jackson Fenix face the daunting challenge of confronting her in the ring. The unyielding force of nature's hierarchy, where the strong prey upon the weak, mirrors the dynamics of their impending showdown.
In this new perspective, the encounter with the great white shark becomes a metaphor for her own strength and determination. Just as the shark dominates its prey, so too does Medina possess the ability to overcome any obstacle in her path. With this realization, she feels a renewed sense of confidence and purpose, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead of her in the FWA.
As the majestic silhouette of the great white shark fades into the oceanic abyss, Medina and Sofia exchange a knowing glance. The underwater world, with its raw and unfiltered display of nature's prowess, has left an lasting mark on their consciousness. The encounter serves as a profound reminder of the primal forces that govern their underwater playground and the unforgiving dynamics of life in the deep.
With the memory of the great white shark etched in their minds, Medina and Sofia continue their descent into the Blue Chasm, their scuba gear propelling them further into the enigmatic depths. The aquatic landscape unfolds before them, revealing vibrant coral gardens teeming with marine life. Schools of exotic fish dart around them, their colors and patterns creating a mesmerizing dance beneath the waves.
As they explore the underwater wonderland, Medina can't help but draw parallels between the relentless nature of the ocean's predators and the challenges she faces in the wrestling ring. The fluidity of her movements underwater mirrors the agility required in a squared circle. Every twist and turn becomes a metaphorical maneuver, a testament to her ability to navigate the unpredictable currents of both worlds.
The underwater currents, gentle yet persistent, guide them through coral arches and underwater caves, revealing hidden alcoves and secret passages within the Blue Chasm. Medina's mind drifts back to the upcoming match with Jackson Fenix. Just like the twists and turns of the underwater terrain, she knows the bout will be filled with unexpected moments and strategic maneuvers. The ocean becomes a metaphorical training ground, preparing her for the ebb and flow of the wrestling ring.
In the silent communication between them, Medina and Sofia share a mutual understanding of the challenges they face, both underwater and in the FWA. The ocean's depths become a proving ground, a place where resilience and adaptability are essential for survival. Sofia, with her unwavering support, is more than just a dive buddy for Medina; she's a comrade in the uncharted waters of life.
As they navigate through the chasm, Medina's thoughts continuously oscillate between the ruthless world of wrestling and the breathtaking beauty of the underwater realm. The coral reefs serve as a reminder that even in the fiercest battles, there's room for beauty and artistry. The ocean, much like the FWA, is a delicate balance of strength and elegance.
The underwater expedition, initially fueled by excitement and anticipation, becomes a reflective journey for Medina. The encounter with the great white shark has stirred a primal energy within her, a deep-seated understanding of her own strength and capabilities. Just as the ocean harbors mysteries waiting to be unveiled, so too does her wrestling career hold unexplored possibilities and challenges.
Breaking the surface, Medina and Sofia emerge into the open air, greeted by the gentle rocking of the boat. The salty breeze carries with it a sense of accomplishment, a shared victory over the depths below. The underwater expedition, initially fueled by excitement and anticipation, becomes a reflective journey for Medina. The encounter with the great white shark has stirred a primal energy within her, a deep-seated understanding of her own strength and capabilities. Just as the ocean harbors mysteries waiting to be unveiled, so too does her wrestling career hold unexplored possibilities and challenges.
The sun's rays filter through the water, casting a celestial glow on the coral formations. The ocean, with its vastness and secrets, has imparted valuable lessons that will resonate beyond the confines of an underwater adventure. As they remove their scuba gear, the friendship forged in the underwater expedition becomes a powerful bond, reinforcing their readiness for whatever challenges lie ahead—in the oceanic depths and the wrestling ring alike.
Medina's eyes lingered on the Blue Chasm, the underwater realm that had challenged and enchanted them. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia, as if she were leaving behind a part of herself in those deep waters. Sofia, sensing her friend's introspection, moved closer, her eyes filled with a shared understanding.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, it's... indescribable. I never imagined the ocean could hold so much beauty and brutality."
"Nature really has its way of humbling us, doesn't it?"
Medina nodded, a grateful smile playing on her lips. The bond they had forged in the depths of the Blue Chasm was a testament to the strength of their friendship. As they continued to remove their scuba gear, the boat's deck served as a platform for their shared sense of accomplishment.
The sound of the waves lapping against the boat created a soothing backdrop as they worked in tandem, unstrapping tanks and removing masks. The boat's crew observed from a respectful distance, allowing the two friends a moment of reflection.
Medina paused. She looked at Sofia, her eyes revealing a mix of emotions: the remnants of the underwater encounter, the memories of the wrestling victory, and the anticipation of the challenges yet to come.
"Are you sure you’re okay, girl?"
"Yeah, Sofi. Just processing, you know? The ocean has a way of making you feel small yet powerful at the same time."
Sofia nodded, understanding the complexity of Medina's emotions. She reached out and squeezed her friend's shoulder in a reassuring manner, just like before.
Medina's gaze softened, gratitude evident in her eyes.
"There's a lot on my mind. Jackson Fenix, the upcoming match, and everything else."
"Hey, take it one step at a time. We conquered the ocean today; the wrestling ring can't be much different. And whatever happens, I've got your back."
Medina chuckled, a genuine warmth spreading across her face. The simplicity of Sofia's words resonated, grounding her in the present moment.
"Thanks, Sofi. I appreciate it. And how about you? Are you okay?"
Sofia's eyes sparkled with a mix of determination and excitement. She tilted her head with a playful nod.
As the boat slowly departed from the breathtaking chasm, the engine roared to life once more, disrupting the tranquility that had enveloped the area. The sound echoed off the water, a farewell to the underwater world that had challenged and enchanted them.
Medina, still standing at the edge of the boat, watched as the waves parted in the vessel's wake. Her gaze shifted back to the ocean, and for a moment, the memories of their underwater adventure flooded her mind. The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting a golden glow on the water's surface.
Just as the boat gained momentum, a familiar shape emerged from the depths. The sleek, dark form of the shark breached the surface once again, its dorsal fin cutting through the water like a knife. Medina's eyes widened, and a smile crept onto her face as if sharing a secret connection with the ocean's guardian.
The shark lingered for a moment, saying a silent farewell, before gracefully disappearing into the depths. Medina, still smiling, whispered a quiet acknowledgment to the sea creature that had become an unexpected companion in their underwater journey.
As the boat continued to drive away, the scene began to fade to black, leaving behind the memory of the North Pacific, the sisterhood between two lifelong friends, and the enigmatic presence of the ocean's guardian. The waves, now undisturbed, whispered tales of the adventures that had unfolded beneath their surface. The boat sailed into the horizon, carrying with it the echoes of laughter, shared victories, and the promise of new challenges on the horizon.
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:56:02 GMT
Originally posted by Cyrus.  “The Machinations of Miscreants! Gamesmanship on the Path to Glory!!!”When you’re the Primogen of the Black Mass and a well-established mage within the world of shadows, you tend to find yourself in very bizarre places and meeting even more bizarre people. And there are more than a handful of instances where you find yourself in these places and in the company of these people without really knowing how you got here. Having his hands and legs strapped to a wooden chair that’s been bolted to the floor in an incredibly colorful, almost offensively gaudy room illuminated by a cheap facsimile of a vintage chandelier? Just another day in the life of Konchu Hao. The Mad Wizard, groggily, comes to his senses as he shakes off whatever drug addled him or whatever strike dazed him. The details of how he was overwhelmed and trapped in this room escape him, but the reason is still very clear in his mind. One of Konchu’s acolytes, shortly after the Mad Wizard put down that hedonist Xperienx, contacted him to inform him that Hela Martinet, a practicing illusionist based out of Antwerp, had been ignoring the Black Mass’s warnings regarding her blatant usage of magic, threatening to expose the world of shadows. Despite explaining time and again that such actions were prohibited, Hela has been nothing but flagrant in her disregard of the Black Mass’s warnings, and it fell on Konchu to rectify the situation before her brazenness and stupidity upended the delicate balance between shadow and dawn. As an exasperated Konchu squirms to loosen a small knife from a hidden pocket in one of his sleeves, he can’t help but feel that this whole ordeal couldn’t have come at an absolute worst time. Sliding the blade into one of his hands and contorting it just enough to start cutting at the thick ropes that have kept him bound to this chair, all the while pondering his other obligations and ambitions. The victory against Xperienx was a massive one. The hedonistic cretin fought hard, but the sheer ferocity of the Mad Wizard proved to be more than that flash-in-the-pan could handle. Even now, Konchu can’t help but smile at how satisfying it felt to crunch his elbow twice into the skull of that miserable wretch and secure his first victory in the F1 Climaxxx. However, as the rope on his left hand loosened enough to Konchu’s consistent cutting, allowing him to free it and begin working on the bindings on his legs and right hand, the Mad Wizard knows that Xperienx was never going to be the real challenge in his block. And that Michelle von Horrowitz would prove to be a far more troublesome foe. Konchu knows this “Dreamer” all too well. Not through direct confrontation, of course, but through his partnership and friendship with Cyrus Truth. The rancor and disgust that Truth has for Michelle is not exactly something The Exile has hidden, nor has he been terribly quiet about his frustrations with her duplicity and utter shamelessness. For one such as Cyrus, who has time and time again been able to cut to the heart of his opponents and use that knowledge to crush them? Michelle von Horrowitz was a puzzle that even The Exile struggled to solve. Konchu’s own thoughts on the matter would have to wait, as the last remaining rope bindings have been successfully cut through, freeing him from the chair. Konchu rises to his feet, stretching out his muscles and working out the aches and pains. Checking his robes to make sure that he still had alchemical reagents and mystical tools in various hidden folds and pockets, he chuckles to himself that Hela’s sycophants and goons were either too brazen or too stupid to be exceptionally thorough in their attempts to hinder him. Once he has regained feeling in his extremities, Konchu heads to the nearby door and tests the knob, finding it’s not locked. A quick cursory glance indicates that it’s not trapped by mundane or arcane means, so Konchu simply turns the knob and opens the door. And walks into a goddamn mashup of a circus, a masquerade, and what may be the beginning of an all-out orgy. Colorful, gaudy revelers have all gathered in a grand hall, adorned with various art pieces and paintings depicting absurd and ludicrous acts, and wine and other more illicit substances flow like water cascading from a cliff. The patrons, in their aggressively obnoxious outfits and twisted masks, dance and carouse without a care in the world. One of them, a young man who’s clearly imbibed too much, approaches Konchu without a moment’s hesitation or consideration for personal space and puts his arm around the Mad Wizard. Annoyingly, Konchu brushes the reveler’s arm off as this partygoer looks confused and speaks in slurred German: “Was beunruhigt dich, mein Freund? Das ist schließlich eine fest!”Konchu’s German is good enough to understand what this intoxicated man is saying, but he doesn’t exactly have the patience to speak the language. Instead, Konchu produces a small vial of some liquid and downs it. The reveler’s body language indicates some excitement at what he believes is Konchu’s attempts to get in the spirit of celebration, but he is stunned as Konchu replies back in English that he understands flawlessly. “I appreciate that fact…um…whoever the devil you are. But I’m here on business, not pleasure. Besides, this sort of revelry is not my particular cup of tea.”
“Was? Warum kann ich Sie verstehen? Du sprichst kein Deutsch."
“Doubtless any explanation would be utterly lost on a hopeless cause such as you, and based on your state of inebriation? I doubt you’ll even remember this chance encounter. Now…where is Hela?”Before the reveler can answer, there’s a whistle that cuts through the music and the cacophony of voices as everybody, like actors reacting to a cue from their director, turn their attention to the center of the hall. Konchu immediately tightens his jaw as he can clearly see arcane sigils illuminate on the ceiling and the walls of the hall, a flagrant violation of the Black Mass’s warnings. Illusory images of dancers in various states of dress and undress emerge from the sigils and mingle with the patrons to their utter astonishment, amusement, and adoration. One more sigil, a much larger one, glows from the floor bringing forth a much larger illusion of a woman with dirty blonde, shoulder-length hair, piercing green eyes glazed over indicating the usage of some sort of intoxicant, and a sheer black evening gown that dazzles as if accenting by starlight. However, the image is somewhat ruined by the contrasting shawl that looks to have been made with the fur of some sort of mangy, possibly diseased rodent. Konchu recognizes this woman immediately. And as Hela speaks in her native French, while her simpering guests give her their undivided attention and adoration, Konchu simply looks on with utter contempt. “Neveux et enfants, bienvenue dans mon monde de réjouissances et de jeux magnifiques. Où nous pouvons profiter de tout ce que le monde a à offrir, à la fois à la lumière d’une normalité ennuyeuse et dans l’ombre des délices décadents ultimes. Votre adoration, votre supplication, c’est ce qui m’apporte la plus grande des joies, et qui m’apporte du secours dans ce monde horrible et misérable. Et parce que je ne suis rien d’autre que généreux et bienveillant, je vous apporte un divertissement comme vous n’en avez jamais vu auparavant…”The illusionary image of Hela then turns her gaze directly towards Konchu Hao, as the lights in the great hall dim and a spotlight coming from yet another sigil cascades down onto Konchu, singling out the Mad Wizard to all of the partygoers. Hela speaks again, this time in English, as her illusion points a finger at Konchu and proclaims: “Behold, children! Your grand mistress has presented you with entertainment beyond the paltry doldrums of the world of dawn, as I always have! Behold…the Primogen of the Black Mass and master of multiple disciplines of magics! I have brought him here to delight you, to amuse you, to show you wonders and marvels the likes of which you would be denied by the dullards who parody power in the light.“Now, Konchu! Present my guests with a demonstration of your prodigious…”Konchu doesn’t even let her finish. With a wave of his hand, the illusions and the spotlight are dispelled. While Hela’s skill with the art of illusion magic is prodigious in its own right, what spellcraft she’s used for this brazen display is paltry and easily overcome. The crowd looks confused, as this act didn’t need Konchu to utilize symbology to accomplish, and mutter amongst themselves. Konchu then produces a glass orb from his coat sleeve, similar to one he used many moons ago out in the wilds of Romania on an erstwhile vampire hunt. With a blinding flash, the room becomes illuminated in utter white before fading. The throngs of revelers have all collapsed, rendered unconscious. Only the Mad Wizard remains standing. Sighing, Konchu returns the orb to his robe and reaches for where his right ear would be. Pressing against the mask with two fingers, he speaks to an unseen listener. “Epsilon, can you hear me?”
“Frazakul, Jubakara!”
“Well, that’s good to know. That contemptible shrew is clearly unwilling to do as she’s told and flaunted her illusions without even attempting to obscure what was happening. We’re rather fortunate that her sycophantic guests are by and large stupid and intoxicated. Tell me, is Apollina in town?”There’s a brief pause as Konchu can hear the tapping of a keyboard. After a minute, Epsilon replies back in an affirmative tone. “Good. Send her a message, and tell her that I require her services. If she’s in town, she’ll likely be able to gather a team of enchantment specialists to perform a mass memory modification on these twits.”
“Yuliz vok?”
“What else? Hela has proven to be utterly disrespectful of the rules of the world of shadow and must be dealt with. I’ll contact you when I have something else to report. I trust you’ll do the same?”Epsilon burbles what sounds like an acknowledgment as Konchu takes a moment to exhale and cut off the communication for the time being. With the revelers dealt with, Konchu closes his eyes and expands his senses. Trying to search this entire house or building or wherever it was could prove wasteful. But, as with anyone who utilizes the Dark Arts, sensing the origin of spellcrafting is a skill that can be developed if you practice it enough. Reaching out beyond the mortal shell he inhabits, Konchu follows the stream of mana through rooms and hallways, the vision showing it in ethereal shadows and wisps. But eventually, the trail ends as he finds the source. With the path now laid before him, Konchu straightens out his robes and smooths out the creases. He heads for a nearby spiral staircase that leads to the upper floors of this domicile, eventually stepping off on the third floor. There’s a long hallway with multiple doors, almost impossibly vast. A familiar voice rings out as Hela speaks to her “guest.” “Dear Konchu, why must you be such a killjoy? Would it have pained you to play along? Well, what’s done is done, and my poor little children will have to find their amusement from you at a later date.”Konchu doesn’t dignify her pontification with a response as he walks down, following the trail of mana he had uncovered before. Reaching the correct door, he opens it and walks inside the room. This room looks like a study of sorts, with various books, scrolls, and other accouterments that, at a cursory glance, would indicate that this is the sanctum of a scholarly, studious sort. However, a closer examination would show that the books in this study are less scholarly and more salacious. The scrolls are carelessly strewn about, what little knowledge they contain scattered and inscrutable due to carelessness. Konchu curses under his breath in a language long since forgotten by the rest of the world, as this study is but a veneer of intelligence and understanding, and serves only as yet another illusion to distract from its owner’s deficiencies and shallow cunning. As Konchu enters, the door behind him slams shut, the door immediately locks. There’s another door on the opposite wall, but the loud sound of tumblers indicate that it, too, was locked. Hela’s voice once again apparates from the ether as she tauntingly speaks. “My dear Primogen. You are wandering in places without express permission, interfering with someone you’re not at all equipped to contest with. But if you’re so adamant about finding me and basking in my presence, then I will not deny you that pleasure…so long as you play with me and participate in my games.“As you doubtlessly gathered, you are trapped within my magnificent study. You are free to partake of my collection, but if you wish to free yourself and continue towards me, you must find the key by deciphering…”
*CLICK*While Hela was droning and pontificating, foolishing assuming that Konchu was bothering to listen or give her even a modicum of attention, the Mad Wizard had rummaged through his robes and produced a small little device that looked like a wiry spider web, etched with runes and pulsing with dark energy. Wasting absolutely little time, Konchu had placed this strange magitek device on the doorknob. It whirs and wraps around the knob like a bony claw and, without any trouble or hassle, the spell-powered mechanism that had locked this door was rendered useless, and Konchu was easily able to open the door. The door from the study opens up to another hallway, but unlike the last one, there were only two doors. The one Konchu came from, and one on the opposite end of the hall. Sensing that Hela was just beyond that door, Konchu begins to make the march down. However, he’s stopped as another illusionary duplicate of Hela appears right in front of him, enlarged to tower over the Mad Wizard. Her tone is one of bemused disappointment, but as her hands subconsciously tug at the ratty fur shawl and Konchu sees the truth in her eyes, it’s clear that Hela is far more enraged than bemused. “Oh, sweet Konchu. Why are you being so obstinate? I thought you were different from all the other men who’ve found their way into my orbit. That you were a whimsical soul who’d revel in the kinds of games I enjoy playing all too much! So far, you’ve been just as much of a dullard as so many men and women who’ve crossed my path, and I will not stand for it. I’m in control of this slice of the world, my dear Primogen. And you WILL play my game.”Konchu, again, says nothing, simply scoffing as he brazenly walks through the illusion and continues marching down the hall. However, the walls…shift. The white wallpaper begins to swirl into a medley of psychedelic colors and fade into a starless void of night sky. Konchu finds himself standing in the middle of nothing and nowhere, as phantoms emerge from the darkness. Visions of the past. “SON! What are you doing wasting your time with this occult nonsense? You are an embarrassment to me and my family name! No wonder your bitch of a mother lost her mind. She clearly couldn’t handle having given birth to the world’s most pathetic LOSER!”Visions of the present. “I offer my spot in the F1 Climaxxx, and you SQUANDER IT?! All you had to do was win, and you allow that Dutch bitch to bamboozle you? You learned nothing, you fool. You know what? Fuck the Alliance. I can see it was a waste of time. And so were you.”Visions of the future. “And when you look back on the career of Konchu Hao, one can’t help but ponder if he ever truly could be considered one of the greatest. Flashes of brilliance here and there, for certain…but flashes don’t make a legend.”It’s clear to Konchu what Hela’s spell is trying to do. And truly? If this were two years ago? It might’ve worked. Konchu Hao, for all of his power and knowledge, for everything that he’s accomplished both in professional wrestling and within the world of shadows, has always had to struggle with those thoughts. Those dark thoughts that whispered menacingly in his ear. Those condemnations that he wasn’t good enough. Wasn’t smart or vicious enough to thrive, let alone survive. But…this isn’t two years ago. And Konchu is well and truly done with that shit. As the voices of the phantasms continue to taunt and bite at him, Konchu simply presses forward. The voices aren’t silenced. They never would be. But that didn’t mean Konchu had to give them even a second’s worth of his attention. The Mad Wizard can’t see the exit from this space. But that’s irrelevant. For a mage as powerful and skilled as the Primogen of the Black Mass, the way out is wherever you damn well want it to be. With a wave of his arm, the illusion shatters like glass. The voices, the void is dispelled with the ease of taking a breath as Konchu, eyes focused like sharpened knives, finally casts his gaze upon his quarry, the woman who flaunts her arrogance under the visage of hedonistic freedom. Indeed, Hela stands before him as we find ourselves in what looks like the master bedroom. Strung-out, unconscious revelers are here with her, presumably crashing after imbibing too much ecstasy both metaphorical and literal. Hela, herself, has at least dressed up for her confrontation with Konchu, which is certainly more than can be said with her companions for the evening’s festivities. However, it’s clear that the illusory vision of Hela Martinet was not the same as what the Mad Wizard sees in front of him. The classy gown is little more than a stained, tattered mess. Her hair, once perfectly arranged, is a mottled rat’s nest that has seen neither water nor soap for quite some time. Her makeup, once meticulously applied, is streaking from either sweat or tears. In fact, the only thing that the original illusion got right and Hela is still wearing is that ratty, disgusting fur shawl. Despite the fact that she is a complete mess, she still, either as a tactic to unsettle Konchu or because she’s completely delusional about the situation she’s in, saunters up to the Mad Wizard, trying her best at a sultry, seductive approach. As she wraps her arms around Konchu’s neck, she talks in her breathy, French accent with only a few inches between her face and Konchu’s. Konchu flinches, but only because the smell of cigarettes and alcohol on Hela’s breath is almost overpowering. “My dearest, my most wonderful dance partner. My love, my joy, my excitement. You’ve been so uncooperative after I’ve gone through so much trouble to invite you into my world. Why? Why do you keep me out of yours? Why do you have to be so damned serious?”Hela leans in, her lips within millimeters of Konchu’s. Her voice lowers as she whispers: “Come on, Konchu. Play with me. Amuse me. I can promise…it will be worth your…”
*CRACK!*Hela is STUNNED. Staggered, as she stumbles backwards and falls flat on her back due to the force of Konchu’s skull smashing into hers. As a trickle of blood starts to pool and drip from her forehead, Konchu glares at her with the eyes of a devil. “You horrid harpy! You absolute pathetic wretch of a human being! You think you have anything to offer me? This world of yours, this sanctuary you’ve constructed? It’s a bloody illusion, no different than your pitiful excuse for spells. For what minimal talent you have, the most abhorrent thing about you is that you seem to think the world exists to amuse you, that you’re immune to the consequences of your actions. You believe that everyone and everything exists as your playthings and that you can do as you please without the hammer of the gods coming down on your head.“But look at you. A mage of some talent, one who could accomplish great things. But you think that the rules of our world don’t apply to you, and you hide behind your illusions of grandeur and your insecurities. You are LITERALLY in the middle of a clutch of drugged out sycophantic losers that are attracted to you like moths to a flame, and they are nothing more than a crystal clear vision of the waste of time that you are.”
“I…I…just want to play…”
“YES, YES, I know you just want to play games. That’s all you ever want to do. You don’t care about mastering your craft. You don’t give two damns about dignity or taking responsibility for your actions. You just want people to dance and frolic and act as foolish and frivolously as you do. Hela, you could be one of the world’s greatest illusionists if you gave two damns about anything other than killing your boredom and needling the Black Mass or any of the other magic guilds.“I enjoy playing games…but there’s a time for playing and a time for action, for getting shit done. And I have already wasted enough of my time with you…”That statement. Konchu pauses mid-rant as he lingers on what he just said. This whole business was a waste of time even if it needed to be done, as he had to focus on Michelle von Horrowitz in the F1 Climaxxx so that he can achieve his own ambitions. But seeing this ratty, ragged, haggard wretch in front of him, looking at him with drug-hazed eyes as the trickle of blood has started to dry and mix with her tears? Konchu cackles. “Kehahaha. Kehahaha! On second thought, Hela? Fine. We’ll play a game. But I get to choose what we play.”There’s a look in Hela’s eye. The prospect of a game is definitely appealing…but not being the one in control? It’s not something she’s ever experienced. When it comes to games, she’s the one that gathers the players and sets the rules that everyone, save for her of course, have to play by. However…in her delirium, she makes her choice. She nods. And with that, the room goes dark. Konchu Hao vanishes into the darkness. Hela is alone. There are no more sycophants, no revelers, nothing. She stands alone. And in the void, not unsimilar to what she subjected Konchu to earlier, she hears them. The voices of countless people she’s met. Countless souls she’s tormented, disgraced, abandoned, and wronged. And unlike Konchu? Hela is nowhere near strong enough to endure this cacophony of voice, casting judgment upon her. But the Mad Wizard’s well of sympathy has run well and truly dry as his cackle cuts through the noise. “KEHAHAHA!!!”Eventually, a dozen or so robed figures arrive at Hela Martinet’s estate, efficiently working through the unconscious patrons and utilizing enchantment runes to quickly and completely alter their memories. Whatever they might’ve remembered about seeing Hela’s spellwork through the drugs and alcohol would be replaced with something else, thus preserving the world of shadows. One of the figures, a dark-skinned woman with very ornate facial tattoos, is overseeing the work of her subordinates as the sound of a door slamming open gets all of their attention. The body of Hela Martinet is tossed out into the great hall. She’s still alive. But looking at her, she probably wish she wasn’t. Her hair has gone stark white, with patches missing after she pulled them out in absolute terror. Blood and mascara have blotted into dark patches all over her face. And the only thing she can say is a mumbling of nonsense words. Hela Martinet had wanted to play games. But she wasn’t ready to pay the price of losing. Konchu Hao walks out the door as two of the enchanters have taken Hela into custody. The Primogen of the Black Mass passes by the lead enchanter, who says nothing to Konchu. She simply nods in approval, to which the Mad Wizard nods in return. Konchu’s work is done here. And it’s time to get back to the business at hand. But still…if nothing else? This diversion has taught him much. *******We return to another sanctum, this time located beneath a Korean barbecue establishment in Seoul. The basement of this restaurant contains a secret passageway, only accessible by those with the arcane knowledge to open such doors. Through the passageway, we find Epsilon and Konchu sitting at a table in the middle of a relatively modest laboratory, presumably put in place by practitioners of ancient Korean alchemy. But for now, the Mad Wizard and his trusted compatriot are dining on some freshly grilled bulgogi with sides of kimchi. As Epsilon happily chows down on the delicious food while playing some kind of game on his trust tablet, Konchu’s focus in-between bites is on the game board and pieces that Epsilon had procured for his master. The Baxter, Peacock, Marshall, and Halloween Knight figures are still kept in the rear, far away from the other three that represent Konchu’s opposition in his block. The figurine of Gerald Grayson, representing Xperienx, has been knocked over, a symbolic choice to punctuate Konchu’s crushing victory against him. Konchu, deliberately, moves his own figure in front of the one representing Michelle von Horrowitz. Arguably, the competitor in his block that stands as the favorite, having succeeded in getting to the finals of the previous year’s F1 Climaxxx and winning the trophy…well, “winning” being an incredibly, overly-generous term for what Michelle did to rob Cyrus of the victory. However, Konchu Hao isn’t Cyrus Truth. Cyrus spent too much of his time trying to figure out Michelle, trying to understand how she works. How she thinks. It’s a talent of The Exile’s that has served him well time and again. But Cyrus was looking for something when there was nothing there. For as talented as Michelle is, for as many accolades as she’s achieved? Ultimately, she is a talented wrestler and a waste of time. Michelle will never be anything other than the parasitic leech that will suck FWA dry just to sustain herself, just to give her life meaning. Everything, from matches to promos to her interactions with her fellow wrestlers? Nothing more than a game to distract her from her inadequacies, to delude herself into thinking she’s something more than just a strung out junkie and hedonist who’s doomed to toss away her legacy and end up dead in a ditch. Sometimes, people aren’t that complicated. Sometimes, even the greatest of athletes are just shit people who can’t come to terms with their own deficiencies and choose to be assholes who get their jollies off tormenting and toying with people, even if their actions showcase their horrid souls for all the world to see. And when dealing with those people? It’s never a good idea to play their games. It’s better, instead, to just go for the jugular and watch them choke on their own blood. Michelle von Horrowitz might make her way out of the pool to the Final Four of the F1 Climaxxx, as she had last year. But if she thinks it’s going to be at the expense of Konchu Hao? If she thinks that the Mad Wizard’s going to play her games and dance to her tune? Konchu Hao would remind her that rats, devastating as they can be by spreading their disease and tearing apart structures from the inside out? They are NOT the apex predators at the top of the food chain. And the cat’s claw will come crashing down on the rat who calls herself "Dreamer." |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:57:51 GMT
Originally posted by TGO. The date is Sunday, February 4. XYZ and The Menage have been traveling through Mexico City for more than a week, going park to park looking for Wild Jerry. The Magic School Bus – which can no longer fly – has been travailing through the city on its last legs, its final fumes, of which have been spitting out the exhaust pipe every three minutes like black smoke. It’s an automobile’s version of the bubble guts.
Point being, things are not looking up for XYZ and his band of comrades. Things haven’t been looking up for them for quite some time.
There are probably dozens of parks and many more public green spaces that can serve as miniature parks in Mexico City. The Menage has visited damn near every one of them the past 9 or 10 days.
Yet … nothing. No Wild Jerry. Not even someone who knows Wild Jerry.
So, on Sunday, February 4, in a beautiful afternoon through one of the suburbs of Mexico City, the members of The Menage are just about done with this. Frank’s eyes are unfocused as he looks out the window. Sierra is napping in the back seat. Lizzy Golden is gleefully playing with one of PacMan Bert’s backup handheld PacMan games. Christian Howard has even given up, looking out a window on the opposite side of Frank, also with unfocused eyes.
Yet, XYZ is as focused as ever, and he has another park on the list. This one is in the northwest sector of the city, in one of the poorer neighborhoods. And as he pulls into the parking lot, he hears another of those bubble gut farts from the Magic School Bus, only this one was a last hurrah.
The car sputters once, jolts forward – catching the attention of everyone in the bus – and then sputters a second time before jolting forward a second time. Then the engine goes silent, and the wheels come to a stop.
“Is that … it?” Christian Howard asks, a question with an obvious answer.
“The Magic School Bus finally broke down,” Frank says.
XYZ lays against the driver’s seat, slouching down. Finally, it seems, the quest has taken his last ounce of belief and motivation. He is no mechanic, and he cannot fix a flying school bus that not only does not fly but now does not drive.
What can a man with a green cloth tied around his neck possibly do to fix this situation? XYZ is just a man who wants to help the helpless. He’s certainly no mecha…
“There he is.”
Frank’s eagle eye spots a group of about 20 men playing soccer in one section of a large grass field in the park. The grass is poorly cut, with some dead patches, and groups of trees nearby to provide scattered shade. The February sun combines with a gentle, cool breeze. The men playing all have either long pants or a long, athletic shirt on – some have both.
One of them, a man of about 5 feet, 8 inches playing what he believes is “midfield”, attempts to pass the ball to a teammate, only to miskick it off his toe and watch as the black-and-white patterned ball rolls past a single “sandalias” serving as an out-of-bounds marker.
Wild Jerry drops his head and casually jogs back. Then he’s approached by another man, who was on the sidelines, and has subbed himself in for Wild Jerry.
Jerry defeatedly walks to the sideline and as he’s about to sit down, he looks up and sees the eyesore known as the Magic School Bus off in the distance. Then his eyes spot XYZ and The Menage all waving to him.
“I think he’s coming over.”
Sure enough, Wild Jerry walks toward the group. The Menage members are temporarily excited to see their friend, whom they have not seen in a month, since he walked out at the Crossfire Christmas show.
XYZ steps forward, hoping to embrace Wild Jerry first. But before he can say a word, he hears Wild Jerry’s harsh tone.
“Cabrón! CA-BR-ON! Estupido, man. Estupido estupido! Why?! Why?! Why y’all here?! Why ya’ here?”
Wild Jerry reaches the parking lot where everyone is and stops short of XYZ by about 5 feet. He holds out his arm, palm open, a signal for XYZ to not come any closer. The rest of The Menage pick up on the tension, and their excitement fades.
“Why ya’ here, X? Why ya’ bring everyone?”
“I wanted to talk. Wanted to find you. We want you to come back with us.”
“I ain’t wanna be found, amigo. Ain’t wanna be found by y’all … ‘n by you especially.”
“Where’s PacMan, Jerry?” Frank shouts from afar.
“He doin’ his thing. Don’t worry, yo.”
XYZ puts a hand up, a silent request for Frank to let him run point.
“Wild Jerry, I understand it has been a rough patch, but The Menage is a fami…
“Don’t say that! Don’t you dare fuckin’ say that word! It ain’t no family! It just you babblin’ about stupid shit ‘n everyone followin’. We had a family with Sauce Man. Then he was turned to pixie dust and we ain’t have no purpose. But what is this? This ain’t no purpose, either. We just runnin’ around planet to planet while you try to figure your shit out. We ya’ therapists, X. That’s all we are!”
XYZ turns around and looks at the rest of The Menage, who are whispering amongst themselves. Jerry’s voice carries well outside, and they can clearly hear him.
“Big Al was a recreation of your dog, yeah? Well, we’re just recreations of ya’ damn therapist ‘n shit then. Hell, maybe Sierra is a recreation of ya’ foster mama! Then Lizzy is a recreation of some kid ya’ knew in the home. Maybe all of us are, yeah? That’s why Frank is black ‘n I’m Mexican, right? Minority representation since that’s probably what ya’ saw in those homes!
Man, X, that was about as much a family as you ever had. Ya’ mama sure ain’t ya’ family. She kicked ya’ ass to the curb ‘cause she didn’t want no family with ya’.”
That last line stings, and it causes XYZ to ball up his fist. Anger takes over, and his hand flinches, a momentary movement to swing it at Jerry. But after that moment, XYZ collects himself.
“We ain’t ya’ family, X. We just recreations of whatever ya’ had as a family back when ya’ were a kid. That’s all. That’s why we here. It’s why ya’ have brought us along through the damn galaxy. We just ya’ therapist ‘n ya’ comfort of memories long ago.”
XYZ nods. He’s speechless. How can he reply to this animosity from Wild Jerry? He has nothing to say, no words to defend himself. Is he right? Is X using the rest of The Menage for his own benefit through his quest? Wild Jerry interrupts X’s internal monologue.
“Man, X, ya’ shouldn’t have come here. Ya’ got me all fired up, X. Now I’m rollin’, ‘n I’m comin at ya’ hard.
Disband The Menage, X. It ain’t work, yo. It ain’t work ‘cause you ain’t no leader, X. You leadin’ them into nothin’land. You led me into nothin’land.”
Wild Jerry steps around XYZ and looks into the anxious faces of the rest of The Menage.
“Y’all all gonna stay in nothin’land with this gringo! You better off splittin’, doin’ ya’ own thing. Figurin’ it out.
But if X was really ya’ friend, if y’all was really family to him like he says, he’d split on his own. He’d know he ain’t goin’ nowhere and ain’t bringin’ y’all nowhere. He wouldn’t keep y’all as his therapists.”
Wild Jerry turns back to XYZ and is now a foot from his face, his own fist balled up for a possible physical confrontation.
“You got Gabrielle on Fallout, yeah? Gabrielle?! Hall of Famer? Multiple World Championship wins? Her against … whatever ya’ are now? That’s easy money, yo. Eeeeeeeeeeeasy money.”
“I think you underestim…”
“What?! WHAT?! UNDERESTIMATE?! Ya’ think ya’ gonna beat her?! GA-BRI-FUCKIN-ELLE? She got more wins each year she been wrestlin’ in the FWA than you in ya’ whole-ass career, X. Ya’ haven’t won a match in 2024. Ya’ haven’t won a match in … hell, I can’t even remember. How ya’ think ya’ gonna beat Gabrielle fuckin’ Montgomery?
HOW Y’ALL THINK HE GONNA BEAT GABRIELLE?! FRANK?! YO, GRINGO SUIT-WEARIN’ CHRISTIAN?! YOU THINK HE GONNA WIN?! SIERRA?! LITTLE CHILDREN-OF-THE-CORN KID?! Y’ALL REALLY THINK HE CAN WIN?!”
The only one of them who responded, even with a shake or nod of the head, was Lizzy, who presumes she is the “children-of-the-corn kid.” She shakes her head confidently, that, no, X will not beat Gabrielle.
“Yeah, I thought. If so … if y’all do think he’ll win … then y’all deserve him. Y’all deserve to stay in nothin’land with this stupid-ass gringo.”
“I know you’re upset, Wild Jerry, and it’s okay to be upset.”
“What is this? A passage from a 21st century gentle parenting guide?”
“But you’re underestimating me, and The Menage as a whole. You’re underestimating my estimation of Gabrielle. She’s a survivor. And I don’t mean she has survived for however long it has been since she started wrestling in the WA of Fs. I mean she is a survivor of the darkness. I remember. We all remember. Gabrielle was troubled. She was struggling. She was walking alone in the night with nothing but the stars above leading her to safety and comfort. She had to fight through those treacherous waters within, the demonic horse-whales that come for those who are on the edge. I was one of them. I now try to save them now. There are so many others. They face the gremlins of the east with a cocktail of courage and fear. Do you know how hard that is, Jerry? Have you ever been where Gabrielle has been?
No. You haven’t. What? You think because we lost a few matches in a row that you and all of us have it tough? You think your life is difficult? You fly to space! You have stepped foot on planets in other galaxies! You have spent an entire week skateboarding on the icy rings of Saturn! None of us have it now like Gabrielle had it.
But I … once … did. I was there. I survived. Barely. Gabrielle survived, too. And someone who survived is strong. Gabrielle is strong. More than championship wins or her being in the Famous Hall, or any of her other accolades, she is strong for that.
No, I don’t underestimate her, Wild Jerry. I properly estimate her. I know exactly who she is and what I’ll have to do to beat her.”
A beat as XYZ smirks in his confrontation with his comrade.
“I have to ride the tide of the fiery sand snails through the westward mountain. I have to throw the thunder into the bullet train that’s heading for the town made by ants and lived by bears. I have to RIDE THE POGOSTICK THAT TRAVELS UP THE RAINBOW STEPS TO THE COLUMN OF ICE DRAGONS! There … I can absorb the winter’s wonderbread and step up to the palace of intrigue.
I have to do all of that … to beat Gabrielle. And I can do all of it. If you think I cannot, then you underestimate me, Wild Jerry, in the same way you underestimate my estimation of Gabrielle.”
Usually, there’s a perk in the rest of The Menage’s collective energy after one of XYZ’s speeches. However, this one gets a very subtle groan from Frank. Christian Howard, sensing troubled waters, claps and forces a “I’m with you!” reply. Sierra also applauds, trying to bring the light back to the group. Lizzy Golden applauds, but more so mockingly.
Wild Jerry rolls his eyes in reply as XYZ senses his “charm” did not hit in the way it has in the past. The smirk he had just moments ago has faded.
“I ain’t gonna get sold no magic beans no more by you, X. I ain’t gonna let you trip me on ya’ damn bag of marbles with ya’ little speeches ‘n shit that don’t mean nothin’. Just a bunch’a nothin’land shit.
Ya’ leave me out of it, aite? I don’t wanna see ya’ or ya’ broken-ass flyin’ bus anywhere in my sights, or I’ma have to actually make it where ya’ peace out of this shit, aite? I ain’t ya’ enemy right now, but I will be if ya’ don’t listen to me.
And listenin’ to me also means … that ya’ will realize ya’ ain’t who ya’ say ya’ is, and ya’ let my friends go. Ya’ set them free from whatever trick charms ya’ have on ‘em all. I hope ya’ listen to me. I ain’t messin’. Now go.
Be real with it, X. And leave me ‘n all them be. Ya’ got until Fallout. I’ll be watchin’ to see what ya’ do.”
Wild Jerry turns his back to XYZ and walks to the group playing soccer, his new passion project as he searches for meaning in his crazy world he’s been implanted into. XYZ watches – somewhat proudly – as Wild Jerry jumps into the fray of 8v8 action and immediately gets nutmegged by a much more skilled player, who seemingly has the ball tied to his feet by a string. Wild Jerry sees X and processes that his former “amigo” witnessed this failure, which irritates Wild Jerry further.
He shouts something in Spanish towards XYZ, who can only interpret the harsh tone of Jerry’s voice. Maybe a “perra” was in the rant, but it’s tough to make it out from the parking lot, an easy 40 yards from the game.
X turns back to the rest of The Menage, who look like a punk rock album cover, all disheveled and depressed as they lean against the broken-down school bus.
“I don’t know if you all heard that, but if you did …”
“We did,” Christian says.
“Wild Jerry talks loudly,” Frank continues.
“He’s the loudest-talking person I’ve ever met,” Sierra offers.
“He even talks loudly in his sleep!” Frank exclaims.
“Well, he said some … harsh things. It’s okay. He’s going through a life crisis, and I want him to have the space he needs to … explore his happiness.
But I don’t agree with what he said about The Menage or where we’re headed.”
XYZ looks at Frank, Sierra, Lizzy, and Christian, all looking unmoved by X’s monologue thus far. There is no perk in their posture. No motivation in their vibe. XYZ feels it’s an uphill climb from here.
“I still believe in us. I still believe in what we’re doing. I still believe there are people out there – people like us – who need us. There are people who are struggling, who are fighting the night sky, the dark shadows, the roads with no street lights. They’re fighting to find shelter. They’re fighting to find their way home – their way to a new home.
These people need us, and in a way, we need them.
But I don’t want you all – my friends – to be stuck with me when you could be doing something else, something better.
I have a few days to think before Fallout. So … I will. Christian … take the bus and everyone back to the Island of Tsushima in Japan.”
Amid an attempt at a passionate speech that felt to the four-person audience like more of the same, that last line gets their attention. Frank’s eyes widen. Sierra stands up straight and looks at Frank, the most senior member of the group and possibly the one who should respond. Christian Howard also stands upright and looks to both Sierra and Frank, who both have seniority over him and also more strength in their words.
“I’m gonna walk.”
Frank immediately steps forward with a “wait, wait, wait.” Sierra also tries to chime in and voice her opinion against XYZ’s plan. Lizzy Golden watches on in silence, turning to her left and seeing Christian Howard’s hand shaking for some reason.
“But … the bus can’t make it to the Island of Tsushima … because it’s an island … and the bus doesn’t fly anymore,” Frank interjects.
“Plus, how are you going to walk there?” Sierra asks.
“I’ll figure something out.”
“You can’t miss another show,” says Sierra, who offers a genuinely worried expression on her face. “Like … we’re serious, X. You can’t. Fallout is less than a week away. This is Gabrielle. People would love to have an opportunity to wrestle her. You’re on thin ice as is. You no-showed a match with the FWA Television Champion. Like, literally didn’t even show up. Do you know how big of a deal that is? People who no-show matches get fired. They get released. Snap of a finger.
Kleio de Santos is calling for your head on a spike, X! She wants it done. She wants you done. And I don’t want to scare you, but people have been fired for much less in the FWA than what you did last Fallout. I’m just saying … if you do this again ....”
“And if you walk, you won’t make it in time,” Frank pleads, unsure if X is serious about his plan to walk.
XYZ starts walking away, lost in thought, although he heard Sierra’s spiel and processed the significance of the upcoming match. Christian remains speechless, nervous about what’s going to happen to not only XYZ but also him.
“I guess we’ll see you at Fallout?” Sierra says with an inquisitive tone.
“Yo, how are we gonna get to Japan from Mexico City?”
“I guess we gotta buy a plane ticket. I wonder how much this damn bus could sell for.”
Frank kicks the metal exterior, and one of the hubcaps falls off of a front wheel.
“The dream never dies, eh?” Lizzy says, mockingly, her first comment of the day.
Within seconds, everyone in the group’s cell phones make a buzzing vibration sound at the same time or a second or two apart. One phone – Christian’s – chimes along with a buzz, and he takes the lead at unnecessarily announcing what everyone is capable of reading on their own.
“Text message from X. ‘The dream never dies.’”
“Maybe he heard you,” Frank says to Lizzy, who sports a sheepish and suspicious expression. She looks to her left and right in quick succession, then up to the sky, as if she’s trying to spot something … or someone.
“These walls are thin then,” Lizzy says.
“We ain’t inside, yo.”
“Or … are we…?” Lizzy says with a Twilight Zone-type mysterious tone in her voice.
“You are definitely your father’s daughter,” Sierra replies, smiling and pulling Liz in for a sideways hug. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:58:58 GMT
Originally posted by rawr.
Alyster Black & Chris Peacock
are
FTN
in
DEATH WISH INITIATIVE
Part 1. Denial
Losing the World Championship is heartbreaking. It doesn’t matter how long your reign was, it doesn’t matter if you made any successful defences, it doesn’t even matter if you were instantly merced. Being the World Champion means that you climbed to the proverbial mountaintop. The pain of losing that title is the same as having a limb removed.
However, for Alyster Black this pain is not an issue. He’s dealing with grief the best way he knows how. Denial.
Denial that he ever was the FWA World Champion. How could he lose a title he never held? How could he then be afflicted with the pain of losing said belt?
Denial is the cure-all solution to all of life’s problems, and Alyster Black has embraced it head on. How he has done so will become apparent shortly but first we must establish our setting.
It’s a beautiful morning. The sun is shining, the skies are blue, and there isn’t a cloud in sight to rain on one’s parade. But clear skies don’t always mean that things are okay. There may not be any clouds up there, but there is a dark one hanging over Chris Peacock’s head. There it is, day and night, just above. Always looming, always inspiring dread.
The cloud started out small, a manifestation of life’s little stressors. But stress compounds and builds up. And eventually the shoulders bearing them cannot hold the weight anymore.
Losing the World Championship, losing the World Tag Team Championship, and the losing streak he was on, plus the familial issues that had flared in the last year were driving Chris closer and closer to his breaking point. This much was obvious to anyone that knew him. It was painfully obvious to his tag team partner and best friend in the world, Alyster Black.
This black cloud hanging over Chris’ head is why Alyster decided to cheer his friend up with a friendly abduction.
Chris was none the wiser to Alyster’s intentions. When the masked man showed up at his door Chris just assumed it was a friendly visit. How could he possibly predict that he would wind up tied and gagged in the trunk of a rental, being driven out to the middle of nowhere.
Something was off about Alyster though. His appearance was odd, instead of his usual casual wear he was instead sporting a pair of blue jeans, a buttoned up flannel shirt, with a leather vest and a small plastic cowboy hat. His usual faint Australian accent was also notably missing, replaced with a grating and forced Southern American drawl that was torture on the ears.
“Howdy partna’.” Alyster greeted his compatriot with a tip of his hat.
“What is this?” Chris motioned over Alyster, nodding his head as he examined his partner from head to toe.
“What do you mean? It’s me, Alyster Bedlam. Your trusty tag team partner in the Death Wish Initiative.”
“Alyster, I cannot deal with you having a mental breakdown right now. I’ve enough problems as it is.”
“Mental breakdown? This is how I’ve always looked and talked partna’.”
“Come on, Tommy doesn’t even sound like that!”
“Tommy? Tommy who? I don’t know any Tommy. Now get your shoes on, we’re heading out.”
Chris sighed and reached for the bridge of his nose, pinching gently whilst he tried to put his thoughts together in a way that wouldn’t offend his tag team partner. “Listen buddy, I don’t have time for this right now. But if you’d like to come inside and take a load off, maybe get a few drinks in you then that’s cool.”
“We ain’t got time to be drinkin’, at least not here anyway. Come on, we’ve gotta go.”
“And where do you want to take me, Aly?”
“That’s a surprise partna’, now come on.”
“Seriously, I don’t want to go. Not while you’re acting this way.”
“Damn it Chris, I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to this.” Alyster reached beneath his vest and pulled out a revolver which he pointed right at the heart of his friend. “Now, you can come in hot or cold, it doesn't make a difference to me.”
“Fine, cold it is then.” Chris was unamused, nor did he believe that Alyster Black of all people would fashion a real firearm.
“Is that a fact?”
“A deadly one. Besides, we both know that isn’t a real gun. So will you please stop acting crazy and come inside?”
“Fine.”
“Good man.” Chris turned his back to Alyster and took a few steps forwards, “We can talk about this over a few beers and get to the bottom of whatever’s troubling you. Don’t you worry about tha-”
The butt of the gun recoiled from the back of Chris’ skull and the last thing that Disco’s Last Warrior saw before everything went black was his tag team partner pulling a lasso from the back of his belt.
The car bounced over gravel and rock, waking Chris up from his slumber. He had no idea how long he’d been out for, nor how far Alyster had taken him. His head throbbed and his body hurt from the travel conditions.
When the trunk opened Chris was initially relieved to see daylight. But any positive emotion he felt quickly subsided at the sight of his partner.
“Well, here we are partna’.”
Chirs remained silent as Alyster helped him to his feet and began untying him.
“Come on now, you ain’t sore that I got the drop on you are ya? We’re both men, I know you can take it. Besides, it’s gonna be worth it, you’ll see.”
Still Chris remained silent.
“Well. I suppose I can’t blame you for being mad at me, what I did was mighty cowardly.”
The lasso was finally untied and fell in a neat circle around Chris’ feet. He took a moment to inspect himself, touching the back of his head then rubbing his wrists to get circulation back in. All while Alyster stood by waiting for his partner to say something.
That something wasn’t words so much as it was a straight punch to the face that dropped the crazed cowboy to the dirt road below.
“So where are we?” Chris’ tone was bored, he was already over today’s adventure but figured his best chance of getting home was to play along. It didn’t mean he had to be enthusiastic about it.
Alyster sat up, clutching his nose in pain whilst pointing beyond the car with his other hand. “I thought you could use some cheering up, so I’ve taken you to the carnival.”
“What the hell…”
Chris turned around, he wondered how he hadn’t noticed where they were before now. Behind him was a grand carnival, loud, bright and absolutely packed.
“Hold on a minute, this doesn’t make any sense. We were just in New York, and this…” He took in the sights surrounding the carnival. All that surrounded it was dirt and sand, as far as the eye could see. “is the middle of a desert.”
“It’s a special carnival.”
“Special how?”
Alyster shrugged his shoulders, that was a question he couldn’t actually answer, and that was entirely due to ignorance. “Does it matter? We’re just gonna spend the day here and it’s going to help with that black cloud hanging over your head.”
“I already told you I’m fine. Fuck there’s no point talking to you about this, let’s just get this over with.”
Part 2. True Grit
“Ain’t this exciting partna’?” Alyster beamed, twirling with his hands raised as he and Chris walked down the main road through the carnival.
“It sure ain’t.” Chris grumpily replied. He followed his partner, not out of excitement but because he had no real choice in the matter. He was here, at this carnival, trapped.
“Ah, you’re just being a curmudgeon. Cheer up and take a look around ya Chris, this is supposed to be fun.
“I told you, I don’t need cheering up, you psycho.”
“And I said I don’t believe you.” Alyster slapped his partner on the back playfully, chortling brightly as he did so. “Look, I ain’t gonna let you leave until we fix a smile on that mug of yours permanently.”
Chris’s face contorted into an ugly grimace from the hit, Alyster had slapped him particularly hard.
“Whatever, just don’t hit me again. If you hit me, I’ll have to hit you back.”
“That’s the spirit son.”
On they travelled, trudging through the dirt track, along the promenade. Taking in the sights of attractions and games. Until a particular booth caught Alyster’s attention.
“Now we’re talkin’.”
The masked man grinned as he grabbed his partner by the arm and dragged him along. Right up to a booth with a sign depicting a cowboy riding a machete called “Knife Rider”.
“Step right up folks, don’t be shy. Try your luck at the most dangerous game to ever come out of the old west.” A friendly carny bellowed in his attempts to lure marks. He needn’t have tried too hard to lure Alyster though, the new cowboy was enamoured with the scenery immediately.
The booth was the same as all the others structurally. Inside against the side walls was a variety of prizes, against the back wall sat five rows of mechanical hands, all racing back and forth toward gun holsters on either side of their tracks.
“How’re you doing folks, care to try your luck? Only ten dollars for five throws.”
“Sounds like a bargain to me. How do you win partna’?”
“The game is simple my friend, you throw five knives and your aim is to lodge at least two of them in two different hands racing along the tracks before they’re able to draw their pistols.”
“Well, I’m game. Chris, pay the man.”
“What? Why do I have to pay him.”
“Because we’re here for your benefit dummy. I swear if you weren’t so pretty then it’d be a shame how slow you are.”
Chris grumbled as he reached into his pocket and produced a Hamilton, handing it to the carny who snatched it away greedily.
“Thank you sir, and your knives…” The carny reached for the shelf below the ledge and pulled out five very sharp, very real throwing knives.
Alyster gleefully snatched the knives from the carny and readied himself, taking a wide stance whilst gently bobbing back and forth.
“I’m gonna win you that big bear on the wall there Chris, don’t you worry!”
Chris' response was cold, dry and completely devoid of passion, “And then I’ll have to carry that around all night. Hooray…”
Alyster paid him no mind, closing one eye so that he could aim. He reeled back and then threw the knife with dead-on accuracy, only for the knife to strike a hand handle-first and fall to the floor.
“Tough break friend, but you still have four more throws.”
“Aye, that one was just for practice.”
Alyster reeled back, same as before and launched another knife that missed the hands completely and lodged itself in the wooden frame housing the mechanical track.
“Oooh, so close!”
Alyster laughed it off, chuckling under his breath while Chris turned his back to the game and examined the other boots across the way.
A third throw proved as unsuccessful as the previous two. Eliciting an angry cuss from the masked cowboy.
Knife #4 is thrown without a moment's hesitation, and lands true piercing one of the hands. Alyster immediately throws his hands up and screams at the top of his lungs, “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAH!”
Chris is forced to turn his attention back at his partner who is now celebrating as if he’s just reclaimed the FWA World Championship in the main event of Back in Business after winning the Carnal Contendership after having lost the previous year and ending his story.
“Oh great, you got one, can we go now?”
“He’s gotta land two to get a prize, and he’s still got one more throw.”
Alyster rises from his knees, having been thanking God for his miraculous throw then readies himself for his final attempt.
“Don’t you worry partna’, I’ve got this. In. The. Bag!” He throws, the knife flies through the air and goes straight for a hand, the point of the knife lines up with the middle of a slow moving hand and…it bounces off and lands on the floor.
The booth operator hisses, “Tough break friend. Want to try again? That’ll be ten more dollars.”
Alyster is devastated. His posture sinks and his left eye begins to twitch. But he’s not defeated. “You bet your ass I do! Chris pay the man.”
“The fuck? I don’t want to.”
“I said pay him!”
Chris begrudgingly produces another tenner and hands it to the carny who hands Alyster five fresh knives.
Five fresh knives that find themselves on the ground inside the booth.
Another ten dollars is exchanged.
Chris Peacock stared up at the sky from down on his back, watching as twilight slowly transitioned into darkness. All the while Alyster Black was still at work throwing knives at slow moving mechanical hands.
“I just need ten more dollars then I’m going to win you that bear Chris, I swear it.”
“You’re going to pay me back, I hope you realise that.” Chris said as he handed another ten dollars to Alyster. “You’re into me for a grand, and you’re lucky we’re friends otherwise I’d be charging points.”
“It’ll be worth it.” Alyster’s eyes had dilated, his skin was covered in sweat. Throwing knives had become an obsession. One that was consuming him. But still he persisted, throwing every knife damn near perfectly only for them to strike the hands and bounce off. On occasion a knife would pierce a hand and remain but never two out of five.
After another unsuccessful round Alyster began screaming at the top of his lungs. Screaming and kicking at the booth.
“Hey! Hey! Stop it! My booth!”
Chris sprung to his feet and grabbed his partner, prying him away from the booth.
“Okay partner, I think you’ve had enough. It’s time to move on.”
“Move on? Move on? Like hell I am. I am not leaving here until I win you that bear.”
Chris sighed and turned to the carny. “Come on buddy, we’ve dropped a grand on your rigged game, just hand over a bear so I can get out of here.”
“No can do friend, you’ve got to win one fair and square. Dem’s the rules.”
“Fuck! Your game is rigged, I know it. I’ve been throwing those knives perfectly and they keep bouncing off the hands.”
“Yeah, of course it’s rigged dude. It’s a carnival. That’s the scam.”
“You knew this?”
“Everyone does.”
Even the carny nodded his head in agreement.
“Then why the fuck did you let me play?”
“To pay you back for dragging me out here.”
Alyster remained silent for a few moments, the air became tense. Finally the masked cowboy opened his mouth. “One more round my good sir.” He said as he pulled a large wad of cash from his pocket. Producing a ten dollar note and handing it to the carny.
“What the hell is that?”
“What?”
“That wad of cash!”
“It’s money.”
“I know that, I mean why have you been making me pay for this when you have that?”
“Oh, to pay you back for paying me back for dragging you out there.”
Complex computations began to run through Chris’ mind. He was stunned silent and could not shake it.
“Don’t fret partna’, I’m getting you that bear right now.”
Alyster readied a knife, reeling back and then threw it right at the carny's face. The knife hit the carny between the eyes, piercing deep and dropping him dead.
“Jesus Christ!” Chris screamed in abject horror whilst Alyster leapt over the edge of the booth and reached into the carny’s pockets. He pulled out a wad of cash and handed it to his partner before pulling a giant stuffed bear from the wall and handing that to him as well.
“All right, let’s get the fuck outta here.” Alyster remained aloof and casual as he lept back over the bench and continued to prowl down the main promenade.
Chris followed him in shock, “Alyster, you just killed a guy.”
Alyster simply shrugged his shoulders in response.
Part 3. A Herculean Effort
There was a contrast in the speed in which both FTN members navigated their way through the other carnival goers; Chris’s power walked in order to get away from the scene of the crime whilst Alyster lagged behind at a more leisurely pace, keen to take in as many of the sights as he could, “I don’t know what the rush is! Let’s enjoy ourselves whilst we’re here, partna’!”
Chris doubled back and got into Alyster's personal space. Their faces were literally millimetres apart. “Because, if you didn’t notice, you just,” Chris somehow managed to get even closer and spoke in a hushed tone so no one could hear, “murdered someone. Do you not think we should be getting the fuck out of here, man?!”
Alyster did not reply. In a fit of frustration, Chris swiped the comically small hat from his partner’s head and threw it to the ground. All Alyster could muster was a pained gasp before Chris stomped on it, causing it to shatter into several pieces.
“What the fuck was that for?!” Alyster had reverted to his usual speaking style and he stood with his hands on his hips.
“Can you start taking this seriously, please. A man…” Once again, Chris got closer. Alyster’s mask was the only thing stopping their lips from touching, “A man has died, Alyster.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, what is the worst that’s going to happen? Tommy Bedlam straight up killed a guy - allegedly - and no one batted an eye. I’m sure no one is going to get up in arms about some wanker from a carnival. Can you also back it up a bit? Why are you so close to me?”
Chris stepped back and looked around the carnival around him. His attention was grabbed by the sound of a bell ringing followed by some energetic music and frenetic cackling. “What’s that over there?” Chris asked with a point in the direction of the contraption from which the sound emanated.
“That’s one of those strength test things. Hit the shit with the mallet and the thing goes up and ding. Want to try it out?”
For an unknown reason, Chris felt drawn to this particular amusement. When they arrived at it, they both examined what was required of them. Chris confidently picked up the mallet, but dropped it after being made to jump by a loud and grating voice shouting.
“CAAAAAAAAAW! WHO DARES CHALLENGE ME?”
“What did you say?”
Chris blinked three times before scrunching his face, “That obviously wasn’t me.”
“Was it him?” Alyster asked as he pointed up to the top of the strength tester.
“That’s a bird.” Chris was thoroughly sure that the bird was not the source of the taunting question, but he had been wrong more than once today.
The bird in question was a large crow perched on top of the bell resting at the top of the vertical piece of plywood. The crow opened its beak wide, “CAAAAAAWWW! WHO ARE YOU THEN?”
Chris sighed deeply, this day had been tiring for him and the current situation was only exacerbating his condition. “Of course it was the bird.” He mumbled quietly to himself before addressing the winged creature. “I am Chris Peacock and this is Alyster Black-”
He was interrupted by the man he was introducing, “Alyster Belum!”
“You’re not even wearing the hat anymore!” Chris spat at his partner before turning back to the crow. “I’m Chris and that’s Alyster Black, and we would like to play this game.”
“Very well, Alyster Black and Crispy CAAAAAAAWK! The game is simple; use the mallet to hit the clown on the nose and if you hit it hard enough, you’ll knock me from my perch atop this bell.”
It was Peacock that stepped forward first. He looked at the chipped paint on the cheap wood, expressing a clown. Its nose was lit up red and clearly connected to some sort of mechanism which would send the weight up depending on how hard it was hit. Chris took a look at the clown and then the crow watching over them, and shook his head when he remembered who FTN were slated to face on Fallout, “On the nose? That’s a bit of an understatement…”
Nevertheless, Chris swung the hammer and got a solid enough connection with the clown’s nose, but the hit barely managed to register. The crow began to laugh heartily, cawing and shrieking loudly.
Chris grumbled whilst holding the mallet out of Alyster’s reach. He was determined to try again, but his second attempt also failed to cause the weight to travel up the board more than a quarter of the way. As did his third, fourth, and so on…each time, the crow mocked him for his failure.
Much like Alyster had become obsessed with the knife-throwing game earlier, Chris was determined to prevail over the test of strength. More so to shut this bird up than anything else. Alyster was content to just watch, though he did on occasion offer to take a stab at it, observing that Chris looked like he was getting tired. The disco dancer simply ignored his partner’s requests.
“CAAAAAW!! After eighty-three turns you’d think you’d have the hang of this by now! Let your friend have a turn…”
“No, I can do this,” said Chris defiantly. He wiped the sweat from his brow and tried again. Attempt eighty-four went as all of the preceding ones had.
Alyster edged forwards, “Maybe I should have a turn?”
“That’s right! CAAAAAW! You’ll give yourselves more chances to win if you try with different people!”
This got Chris thinking about Fallout.
“Aly, how fucked is it that Crowe - not this prick, the one we know - has a tag title shot in the bank with Ramon but he’s still rolling with Tommy for matches like this?”
“Not as fucked up as Tommy killing a guy!”
“Hey, even if that did happen, it doesn’t mean that you also didn’t kill a guy. Understand that. But for real, how invested can either of these guys get in each other?”
“Not as much as us, that’s for sure,” Alyster affirmed. As Chris contemplated how it would affect their upcoming match, Alyster robbed him of the mallet. Chris reacted too slowly, and Alyster struck the clown’s nose with such force and accuracy that the weight shot up from the ground. Upon contact with the bell, the weight detached from the strength tester and struck the bird on the neck.
The crow fell from its perch and landed on the ground, dead. Black feathers scattered on the ground. As with the first casualty, Alyster acted nonplussed and unaffected by his actions, whilst Chris fretted, “You kill birds now as well!?”
The masked man couldn’t help but to shrug his shoulders. Chris couldn’t help but to smile. As annoyed as he was that he wasn’t able to do it himself, he was still glad that the crow had met its end.
“Fuck that bird, honestly. Annoying piece of shit.”
Part 4. The Call
Seeing that bird perish had lifted Chris’ spirits somewhat. Enough that he agreed to take a ride on the ferris wheel with Alyster. The ride in question was questionable at best. Rust was prevalent on every joint, the bolts holding the framing together looked bent out of shape, and the seats swung with a high pitched ringing as the metal joints grinded against each other.
The ride was a death trap, but Alyster didn’t mind and Chris didn’t pay enough attention to care.
They took their seat beside one another and the ferris wheel came to life, playing a nauseating jingle as it slowly spun, raising their chair high into the air.
“Isn’t this great, partna’? Just you and me, enjoying a day out with no distractions, no drama, and not a care in the world.”
“What do you mean no drama? Our day started with you kidnapping me before you killed a guy.”
“That guy was a carny Chris, he hardly counts as human.”
“Not to mention the bird you just killed too.”
“Sure, but like, you wanted to do that yourself.”
“Maybe, I didn’t though. Between the two of us only Alyster Black-”
“Alyster Bedlam.”
“Only Alyster Black has ever willfully killed not just one animal but many.”
“What? Name one other occasion where I’ve ever harmed a poor defenceless animal?”
“Need I remind you about your issue with barking animals?”
“Oh yeah.”
Chris rolled his eyes as the ferris wheel slowed and eventually stopped with their seat hanging right at the top. “Oh yeah he says. You’ve got some issues pal, I think you need some counselling.”
“I’m fine.”
“I mean it, who does what you’ve done today? Who forces their best friend to attend a carnival, a shitty one no less, at gunpoint?”
Alyster was left speechless for a moment, “You know, I have no idea what compelled me to do that.”
“I think you’ve gone off the deep end.”
“Nah, it’s not that. I dunno what happened, I felt like this otherworldly presence guiding me. I couldn’t shake it off.”
As Alyster spoke his voice trailed off, in the distance he spotted a haunted house, a small makeshift roller coaster with a large sign depicting a man with his arms stretched out, inviting people to come inside.
“Jesus Chris, look at that.” Alyster tapped Chris on the shoulder then pointed at the attraction.
“Oh my God, that’s awful.”
The sign bared an uncanny resemblance to Uncle J.J.Jay! Its face was a skull with hanging tentacles.
“You know, this whole carnival is a little off, you don’t think?”
“Nah, it’s just a coincidence. I don’t think we’ll ever have to deal with that monster again.”
Both men felt uneasy. Doubly so when the ride roared back to life for just a brief moment before short circuiting. Sparks flew out of the controls, shocking the operator. All the bright lights burned out and the nauseating jingle slowed down, sounding demonic for a moment, before dying out.
“Fuck!” Chris bellowed, “What happened?”
“Looks like the ride broke down.”
“Not just this ride…”
Sure enough the entire carnival had blacked out. Screaming could be heard from every direction as patrons panicked. The lights had gone out, the inviting music had died, and chaos was prevailing.
Of course, FTN was stuck on the ferris wheel, and right at the top no less. Their chair swung gently in the breeze as they surveyed the chaos down below.
“At least we have a good view to enjoy.” Alyster remarked dryly.
A creaking noise emanating from the joints holding their chair made Chris’ stomach turn, “Oh yeah, totally, a good view. It’ll definitely be worth dying for.”
From up high, even in the darkness, it finally occurred to Alyster just how dank, decrepit, and disgusting this carnival was. Why he was ever compelled to come here was a mystery to him. For Chris, his prior impression of this place was only affirmed.
Under the moonlight they could still see everything, all the attractions, all the makeshift buildings, every pile of trash. Weirdly though beyond the threshold of the carnival, past the wire fencing, they couldn’t see a thing. All that surrounded the carnival grounds was a void. Even the dirt parking lot where they’d arrived from seemed to be missing.
“Is it just me or is thing place a little bit…off?”
“You know what, I’ve noticed it too.”
“It’s not just the haunted house that looks like Uncle. It’s everything right?”
“The talking crow, the knife throwing game with the very real, very sharp, and very dangerous knives, not to mention this travesty of a ferris wheel.”
“Okay, I was just worried that we might not have been on the same page. You were acting weird earlier. Speaking of, what was up with that whole cowboy thing?”
“Eh…I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Come on buddy, if you won’t see a therapist then I’m the next big thing. I know you’ve taken losing the World Title badly bu-”
“World title? What are you talking about?”
“The FWA World Title? You know, the belt you won from…from me.”
Alyster turned his blank stare toward his partner.
“Is this some sort of coping mechanism?”
“I didn’t lose the world title, or the tag titles. I can’t have, I’m about to be redacted.”
“You are now? How is that going to happen? Don’t tell me you plan on becoming a rich perverted fuck.”
“No, I’d never do something so heinous. I’m going to get myself erased from the history books in the simplest way I know how. I’m going to rip off someone better than me. I’m going to become Tommy Bedlam, then they’ll cast me out into the void.”
Chris grimaced. That fate was worse than death as far as he was concerned. It was then that he noticed some movement in the void. A tall creature, possibly an NBA player, lurking beyond the confines of reality.
“That’s pretty grim, Alyster bud. And I don’t quite understand what you’re getting at. Why would you want them to erase you from the history books?”
“It’s simple really. If I never existed then I can never have lost to Jeremy Best. And…I don’t think I want to die in the ring anymore. I think I’d rather have just not existed at all to be honest.”
“Don’t want to die in the ring anymore? That’s crazy, you belong in that ring, dying peacefully in bed in your old age doesn’t suit you. Also, you being redacted won’t erase what you’ve accomplished. Too many people like you to let that happen. Also why the hell would you rip off Tommy Bedlam to achieve that?”
“I dunno, I got a kick out of it. Reminded of better times. You know, when I was X Champion, on top of the world. The scariest mother fucker roaming the locker room and all that jazz.”
“Eh, it kinda feels like Tommy is a pale imitation of you to be honest.”
“Yeah well, I don’t think I could really get away with killing a guy like he did.”
“I suppose. At least your tag team partner isn’t cucking you to get himself a tag team title shot.”
“That is seriously fucked up.”
“And teaming with Randy Ramon no less. How little respect does Chris Crowe have for himself?”
“You’re the better Chris Bird in the FWA anyway.”
“Thank you!”
“And you know what…” Alyster was beginning to get fired up, “Fuck Deathswitch, they’re a shitty ripoff of FTN anyway.”
“They were around before us to be fair.”
“Fuck em anyway. What have they ever done? They haven’t reached the heights we have. They haven’t even tried. They haven’t conquered their enemies, not like we have, we killed the Nephews.”
“Killed ‘em dead.”
“We won the tag titles!”
“They haven’t.”
Alyster can’t help but to ball up his fists, he’s almost worked himself up into a frenzy, shaking with anticipation for their upcoming tag team match. So much so that the chair they’re stranded in swings more and more. The creaking gets to Chris who quickly changes the subject.
“Back to that void thing though, it’s clear to me that you’re still bloodthirsty as hell. So why the hell would you want to walk away from all that?”
The masked man calms down somewhat, enough that the chair stops swinging and Chris’ mind is put at ease.
“I don’t know, I thought about it and I even tried. But I just can’t bring myself to do it.”
“I hear that. It’s like there’s a gaping hole in your heart and the only way you can fill it is with that rush you get when you win. Like, there isn’t a bigger high than raising a title belt up high.”
“You get it, and you get me. That’s it, there’s a hole that needs filling and it’s fucking hard to do it.”
“Maybe for Deathswitch, but not for FTN.”
Alyster smirks before offering Chris a fist bump which his partner happily responds to in kind.
As they reaffirm their bond and reason for being blue and red flashing lights invade the corners of their vision. Illuminating the void.
Epilog
Safe on the ground having just been rescued, Alyster and Chris watch on as carny after carny is viciously beaten down by men in blue. They’re not quite cops, but they have an air of authority about them.
Their response was swift and brutal. First they went to work rescuing every patron of the carnival, then they went to work beating the carnies.
FTN watched on as they carted off scam artist after scam artist. Including one that was carried out in a body bag.
No one seemed to care that he had been killed.
“Well, this has been a harrowing experience.”
“Yeah, I wonder what the point of it was. I mean, did we learn anything?”
Chris grabbed Alyster by the shoulder, “Nothing we didn’t already know. You see, the thing about Deathswitch is they’re a pale imitation of FTN. And what they do isn’t real, it doesn’t mean anything. They’re fake like these carnies. And going up against us? Well they’ve just got a Death Wish now don’t they?”
“You know what they say, be careful what you wish for.”
They both break out into laughter as they saunter out into the void. Disappearing into the darkness where they and only they shine bright. The best tag team in FWA.
- Fin
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 15:00:34 GMT
Originally posted by Prod. He claims that it isn't about winning anymore. He claims that he came back to have fun. People claim things. People claim all sorts of things, all you need to do is open up Twitter, X, or whatever the hell they call it and scroll for 5 minutes and you'll see everything ranging from a claim of the discovery of the cure for the common cold to the claim of discovery of irrefutable evidence that Lee Harvey Oswald was not acting alone in the assassination of JFK. Is what he claims to be the truth, actually so? Mike Parr Is sitting alone, and he doesn't quite have the look of someone that doesn't care about winning, who doesn't care about what's been happening lately and doesn't care that since he made his return that he's not managed to get a single victory. As he taps his hand on the surface of the table, you can't hear his thoughts, but you know can almost see the cogs turning. Konchu may have been explainable through the fact that it was his first match in several months. Johnny may have been understandable given that he didn't really know he was having a match until moments before. But now it's Michelle. It's Michelle again. It's always Michelle. But no, if you attribute the first to ring rust and if you attribute the second to circumstance, is the third a coincidence? Or is it just the way things are now? Not being driven into a spiral of despair by a loss is one thing but maybe it was that desire to win, or should I say, desire to avoid defeat that made Mike Parr the animal that he was to begin with. Maybe it was that drive, that fire, that focus. that made him as good as he was and without it what do we actually have? We have a pale imitation of the man that once held the North American championship for 400 something days. We have someone that's able to just sit and digest losses instead of working our way to stop them. However, not all hope is lost. As mentioned, Mike doesn't look like someone that doesn't care about winning, that's content with what's happening to them. His face is troubled, his expression frustrated. With every tap of his thumb or forefinger on the surface of the table maybe it's just another second closer to be to being able to figure out a way forward from here, to be able to work his way back into some sort of form, to become a threat in the F1 tournament. Maybe. Truth be told, it's hard to understand what Mike may be thinking as bara brief video posted to the FWA website on the night of his return and then a few words at the press conference we haven't really heard from him since he came back and we certainly haven't heard his reasoning for coming back or his elongated absence. We know what he wants us to know. We also know that in his near future he has a championship opportunity against Bryan Baxter. But it's not just the championship opportunity, it’s an opportunity to defend the record that he holds dear; the longest reigning North American Champion in FWA history. One thing is for sure though, he's going to have to get a hell of a lot better than he was against Michelle. You had everything that was said about the match, that he took her to her limit, that he pushed her. But since when is that OK? Since when is it OK for Mike Parr to be one that excels by pushing someone to their limit in a losing effort? He did come back to have fun, sure, but that fun is going to be pretty short lived if a barometer of success is apparently losing in the main event. He didn't come back to lose. Alas, there is time for things to change. The F1 tournament is not over and Mike is not eliminated. The North American Championship opportunity is still in his future. He just needs to make sure that he's ready for it - he will be. He may be quite low now as he sits tapping his hand on the surface of the table but he has been lower before. He's been in a hospital bed since Back in Business whenever Bryan Baxter took him out. He's been at the bottom of a bottle on a Wednesday night, just to try to numb some of the pain. There is none of that anymore. He doesn't need a bottle. He doesn't need a hospital. What he really needs is a win. This week affords another opportunity for that. A win that'll keep him in the tournament, A win that'll push him into the top two, you would think. Suddenly the relative tranquility is ended when Mike slams his hand on the table. We can see out the window that he is on the edge of the Muskoka Lake which places him in his Ontario cottage where he often retreats to capture his own thoughts away from the bright lights of the city. Thoughts is an interesting description for the things that he's escaping, though. He marches across from his seated position. “I can't shake it” said Mike. “I can't shake the feeling that I should be doing more, that I should be doing better, that I should be better than this. I cannot shake the feeling that Michelle and her first wrestling match outside that idiotic costume in God knows how long, was there for the taking and I just wasn't good enough to take the opportunity that was afforded to me.”Mike takes his hand and ruffles it through his hair as he paces his back and forth, seemingly restless, seemingly at a loss as to how to process his feelings and his thoughts. “What do you think?” Mike asked. He turned towards the dining room area of the cottage expectantly But there was nobody seated there. There's nobody seated anywhere, It's just him. “Winning is all that matters, Mike.” Despite there being nobody else in the room and no obvious source for that sentence, Mike responds to it as if he's just heard it. “In the end, yes, I understand that winning is important, and you know, something I need to be doing more of or else this experiment, this attempt of fun simply isn't going to work out. So, what I don't need is you sitting there telling me that it's important. I'm fully aware of how important it is. It's just not life or death. It's not life or death anymore, I should say. You can stop now with your look, who are you to judge me? I shouldn't be judged. I'm my own person. Who the hell do you think you are to sit there and judge me for not reacting the right way? What is the right way? You're PATHETIC.”As he finishes his last sentence Mike gesticulates in the direction of the dining room table and chair set, which still, for the record, remains unoccupied. “Just hide away, you little bitch, you might as well have stayed dead in FWA Terms if the version of you that we were going to get back was this. Nobody cared about the better version of you disappearing for months on end. There weren't many questions being asked about where Mike was or when he was coming back. So what makes you think that anyone's going to continue to care about the inferior version of Mike Parr sticking around or not?” “I didn't treat everyone correctly. I spent years telling people that I didn't really care about their affirmation, that I didn't care about what they thought. And truth be told, I still don't really truly care about what people think and judge me. I care about me. What I care about is not embarrassing myself, not ruining any legacy or any prestige or any respect that I may have in the bank from my years of service here, just to be a pale imitation of myself, that's what I care about. If the people want to boo me, my methods, question my choices or they want to cheer me and get behind me, it really doesn’t matter.”“Then what the hell are you crying about, Mike? Just get on with it.” “I wi-“Mike makes his way towards the patio doors Draws them back slowly, stepping out into the below 0°C cool air. Taking in a deep breath of that country, air is kind of what Mike enjoys about being out of the city in the countryside. It affords him the opportunity to take a minute to digest, to chill and to relax. Mike stares into the distance and you can see his eyes start to slightly water, although the temperature currently in Northern Ontario being what it is at this time of year, shedding a tear may not be the most optimal of moves. The optimal move is clear – getting some points on the board in the F1 Climaxxx and snap that winless streak. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 15:02:05 GMT
Originally posted by Sully. The Eulogy The tone is somber as Kleio De Santos enters the church alone, dressed all in black, her witchy hat covering most of her face. Everyone in the church pews turns to look at her as her high heels clack across the concrete that sits beneath the red church carpet.
A closed casket lies in front of everyone.
It is solid black, like Kleio's dress.
Everyone in the church looks sad, but Kleio's look is different. It's a look filled with remorse as if she was missing out on something.
Kleio walks past the empty pews to the front of the church, right next to that black casket. She stands at the church podium and looks at everyone in the crowd, who appear to have been expecting her...or somebody, to address them. Kleio De Santos: We are gathered here today...to mourn the passing of someone many hold high. A man who, despite his flaws...his many flaws, disregarded his true ambition to accept a role he was destined for. Jason Randall's role on the roster was always clear. Maybe not to him for the longest time, but to all of us who watched him compete for years in the FWA. Now he is gone.
But let's not start at the end. No, let's start at the beginning. Jason Randall debuted in the FWA almost a decade ago, becoming easily one of the most hardcore wrestlers on the roster. Or so we all thought. That was after all a label he was given after quite a short time in the FWA. I mean he did win the X Championship fairly quickly. He did it in fact by beating one of the greatest wrestlers of all time...oh wait, sorry, it turns out he just defeated Vincent Blackbird. But, that wasn't his only X Championship win...oh, wait...actually it was. That's right, after Jason lost that title to Tristan James Galloway, he never won it again.
It was a perfect encapsulation of his home town San Diego, and how their sports teams often perform. Choking in the big one, or before they even get there. How bout them Padres?
But let's not remember him for his one single title reign, or his lack of living up to the hardcore name. I'd rather focus on his love for Penny. It's a shame he failed to protect her against Kayden Knox. I mean, Knox is someone that most everyone on the roster has been able to handle, but I guess for Jason that was his ceiling. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Someone has to lose to Kayden Knox.
And I guess, that is where my point at the beginning comes in. Jason's value to the FWA will be forever missed with his passing, for he filled the perfect role throughout his career...as a jobber. And boy, was he ever the biggest jobber in the federation. His sacrifices to put over another talent at his own expense were ones that were greatly valued. I mean who else is going to take a bump to Kayden Knox, and boost that guy's ego? Who else but Jason. When someone was in need for a pick me up and a bit of a momentum burst, Jason was always your guy to be booked against. I think part of him for the longest time didn't understand this, it was just a coincidence that he constantly had one of the worst win-loss records in the business. But, I'd like to believe that by the end of his career he leaned into his role.
But one role he never leaned into...was that hardcore label. It didn't matter how often they tried to force it on him...I mean, rumor had it he was penciled in to coach the next season of Ground Zero, but no matter how often it was forced on him...it just kept bouncing right off with every loss. How can someone so good at hardcore matches keep losing them? How could the greatest champion in the X Divison only have one simple reign?
I think a sensible fan would understand Jason's role. I don't think any true wrestling smark would call Jason Randall the greatest hardcore fighter of all time. I mean, most people say it's Saint Sully. Sully's record-holding four X Championship reigns speak for themselves. But he has more combined days with that title than anyone, and still holds the record for longest X Championship reign without being defeated...being that Vincent Blackbird himself stripped him of that title out of spite. You may be asking yourselves right now...Kleio, why are you talking so much about Sully? What does he have to do with you, or Jason Randall...other than the fact that he was 5-0 against him. Well if you're going to call Sully the greatest hardcore fighter on the roster, which any sensible person would, then you're going to also have to recognize that I was trained by Sully. So, not only do I have the same skills and prowess that he had in a hardcore match...but I have my own.
I think I proved that well enough when I ran the gauntlet in not one, but two King of the Deathmatch tournaments. In fact, I haven't done the math, but I feel like if you count up each individual victory...I have more wins in that tournament than anyone. But I will admit, I fell short both times. This year, I will not. I am looking to compete in that tournament a third straight time, and I will not care about any other distractions. Whether it's my Coven, that snivelling jester XYZ, or Brooklyn Steiner.
But one thing is for certain...Jason Randall will not be winning it. No, not because he lays dead in that coffin there. No, because the career of Jason Randall died a long long time ago. It died when he lost his first X Championship to TJG, and never won it back. It died when he lost to Saint Sully on Meltdown a couple of years ago, and it died when Kayden Knox humiliated him in front of his girlfriend Penny. It died at every single one of those emasculations, and he can only be relieved to have died for real...to avoid being humiliated once again by suffering a defeat at my own hands.
Kleio steps away from the podium and begins to walk towards the casket.
She rubs her hand against it and rests it there for a moment in deep thought. All of this time she has not even looked at the audience, who has been staring at her bewildered.
Kleio De Santos: But alas...the Jason Randall we all knew was dead. Whether that's the hardcore legend you pretend he was, or the jobber I knew him to be.
But still, the man had pride. Despite taking loss after loss he would show up to work, ready to get jobbed out to another more talented wrestler. You know what, with that in mind...I don't know why this is a closed casket funeral. After all, this man had pride. If he could take what he did on the chin, I think he'd want to have this thing opened for all to see. We all know where this is going, we've seen Bojack Horseman.
Kleio walks over to the casket, and opens it up. She stares down at it for a minute shocked and disgusted, before looking up at a crowd who's feeling the same. As they stare daggers at her, she nervously chuckles. Kleio De Santos: Eh, yeah...I just realized...the sign outside said Jordan Randall. Heh...my bad. Kleio awkwardly sneaks away as the organ music plays in the background.
Jason Randall may not be dead for real, but his career had died a long time ago, and a eulogy was long overdue. “The tragedy of life is in what dies inside a man while he lives”
- Norman Cousins |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 15:06:12 GMT
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