Roulette Round: Meltdown Madness 85, Ascension Anarchy 60, Aftershock Insanity 19
Image Credit: Killjoy
Meltdown Madness, Ascension Anarchy, and Aftershock Insanity has arrived!
Everything will be drawn randomly. There are no guarantees on who you will face and what will be at stake. Everything could be on the line for the stars of WZCW as they enter the MGM Grand Garden Arena in Las Vegas, Nevada. Test yourself against fate and cast your dice on the most chaotic show of the year!
**Notice the extended deadline**
Deadline is Tuesday March 12, 2013 at 11:59 PM (Central). No Extensions Allowed!
The Green Room Podcast
Special Guest: TBA |(TBD @ 6:30PM[C])
"Reason is not automatic. Those who deny it cannot be conquered by it." -Ayn Rand
The Khronicles of Krypto
Fifty Shades of Green
Krypto can be seen wandering around the backstage hall of the arena hours after his defeat at the hands of Vega in a match Krypto believed in his heart he couldn’t lose.
Krypto: My one chance….my one opportunity I earned….all for nothing.
The resident alien begins to feel aching all around his small body; it’s not a feeling of pain so to speak but just a tingling sensation that doesn’t sit well in the pits of his stomach.
Krypto: Oh no, even hours after the match the effects still seemingly stay with me. Was everyone right….was I a fool to choose that match? Should I have chosen somebody else, did I waste my shot and make my win Mentorship win all for not?
Krypto leans against a wall and lets what is almost his lifeless body collapse to the floor.
Krypto: I let that dangerous robot SHIT get his clutches onto RJ just so I could get my Saucer and…..I ended up being beaten and stuffed into it myself. There is no telling what SHIT could be doing to him right now. RJ sacrificed himself just so I could get a shot at winning the Mayhem title and I let him down, I let the fans down, I let all my friends and family back on my home planet down, I even let my dear departed friend Lars down.
Images of his former best friend and WZCW fan Lars begin to swarm through Krypto’s mind. Feelings of loneliness creep upon like a storm cloud of sadness. The cold feeling of despair Krypto felt before his match against Vega has only been amplified by the heartbreaking loss. The tingling sensation intensifies in the alien’s body. Memories of his father, mother, and his fiancée he left at the altar to come to Earth all come back to him like a boomerang smacking him in the face.
Krypto: I left all of them….just to come here….and fail. Was any of tonight even worth it?
Flashbacks of his match with Vega earlier come back to Krypto. He remembers Vega dropping the steel steps on his bruised and damaged legs, he remembers gasping for air and struggling to breath while Vega is locking in the Triangle Choke, he feels his body smash into a thousand pieces as Vega hits the Killswitch into the Saucer, and finally his hopes and dreams being crushed at the Mayhem champ closes the Saucer door and traps Krypto inside.
Krypto: Well at least I have discovered pain is an enjoyable sensation.
Suddenly the tingling sensation in the resident alien is gone….it seems to have been replaced by a slow burn of sorts. One that would feel uncomfortable and unnatural to a normal person but is seemingly the only thing Krypto can clutch onto with his feelings of failure and loneliness doing quite a bit of damage to his already fragile state of mind. Krypto soon returns to his feet and begins his wandering once again.
Krypto: I was told by various humans that a match such as the one I competed in would tear away at my body and give me irreparable damage to my limbs and maybe even my insides, and while that may have been the case hours after the match the pain doesn’t hurt anymore it….it feels good, fun even. Was this the pure enjoyment of pain the deranged character Barbosa was talking about earlier? Does enjoying this feeling as much as he does make me as twisted and sick and he is? No, there’s no way it can, me and Barbosa might both find pleasure in pain but there are many other difference between us. Plus there can’t be anything wrong with me for enjoying a smash to the face every now and then….or maybe all the time. I’d gladly welcome another vicious war with Vega or anyone else capable of giving me as much of an adrenaline filled thrill ride.
Krypto’s mindless wandering soon causes him to bump into the group of Leon Kensworth, Johnny Klamour, and Stacey Madison who are coming up a flight of stairs and are presumably on their way out of the arena.
Krypto: You humans have all enjoyed pain at one point or another correct?
Stacey: Not this freak again….
Kensworth: Um…what are you talking about Krypto?
Krypto: Pain is a sensation commonly enjoyed by the beings of Earth correct? How can it not be, it’s such a fantastic feeling.
Kensworth: I don’t think I understand what you’re saying Krypto.
Krypto: Tell me Mr. Kensworth hasn’t there ever been a time you’ve felt your blood rush and body parts tingle at the sight of your own blood or feeling of a blunt object smacking your bare skin?
Kensworth: Well I was smacked repeatedly by some no-talent rookie named Joe West awhile back but that was neither fun nor enjoyable.
Krypto: Maybe he wasn’t hitting you hard enough for you to really feel the fun, mind if I give it a try?
Krypto tries to smack Leon but fails in his attempt as Leon blocks the alien’s slap and instinctively gives Krypto one of his one sending him down to floor.
Kensworth: Krypto! I’m sorry it’s just….all these years of being bullied and intimidated by all the wrestlers I finally had to break down and take some self-defense classes, it was just instinct.
Krypto: Don’t apologize Kensworth, hit me again!
Klamour: What are you some kind of masochist?
Stacy: I’m so out of here….
Stacey storms out of the area while Leon and Johnny stay out of strange curiosity of Krypto’s sudden or as others would say amplified insanity.
Krypto: Don’t just stand there Leon hit me again!
Krypto returns to his feet and marks on his face where he would like Leon to slap him again.
Krypto: Oh wait, this time do it with a chair.
Krypto then fleas to pick up a nearby folding chair and stick it in Leon’s hand, Kensworth looks confused and refuses to hit Krypto again yet the alien still urges him to fulfill his violent needs. That is until Johnny shoves Krypto down the nearby flight of stairs leading to the lower darker part of the arena.
Kensworth: Why did you do that Klamour?!
Klamour: Well he wanted to feel pain, why not give it to him?
Klamour leaves the area laughing at what he’s done while Leon looks down the flight of stairs and sees Krypto is somewhat stirring and is not too injured and decides to just leave after a very stressful day due to the Pay-Per-View. Krypto begins to shake out of cobwebs of the fall and realizes what happened.
Krypto: Why did I do that, why did I urge him to hit me? Why was I so obsessed with pain moments ago and did the fall knock me back to normal? This planet, its people, its strange ways must have corrupted me. Maybe it was a bad idea to come here, I need to leave, regroup back on my home planet. But how can I, RJ is out of my reach, Mr. Myles has confiscated my Saucer, there’s no way possible to get into communication with my family.
At that very moment Krypto notices a strange figure conducting some kind of “experiment” while simultaneously pelvic thrusting around a table of some sorts in the basement that is in close proximity of the stairs he was pushed down. The figure seems to be Mister Alhazred. What the Mad Professor seems to be doing has garnered his attention but the alien seems much more interested in what is on Alhazred’s right hand: The Power Glove. The glove looks almost majestic to Krypto.
Krypto: That piece of technology…how did a human such as yourself acquire that?
Alhazred abruptly stops his thrusting turns around from what he is doing annoyed, almost angry by the interruption of Krypto.
Alhazred: Leave, I’m busy.
Krypto: That glove, its technology that’s beyond the years of a normal being on this planet. It’s as advanced as some of the forms of communication on my planet.
Alhazred: I already know how awesome my Power Glove is, now leave.
Krypto: Your glove, it may be the only way for me to get in contact with my planet, I need it!
Krypto lunges at the glove but Alhazred’s quick reflexes lead to a backhand courtesy of the Mad Professor to Krypto’s head.
Alhazred: Nobody can have my glove but me!
The shot sends Krypto back a step or two and looks to have even knocked him back into his masochistic state of mind.
Krypto: Yes, the pain is back! Hit me again Alhazred!
Alhazred: Are you insane? Another Level 5 will crack your little weak skull.
Krypto: I can take anything you throw at me.
Alhazred: Is that so?
Krypto: I live for this newfound pain and punishment, can you give me what I need Alhazred?
Alhazred steps from in front of the table revealing dozens of test tubes, vials, beakers, and other types of glasses filled with weird colored liquids.
Alhazred: These are chemicals I’ve recently been experimenting with Krypto. I had been saving them to use in catering table to weaken everyone for the Roulette round but why not test it out first on such a…interesting subject as you. If you want to feel the ultimate pain and punishment then these liquids will take you straight to hell…I mean Heaven.
Krypto: Ultimate Pain and Punishment? Finally someone can give me what I need, thank you Alhazred.
A demented smirk develops upon the face of Alhazred as Krypto is about to drink what we can only assume are deadly liquids Alhazred has concocted. Krypto is just about to chug them before something stops him, almost like a realization of some sort.
Alhazred: What is it?
Krypto: I don’t deserve to enjoy this pain alone, my planet needs to be aware of this sensation, I need the Power Glove.
Alhazred: For the last time you midget weirdo you can’t have my Power Glove now drink my deadly chemicals!
Alhazred wraps his Power Glove around Krypto in a sort of chokehold while trying to force the chemicals into Krypto with his left hand. Krypto however is somehow able to wiggle free.
Krypto: You can’t just keep this pain to yourself Alhazred!
Krypto hops on Alhazred’s back and tries clawing at his eyes leading to the Mad Professor flailing around the room knocking the chemicals off the table with his Power Glove and onto the floor. Eventually the floor becomes so slippery both men crash onto wet and glass filled canvas. Alhazred makes his way up first but his body filled with shards of glass hinders his vengeance upon Krypto.
Alhazred: You’re going to pay for this soon enough you little freak.
The Mad Professor then exits the basement, looking for what we can only assume is medical attention. Krypto whose body is also filled with glass in multiple areas begins to roll around on the rest of floor attempting to soak in the rest of the sharp glass, this is until he notices Alhazred has exited the room.
Krypto: You and I are soon going to share the pain Alhazred, and I will have that Power Glove as well……
Credit: Red Skull
September 15th, 2001
In a busy New York Hospital, the beds are taken up with patients from the top floor all the way down to the bottom. Nearly every patient is your average, everyday man or woman, but one man, lying in a Hospital bed just like all the rest is Michael Sullivan. Still listed down as the lead Vocalist in the Band "Dirty Angels", he's recovering from the two throat surgeries that he's been put through since a tragic incident live on stage one night only a few months before. A visble scar on his throat is there for all to see and the fact that his condition isn't great and his speech is rasping & quiet is not stopping members of the public popping their heads around the corner to see a famous Rockstar. The nurses try their best to hold them back, but sometime it just isn't enough. One man though has permission to visit and that's Sullivan's bandmate, Alex Sandro. He has a blank look on his face and approaches the bedside, taking a seat beside Sullivan, who is lying on the Hospital bed, looking tired.
"Mike, you look like shit."
Sullivan coughs and laughs simultaneously and tries to bring his voice back to muster up some speech.
"Thanks. So do you and you've not been through this".
Sandro doesn't laugh, or even put a smile on his face. Instead, he puts a hand on the bed and leans in towards Sullivan, so he can talk quieter without being heard.
"We're going down the pan without you being around Mike. We can't perform, we can't even put out a report to the fans because NOBODY knows what's happening with you."
"I can barely talk to you Alex, you think I'm gonna start singing right now?"
He coughs again, chestily.
"Well, you better wanna start singing again soon!"
A look of pain comes over Alex's face. Not that he's hurt, but one that you know means he doesn't want to say what he's about to.
"If you're not coming back to us, then we're over. The guys can't be doing with sitting around waiting. Jimmy's had offers from two other bands asking him to play Bass and he's taken both into consideration."
"So what is it then Mike? Are you coming back with us or not?"
He looks away from Alex, obviously upset.
"I've told you, I can't sing."
"Stop going around the question Sullivan!"
Michael swallows and musters up all he has, his anger building. An attempt to shout is all that comes out.
"I. CAN'T. SING!"
"Well then, it's over. We can't use you anymore and you'll obviously just be a liability holding everything off forever. Dirty Angels are dead and you killed them."
Sandro takes another look at Sullivan laying in the bed and walks out the Hospital ward. Sullivan hasn't seen him since.
March 12, 2013
In his house in Nevada, Thrash is sitting on the edge of his bed, perching & smiling. Next to him is a set of Docking Speakers for an iPod, where blasting from the speakers is "Crying For My Love" by Dirty Angels. As the song begins to fade out, he grabs the iPod off of the dock and puts it into the pocket of his Jeans.
"Those were the days."
He stands up from the bed.
"Back then, being a successful musician was all I dreamt of... and it was happening. But then it was taken from me, like most of my belongings have been now."
Starting to walk down a corridor that leads to the staircase, he stops to look at his Gold discs.
"Not to mention, we were successful. I mean, back in the day, we wore more Spandex than Saboteur! Talk about a fashion crisis. But now, the band are no more and I'm no longer Michael Sullivan."
He begins to walk down the stairs into the living room.
"Now, my name is Thrash and I... I am a professional wrestler. I no longer entertain the fans by singing the hits to them, by I entertain the fans by hitting others in front of them. Ha, sounds almost the same. But it's harder, I can't deny that. There's physical exertion, week after week, the kind you don't feel from coming out and singing songs to people. But I'm appreciated and that for me is enough. It's the reason why now, I hit the Gym everyday. If I can't work on my voice, I have to work on my body & that's what I'm about to do. Once again, Gym, here I come!"
Thrash grabs a bag located next to a table and lamp, as always and heads for the door. When he opens the door, instead of walking straight to his car, he freezes. That's because, standing right in front of him, is former Dirty Angels Drummer, Alex Sandro. Slightly greyer than he was 12 years ago (Sandro was the oldest in the band), he hasn't otherwise changed a bit. Still dressed in his usual kind of get up and with a face that seemingly hasn't aged one bit, Thrash is shocked to see him standing at the door.
"Mike. Long time no see."
"Alex. What the fuck are you doing here? You were the one that left me, remember? You're the one that walked away from me and now you're here?!"
"I've come back to talk to you. There's things that I need to tell you."
"Like what Alex? And by the way, my name isn't Mike, or Michael anymore. It's Thrash. After you guys abandoned me, I decided to make a name for myself as a Wrestler and now I'm known simply as Thrash."
"Yeah, I've seen you on TV. Wrestlezone Wrestling or something like that right?"
"Wrestlezone Championship Wrestling, and I am one of their Superstars. I'm loving every moment of it. It's like being a Rockstar, I'm entertaining the people that love what I do!"
"Great, sounds brilliant. Listen, Mike, I refuse to call you Thrash, it sounds stupid, can I come in for a minute? We need to talk."
"Ugh, fine. I was just about to hit the Gym, so you've got minutes. And I mean...minutes."
The two men walk into the house and both take place on a sofa that's placed in the centre of the room. Thrash still has his bag over his shoulder, reminding Sandro that he has "minutes".
"Right, let's hear it Alex. I'm still confused as to why you've come to see me, I told you that we're finished, what point it there in-"
"We're getting the band back together."
A look of shock and sadness comes across his face, as if he can't express himself clearly.
"The band? You're getting Dirty Angels back together? You know that I can't sing Alex! Not to mention, even if you wanted me back, I'm not a musician anymore. I'm a performer, yes, but I'm a Wrestler now."
"Well... that's the thing. We knew that you couldn't sing anymore, so we found a replacement vocalist. There was a guy that was just so into the band and he was such a good singer that we thought we'd put him in and then let you know about it."
"So, you don't come round to reconcile, you come round here to attempt to ruin me even more? You're going to put together a band that I created, a band that I wrote endless songs for, and you're going to take it all away from me by not letting me get involved?"
"You're a Wrestler now! You said it yourself Mike. Not to mention, you've said you can't sing. 12 years ago, you told me you couldn't sing. I don't see what's so wrong here that we're doing. The band need to be known again. People ask me continuously if we're getting back together and we decided that it's finally time we do."
A look of anger comes over the face of Thrash. You can tell that inside he's fuming, but it's still a bit more tame on the outside.
"Get out Alex. Get out, right now and don't you EVER, come back here again."
Sandro stands up and tries to calm him down, but the arms of Thrash begin to tense under the pressure and as Alex sees that he is obviously angry and able to hurt him beyond previous beliefs, he begins to back up and out of the door. As Thrash watches him pass through the doorway and turn around, walking away having hit the last blow, he slams the door behind him, taking his Gym bag off of his shoulder, throwing it hard to the floor. He turns around to look at the living room, as his back crashes into the door and he slides to the floor.
"Talk about surprises. Is this really the way things are going to go now? I take a new path in life and something comes back, kicks me in the ass and gives me the shock that I really don't need right now? I guess it is."
His head falls into his hands, Thrash is obviously saddened by what's just happened to him.
"Surprises are going to be a common occurence over the next few days though. Starting with Dirty Angels getting back together, that's the surprise that I didn't really want. But come the weekend, there's going to be many surprises I might want. It's Roulette week for WZCW. I've never been part of it before, but I know that this weekend, it's ALL about surprises. I could be given a title shot, I could end up facing the World Heavyweight Champion, Showtime. One of the matches could get me into the Lethal Lottery, or I could be dealt a big loss in a Handicap match that I wasn't expecting. When it comes down to it, my WZCW Future could really be decided with a spin of a wheel. I don't even know what show I'm on this week, so I'm running off of little to no information. All I do know is that it's the night of opportunities. I could make a true name for myself in wZCW this week, only having fought in TWO matches."
Thrash looks up towards the ceiling and points, obviously meaning to point into the Sky.
"Wish me luck folks. You're looking down on me, but even you don't know where I'm going this week. Enjoy it though, I know I will."
Will Thrash manage to overcome a surprise this weekend and will he take all the opportunities that he's given in Roulette Week? Only time will tell.
Thanks to Theo!
Barbosa: A year.
One long year we have spent cooped up wherever that was.
Barbosa: It was not a year. It was just over 9 months ago. 40 weeks. 281 days. 404,640 minutes. 24,278,400 seconds to be more exact.
Only 24 million seconds? It felt longer. Much longer. Drowning in a sea of nothingness. Forced to be nothing more than spectators as our outer husk parade around aimlessly.
Now, admittedly getting to watch us… or should we say him defeat… him inside Hell in a Cell was immensely satisfying but it would have been more so had we been allowed to take part. But that was just one bright spark in the dreariness of our recent existence.
Since being shafted by the referee at Kingdom Come, we have had to sit idly by and watch us trying to get runover in Dallas, singing on Meltdown, failing to win back our WZCW title at Redemption, breaking back into that place we tried so hard to escape from all those years ago and then getting sidetracked firstly with that ridiculous cardboard automaton and now with those cretins that call themselves the Empire - like it will hide that fact that they are still just Justin Cooper and Alex Bowen - all the while Showtime Dave Cougar continues to benefit from the victory he stole from us!
???: Excuse me, sir. Is everything all right?
What? How did you get in here?
???: I beg your pardon sir but I entered the same way you did.
*Barbosa looks over towards where the poker room door should be. Instead all he sees is a sea of people's heads, all bustling about trying desperately to get their over-sized luggage into the overhead compartments. He looks back to the origin of voice and sees an air stewardess somehow managing to both smile and frown at the same time, and through a layer of make up that would have mortared the Great Wall of China.
It is then that Barbosa notices a looming shadow standing beside him. Turning to see what it is, the former inmate of Bedlam jumps up to his feet when he sees who or what it is.*
Click for Spoiler:
Barbosa: SHIT on a Plane!
*Barbosa quickly shakes off that outburst, although it does draw a few screams from surrounding passengers and the stewardess.*
What the hell are you doing here?
*The machine cocks its head to the side in a questioning manner, but before Barbosa can explain further, the stewardess chirps in again.*
Stewardess: Sir, if you do not and your colleague do not take your seats and settle down, we will reopen the cabin doors and ask you to deplane.
*By giving such an ultimatum, the stewardness makes herself the target for the dual stare of Barbosa and SHIT: one a heated stare filled with the kind of anger that those eyes have not seen in months and the other as blank as a piece of cardboard with a face drawn on it…
However, after a few seconds of tension, Barbosa lets out a sigh, his shoulders slump and he sinks slowly back into his chair and fastens his seat belt. After a few more seconds of SHIT continuing to stare at the stewardess, the former asylum resident reaches a hand up towards the cardboard man and gestures towards its seat.*
*After another few seconds, the automaton slowly lowers itself into its seat.*
Yeah! Now we can watch Cash It Dolph!
*Two hours into the flight, after having finished the movie and dinner service in relative silence and with SHIT staring straight ahead, Barbosa restarts his previous conversation.*
Did we know it would be here?
Shit, it's name is shit.
No, it's name is Scale Humanoid Industrial Technology.
What does that mean?
It means that there is more than one person in this world dumb enough to think that by encasing a man in cardboard and telling him that he is a robot so many times that he actually believes it, it actually makes him a robot…
But it is a robot.
We stand corrected. More than two people. The real question is, why is it here with us?
We invited him.
Much like it seems to have realised that it needs help against the Empire, so do we.
But we are one of the most accomplished - and unsung - tag teams wrestlers in WZCW. We have even defeated a tag team all by ourselves - a team that included Justin Cooper we might add.
That lone victory was long ago and Cooper is a different animal now. And he has a better partner - one that has bested us in the recent past.
Bowen did not best us. He bested him, the other us. But what about all our other victories? Empire have already proven that they cannot stand up to us.
It has only been proven that they could not defeat us. And by us, we mean Barbosa and Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology. We might have one of the best tag team records in the whole of WZCW but we have also been fortunate to have called upon a stellar cast of tag partners at various times - Kurtsey, Kravinoff, Toyota…
Even Ty Burna.
*Despite carrying on this conversation with three of himself, Barbosa is struck momentarily dumb by his own mention of the Harbinger of Chaos. Only after a few moments does Barbosa snap out of it.*
And now Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology. We have a question…
Yes, we do. What the hell is this? Really? Has he let us out for some reason - Some sort of planned mental disintegration to help it perhaps.
*Barbosa gestures to the unmoved SHIT seated beside him.*
Or are we really out for good? Are we back to being ourselves again after 24 million seconds of unified nothingness?
Truthfully? We do not know.
What do you mean you we do not know?!? We always know!
All we know is that we are sure to run into the Empire again.
Yeah, because we want to finish the job we started at Apocalypse!
And to do that we will need the assistance of Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology to make sure we do not suffer a physical rather than a mental break. But beyond that, we do not know.
So we are saying that after we deal with Empire the future is a lottery? A roulette?
Yes, and we are not a fan of these roulettes and lotterys.
Well, we did hate Las Vegas.
We loved it!
Too little to be left to chance. Not enough control. Not even we can plan for everything.
But we could get the big gold belt back!
*That gave Barbosa food for thought. The chance to get the world title belt back would get anyone's attention. He thought on very little else for the rest of the journey *
*Throughout their journey together, SHIT had been watching and listening to its companion. Even as they had taken in Cash it Dolph as well as nutrients, SHIT had continued to watch, listen and gather intelligence. And if SHIT were human, it would have considered it fascinating to watch the mental unravelling of someone who had seemed so together - bodily ticks, instantaneous changes of personality, arguing with himself in the collective personal pronoun, like he was a gestalt entity.
It could see how Barbosa had caused so many in WZCW so much bother, besides him being a skilled warrior. He kept them off balance by being constantly off balance within himself. How could his opponent know what he was going to do if Barbosa himself did not know?
However, this time spent in his company had given SHIT an opportunity to gather information and so far it had identified three distinct personalities, all with separate body languages, tones and stressing points in their speech.
There was the angry one who had called it as a "ridiculous cardboard automaton." He was the one it needed to watch out for. He may not be the rudder of that ship but he was certainly the explosive armament.
Wait, was that a simile? SHIT does not do such human forms of speaking…
If it were human, it would have been disturbed by that.
Then there was the loud childlike one who screamed "SHIT on a plane!" and wanted it to watch the cinematic picture with him.
And then there was the subdued one… the mastermind behind it all. A human might say he is too clever for his own good. SHIT just knew he was clever.
However, that was not the most important thing about this side of Barbosa. SHIT had dealt with clever people before. It itself was clever.
His importance lay in the factual anomaly that for some reason, SHIT listened to his suggestions and despite its cleverness, SHIT could not explain it.
This conundrum filled its motherboard with numerous philosophical questions regarding motive - why had it done that?
Such questions might have caused an overload if it had been the first time that this Barbosa had brought such a query to its processor. But it was not. Indeed, it was a regular occurrence when SHIT found itself interacting with this maniac. Or should that now be these maniacs.
Why had it felt the need to ignore him early in their association, despite knowing it would only goad Barbosa into action?
Why had it felt the need to destroy him so badly that it had gotten up from the most vicious punishment it had yet been dealt?
Why had it felt the need to help that same maniac who had dealt out that punishment at Apocalypse?
Why had it felt the need to abandon its mission in Bedlam when they had asked them to? Was it self-preservation? SHIT had never been one for that.
Any why was it now on a plane with its erstwhile nemesis? Usually it travelled Frieght instead of coach. It had also posed the question of how does a robot put all of its electronic parts through an airport scanning device? Fortunately for the humans, this airport had had the full body scanners preventing the need for any unpleasantness.
Still, there were far too many "whys" in there. It was starting to look like the worst Scrabble draw ever.
Wait… was that a joke? SHIT does not joke.
Another most troubling development.
Or was it?
Was this what SHIT was going to get out of hanging around with Barbosa?
Was this what it was to have a… personality?
*SHIT thought on very little else for the rest of the journey.*
The Beard and Le Gentleman Masque burst through the tunnel, clutching at their newly won tag team championships. The two are flabbergasted as they are approach by the beautiful Becky Serra
Bearded Gentlemen, you guys have just won the tag team championships! Congratulations guys! Where to next?
There’s only one place to go. WZCW….we’re going to Disney World!
Beard tramples off celebrating, with his arms in the air as Gent follows suit shrugging his shoulders as he passes Becky by.
Wait guys, I wanna go to Disney World too.
Becky storms off after the new tag team champions as the screen fades to a parking lot as we see Beard, Emily, Gent, and Liam exiting a trolley into the bright sunlight of the crowded lot.
Are you guys ready for the VIP treatment?
Beard, I don’t want to burst your bubble, but I don’t think anyone here cares about us. Frankly we probably scare the intended demographic.
Don’t be silly Gent, kids love us. Plus we are pretty much celebrities now. And this is the home of celebrities. And champions.
It is beautiful. A perfect place for a future family vacation.
Sir, would you like me to take your coat? Sweat is beginning to protrude from your brow.
Liam we are on vacation. You don’t need to cater to us. Go have fun. We’ll meet you back at the hotel.
Liam carries off reluctantly as Beard yanks Gent over to whispering range.
Is there a reason you brought Liam? I like the guy and all, but is there no-
Emily gives Beard a stern look as he bows his head in apologetic form.
It’s quite alright Emily. Liam is my closest of friend and no lady friend of mine was interested in accompanying me today.
The group comes to a halt as we reach a line chop full of whining children and stressed out adults. Gent is on his tip toes as he tries to peer over to see how long the potential wait may be, but Beard isn’t wasting time.
Pardon me, coming through. Worldwide celebrity coming through. ‘Scuse me. This guy here was trending worldwide on Twitter just a few days ago. Pardon.
Nothing but hateful glares at Beard as he merges his way through the crowd as Emily and Gent embarrassingly follow as they finally reach the front, where they are greeted by a not so happy employee.
Welcome to Disney World. How many tickets?
We won’t be needing tickets. We are celebrity guests here today as we are champions and champions come to Disney.
Sir, I’m not sure what games you are trying to play, but I don’t see any proof of you being a champion.
Oh so it is proof that you want Miss Sunshine. I’ll give you some proof.
Beard holds up his tag team championship as the employee just yawns and pops her gum at The Beard.
Aren’t you a little young for toys sir?
Beard is furious as he is on the verge of losing his cool before Emily steps in and pays the lady as the group heads on in their adventure.
Beard I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but I think the VIP treatment is for champions of handegg.
Say what now?
You know America’s favorite sport. Handegg.
You mean football.
No futbol is the great sport of Europe. A true form of companionship.
You mean soccer.
No I mean futbol.
Emily lets out a roar to stop the childish bickering between the tag champs. The two are ashamed as Emily catches her breath.
You two have come so far and have achieved the ultimate goal as a team and now you are going to embarrass yourself here like a bunch of immature 12 year olds? You guys did the unthinkable. You beat Saxton and Saboteur. Be proud of yourselves and be a team. You guys are together for a reason. I’m not gonna be here to be the voice of reason if this becomes a thing. Got it?
The teammates nod their heads in agreement as Emily shakes her head in approval and gives them a hand signal to embrace. The two partners hug it out as a child with a mouse balloon watches in the background as his father tries to grab his attention.
C’mon son. Goofy is down the road, lets get our picture taken.
Daddy, it’s The Beard.
The child runs over to Beard and Gent and tugs on Beard’s pant leg.
I’m so sorry Mr. Beard. My son is a big fan. He loves you guys.
Beard has a twinkle in his eye, almost as if a single tear is ready to slide down his rugged check. Emily watches on with a smile as Gent stands back.
Well shoot, I can’t let my biggest fan go without a high five.
Beard holds up his hand as the child jumps and high fives his favorite wrestler.
Alright kiddo, lets leave Mr. Beard-
Nonsense pops. Get over here. Lets get a family picture. You, your boy, and the tag champs.
Emily snaps a photo for the father and son as they make small talk with the Bearded Gentlemen.
It’s a Small World. Can you ride with me?
Beard smiles and lifts up the boy as the two venture off onto the ride.
And hear I heard Beard was an ass.
Gent, back off. Under that rugged beardness is a great man and a true sweetheart.
After the scene at Disney World we cut to the hotel room with a television with constant channel surfing.
“Hello. I’d like to play a game.”
“I’d like to spin the wheel Pat.”
We pan out to see a very frustrated Beard with Emily cuddled in his arms as the big man places the remote on the table.
Babe just pick something. We have hundreds of channels.
I get that but everything seems to link back to the shows this week.
Emily looks at her bearded love in a state of confusion as Beard continues to explain.
It’s roulette week for WZCW.
Care to explain?
Everything will be chosen at random. Match type, opponent, everything. It is going to be utter chaos.
And the Beard thrives in utter chaos.
For the most part yes. However this is completely random. My chaos is through some serious planning. I mean I could end up fighting Gent. We just won the titles, the last thing we need is some sort of riff between us. You saw that at Disney, we can’t have that happen again.
Sit down, breath, and relax. I’m sure Gent is calm about the matter. Just enjoy a glass-
The front door to El Hotel de Beard swings open as a frantic Le Gentleman Masque tumbles in, dropping his title on the table and hanging his coat and cane up.
No time to talk Emily. Beard, we must speak.
Gent plops down on the couch next to his partner before continuing his rant.
This week, no good. We can’t have this randomness ensue. I mean we’re still getting over our championship hangover.
I know right! Emily over here thinks this is a good thing.
You boys don’t see the bigger picture.
Beard and Gent eye Emily up and down, waiting for her explanation.
This could be huge for you guys. Imagine one half of the tag team champions facing off for the WZCW Title.
That would be sexy. Double the gold.
That would be quite the occasion.
One of you two could battle such names as Titus, Barbosa, Constantine, Rush, and the list goes on. The opportunity here outweighs the fact that everything is going to be completely random.
As with life, the best things are always the things you don’t prepare for you.
Exactly. And we learned that today. You not only made that child’s day, you made mine. I saw how great of a dad you are going to be and I’m even more excited now. You have a soft spot, it’s kind of cute.
Shhh! They can never know. I can’t be the biggest, baddest, beardest man on the planet if they know I’m a softie.
Gent breaks out in laughter as Emily soon follows. Beard looks on, trying to be angry but soon he joins in on the laugh party as the three laugh it up until a sudden pause from Gent.
We now cut back to Disney World where Liam is on Splash Mountain surrounded by screaming faces as he keeps a serious look on his face at all times, with his arms up in the air and the last image we see is that of the photo flashing up a Polaroid of Liam and many other screaming riders.
For a lovely, sunny day driving up to the renowned mass of mountains alongside my best friend, it was a very lonely, depressing drive. My friend, known to most as "The Professor," was one of the most relaxed & out-going person you'll ever meet. He always wore a smile across his face and no matter how busy or complicated his life would get, he would take time out of his schedule to make conversation with you. This was a trait that he carried around like a badge of honour and people like myself looked up to him, yearning to create themselves in his image. He was the reason why I pursued a career in psychology and became a doctor. When I was down, he would always lift up my spirits. When I needed help, he consoled me and showed me in the right direction. When I needed a friend, he was there.
Today is different though - the once heart-warming grin that never left his face decided to take an extended vacation and atmosphere during the trip was nothing short of frightening. The Professor sat in the front passenger seat of Bessie (my Monster Truck I was driving the both of us in that we both enjoyed heavily) staring silently out the window. Nothing had been spoken the entire way up until this point and it seemed like it would continue to be that way. Although the Professor is unable to use his voice-box for the remainder of his existence, he didn't wish to communicate with me... in any fashion. Two friends who have a history like the Professor and I do never do something like breaking off any form of conversation. Yet, the Professor watches on as the lush landscape of nature's beauty brushes past.
Something was wrong and I wanted to figure out what - so being the only human capable of talking, I decided to break the silence. "I've handed over the reigns of our business to Michelle" I finally said. Michelle Barnes was never prominent in our lives but she was a valuable asset to the Professor's psychiatric practice. She spent most of the years at our offices working as an understudy whilst she went to University to finish her degree. She had proven herself that she was ready to take the leadership role and continue running the practice in my eyes. However, the Professor failed to move a muscle in response to this news. "I'm no longer active as a psychiatrist and it honestly feels like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders - hopefully, with the stress of patients ringing you up at ungodly hours of the morning and the copious amounts of paperwork disappeared, I should be able to concentrate on my wrestling... to say I haven't been the most successful star on the roster would be a huge understatement."
It seemed the Professor budged on that comment, turning his head and staring at me in disbelief before focusing back on the view through the windows. I don't blame him for reacting this way though - it must feel like Déjà Vu for him considering he did the exact same thing, passing off the reigns to myself to focus on his wrestling career. "I apologise if I offended you" I added. The last thing I wanted was the Professor to give me the silent treatment... well, the closest thing to the silent treatment that a person with Dysphonia can achieve.
From the many hours of driving causing exhaustion for the both of us, we finally reach our destination: the Monastery of Agassiz Peak. It was a place that the Professor called his home away from home; a place where he could connect with his spiritual side in peace and harmony. Apart from the Monastery, finding civilisation was quite a distance to travel so disturbances were down to a minimum. The Professor had decided he needed to live a life of solitude to clear out all his apparent demons that haunt him and this was the perfect spot. I've been here multiple times to visit the Professor on his many trips up here but I have yet to feel that same appeal. I know I've had some issues that still linger to me to this day but restricting myself behind secluded walls to solve them seemed a little extreme for my tastes.
I stopped the truck out front of the entrance of the Monastery walls, which the Professor was quite eager to enter. He almost immediately jumped down from the high platform, fetching his belongs from the tray attached to the back. As I slowly climbed down out of the truck, I was greeted by a familiar face: the Master of the Monastery. "Ah Sandy! It is good to see you here once more" he expressed with a smile across his face. "I appreciate you bringing young Steven up here. I know it must be hard for you to let go of such a good friend for the time that he wishes to spend here."
Indeed it was hard for me but it was something I needed to do, for his sake. "I thought it would be better if I took him up here so that way I knew he reached the Monastery safely. There is nothing worse than not knowing" I replied - reminding me for a brief few seconds of the upcoming Roulette Rounds that I'd be partaking in soon after All or Nothing. "I just hope you can handle that loud mouth over there for a while." I chuckled for a moment before I glanced at the Professor who didn't seem to appreciate that comment. "Excuse me, Master."
I walked past the Master and followed the Professor who had no intention of stopping until he was inside the Monastery walls. "Steven!" I called out but he did not care. I was forced to run, catching up with the Professor. I stood in his path and he looked very annoyed as he stared into my eyes. "I have no idea what is going through your head Steven and I cannot begin to imagine what it could be like to be in your shoes but I'm not the enemy here - I'm your friend... your best friend. I just want you to remember that and all the times that we've had together because I know I will. I don't want you to forget me as you potentially spend the rest of your life inside these walls." I started to tremble slightly as the annoyance in his face started to slip away. "I love you, Steven" I said to him truthfully as I hugged him tightly, sharing what would be our last embrace in a very long time. As I let go and look into his eyes, he gave me a very weak grin and gently pushed me aside to make his way inside the sacred grounds.
My head dropped down as the Master walked past me, patting my shoulder as a sign of compassion for the situation. "I'll make sure to take care of him - I will let you know when Steven is ready to interact with outsiders and you can visit him." I looked up to the Master whose encouraging smile brought me back to a more cheery state. "I'd appreciate that." As I finish my sentence, the Master follows the Professor through the entrance of the walls where I see him for the last time as they close the old, wooden doors.
Trying to put on a brave face, I turn around and head back to Bessie... but no matter how much the sounds of nature and the exquisite beauty of the surrounding area tries to put a smile on my face, tears of sadness begin to stream down my face as the realisation of "losing" my best friend has come to fruition in my brain. I climb up the side of the truck, turn the ignition over and drive off down the same road we came in on balling my eyes out...
"... and the only thing I can think about now is moving forward - no reason to dwell on the past and the losses I have attained."
"Well, thank you for your time Sandy. This is Rebecca Serra for WZCW signing off."
It was the usual chaotic frenzy that everyone has to endure during Pay-Per-View time: the reporters were rushing around trying to film as much footage they could to present on either the live broadcast or on WZCW.com; and the wrestlers were being monitored and ushered by the backstage workers to keep the show moving smoothly. My time in the building had expired well and truly as I was apart of the warm-up match for the Free-To-Air Pre-Show to entice viewers to order the product; a match which I was eliminated prior to the finish. I was very disappointed in myself as I thought I would at least make it to the final two but alas, it was not meant to be.
As Rebecca Serra and her crew were fiddling around with the equipment so they could move to the next location, I picked up my suitcase behind me and began to walk off to leave the premise but something caught my eye and Is stopped walking: Celeste Crimson had stumbled in from one of the corridors and unceremoniously dumped herself on top of some storage boxes where she slouched over, draining the last drops of water from her bottle before tossing it across the ground. She didn't acknowledge that I was nearby and she wasn't in a happy mood. "Hey" I said as I went over and sat down next to her. She didn't budge from her position. "Sorry about your match tonight... I guess it wasn't the night for the Fairy Glitter Armageddon to shine, huh?"
There was a small pause between the two of us as Celeste looked up to me, showing me something that I haven't seen in the face of Crimson before - it reminded me of the encounter with the Professor. "I snapped Sandy and I couldn't help myself. If I remained calm, cool and collected, I could've walked out tonight as the Elite X champion. Do you know how long I've been wanting to call myself a champion?" I didn't have an answer to her proposition and Celeste had nothing to follow-up with. The two of us sat there for a few seconds before Celeste got up and walked off, leaving me in a pool of my own thoughts.
Not again, I thought. I hope she is okay.
"Nightfall... for some, it indicates that the horrors and nightmares of the world will soon emerge from their daytime slumber to wreck havoc among the land and its people. As you can see from this baron wasteland which I stand upon right now, known as Death Valley in the Mojave Desert, one would think of why that would be the case. There is no shelter out here apart from the painful embrace of a cactus branch and the scarcity of food and water is dearly noted. Any normal person could not deduce any logical reason as to why one would come out here and spend their time attempting to survive when they can list off many places in the surrounding area that easily caters to their needs."
Sandy crouches down and touches one singular flower that appears to be growing through the scorched earth.
"For others though, it is seen as a test of strength and perseverance to survive in such harsh conditions. It creates them and it moulds their character, standing tall among an empty crowd that has scattered for greener pastures. These select few might have encountered more obstacles and struggled more ferociously than their counterparts but the result allows them to steam-roll past any challenge on their journey."
She caresses the flower as she turns her head towards the camera.
"Just like this flower, I too have been facing my own trials and tribulations. I have rehabilited from the brink of insanity to study amongst highly intellectual peers to achieve a degree in psychology; I have trained many tireless hours to get my body physically-fit to restart the only life I knew inside the squared circle; and right now, I have suffered many defeats in my quest of becoming the defender of dreams. Just like this flower, I am not looking to throw away all this hard way I have spent getting to this exact moment."
Sandy stands up and opens her arms out as if she was embracing her surroundings.
"I am here to stand tall against anything that dares to block me reaching the pinnacle of my success that I once achieved. I stand here ready to fight and surpass all comers who wish to make a name for themselves. I'm here, digging my feet in the ground and not looking to budge an inch any time soon because this territory is mine and I will defend it. It doesn't matter whether the Empire's dictator wants to send their soldiers my way to clear their path or someone wishes to dangle Benjamin Franklin above my head as a reward to take me out - I'm here to stand tall and I will not be taken out as easily as most people perceive. I'm ready to fight and I'm ready to reach for the stars... and it all starts in my home territory of Las Vegas."
She moves toward the camera - up close and personal.
"Get ready to dance a round with the Sandman at the roulette tables, boys and girls because this Desert will be waiting here, ready to blow up a sandstorm... ready to achieve her dreams."
Sandy smiles as she reaches into her pouch and blows sand towards the camera, causing the glitter to shimmer as it slowly trickles down the view.
“One Missed Call” -Alexis
Where We Left Off:
Leon Kensworth: Ladies and gentlemen, I am here with one of the eight men who fought for a spot in Lethal Lottery this past Sunday, he is Brent Blaze.
Leon pauses, as Blaze stands there smirking.
Brent, you have been on quite the roller coaster of a ride throughout the last few weeks. You have a few wins under your belt, as well as some losses. What do you think of your time here in WZCW, so far?
Brent Blaze: Leon, first off, you are lucky to be getting this interview. This is the first time I have agreed to do one of these. I think its best that my addicts know what I am thinking, so I shall speak the truth, and the truth is, I should still be undefeated. I have said this before, and I will say it again, Vega was a fluke. The paper champion got lucky. And, in this eight man over the top rope match up from AON, that was just as much a fluke. All them guys were gunning for me. I proved myself in the first two weeks I was here. I am no joke. People will soon realize that the best is yet to come.
Lets speak more on All Or Nothing. What were your thoughts about that match, and your performance?
All Or Nothing. Those three words, they meant everything to those of us in the battle royal. They meant everything to me. They meant everything to you Leon- you are my fan. It meant everything to them- the fans, my fans. Each and every one of you are my fans whether you like it or not. Wins and losses, they mean it all in this business. Maybe I didn’t get the win at All Or Nothing, maybe I came up short last week against Vega, but, win, lose, or draw, I know that at the end of the night I’ll have your everlasting support. Just as you have me to lift you off of your pitiful feet and place you back on the ground whenever you fall. We have each other; we help each other. You all, my fans, you’ll continue to love me eternally. Listen Addicts, the blood that flows through my veins, it will continue to flow until I leave WZCW; and that day is long and far to come. I am here to stay. It may seem redundant, but I am the future. Many men and women alike have muttered those words, but none mean it to the degree I do. I am the future, and I am here to stay. Not even Ricky Runn can take me out of WZCW!
Connor Reese may have taken me out of the battle royal at All or Nothing, but he will not put out the fire that is Brent Blaze. I gave it my all and got nothing in return! Runn and Reese gave it nothing, and some way, some how they got it all; the win, the spots in Lethal Lottery, the chance to face off one on one with the WZCW Champion at Kingdom Come! My route won’t be the easiest, but I assure you, my Addicts, I assure you that I will obtain a spot in Lethal Lottery. I will go on to win that match, and I will do so by throwing out however many opponents I have too! The faith that all of you have in me, that faith will drive me straight to KC! I will be the victor of this years Lethal Lottery. I will go on to Kingdom Come and I will capture the WZCW World Heavyweight Championship from Showtime, from Steven Holms, or from whoever happens to hold the title at the time! My impending potency shall be spread! My influence will overcome every opposition. I am the future! I am the best! I am the addiction, and you all are my Addicts!
What you are saying is-
Blaze interrupts in the middle of Leon’s sentence.
What I am saying is, short pause and in a smooth and quiet tone, the addiction has just begun.
Blaze stuffs his hand into the camera and the feed shuts off. The interview is now over, as we see Blaze walking away without saying a word to Kensworth. He checks his phone.
“One Missed Call”
Blaze scroll through a few pages on his Galaxy S3. He finds a seat on an equipment box near the interviewing area. Blaze sits the phone down and begins to look around the building pondering if he should return the call. A few moments pass, when suddenly-
***RING RING RING***
Blaze gets ticked off at the interruption. He checks his phone and see the name “Alexis.” He lets the recognized theme song play for a few moments, and then decides to answer.
Hey, this is Tammy, Alexis friend. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days. I figured you have been busy with all you’re wrasslin’ stuff. Alexis told me that you two were going on a date the other night. I figured I’d call and let you know-
What! Tammy? Where is Alexis?
Tammy: She is fine. Well, now she is.
Tammy pauses, as she gets choked up a bit.
I found her the other night passed out on the floor of her hotel room. I was coming to discuss you twos dinner date. You know, the normal girl gossip? Well, she was just lying there. There was a bottle, half full, of these pills sitting there on her bedside table. I knew exactly what had happened. I called an ambulance, and they took her to the hospital. They stabilized her condition and she if fine now. They just haven’t released her, yet.
Brent listens, silently, as Tammy continues.
She needs help, Brent. I have heard a lot about you. I know how much you mean to her. What I do not want to know is what happened the other night that caused her to take those pills. I don’t know what you did or she did or what was said, but what I do know is that it needs to be fixed, and soon. Whatever happened, it has to be fixable. You have to fix this Brent, and you have to help Alexis.
Brent breaks his silence.
He hangs up the phone, and proceeds down the hallway, and exits the building.
Last edited by IHW : 03-12-2013 at 11:20 AM. Reason: formatting
The shrillness of the alarm banged against my skull, as the light from in window burned my eyes. Was it morning already? It took me a few moments before I could summon the strength to turn over and hit the snooze button. Immediately I rolled over in my sheets and went back to bed. It was two days after the fallout of the All or Nothing pay per view. And like always we were all on the road again. Instead of lavish suites and limousines, I had surrounded myself with cheap motel service and even cheaper booze. It just wanted to be left alone.
Fifteen minutes passed. Beep… beep… beep. I hit the snooze button again.
Sleeping was the only way that I knew to escape the reality that was my incompetence and failure. It wasn’t fair. I had worked my but off for so long, and tried so hard so many times, but had nothing to show for anything I did. And I don’t think I even succeeded once. In a huff I rolled over, threw the covers off my body, and promptly drew those wretched blinds shut. I withdrew to the comforts of the bed; it was where I wanted to be. I had no desire to think of anything, but I couldn’t stop the memories from flooding back.
All of my failures over the past year - Kingdom Come, Redemption, All or Nothing, the Mentorship Program. What did I have left?
I heard my door open but I did not seem to care, “How long are you going to stay in bed?” Asked the figure. I turned my head and barely acknowledged my tag team partner Sandy Deserts.
She stepped into the room and threw back the blinds, I winched as I tried to shield myself from their brightness.
“I know how disappointed you were when you lost your Elite X title match, buts it’s been two days. You aren’t going to solve anything mopping around here.”
I didn’t acknowledge her, and nor did I care. I hadn’t even so much as spoken to anyone within days, and I didn’t want to start now. I was a wreck; and I didn’t know how to fix the damage. It was if a voice in the back of my mind was telling me to give up and move on.
Sandy walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, “The Roulette Rounds are next. One year ago you made your debut at the exact same shows, and you made a statement. You could get lucky again. Perhaps you’d get alone shot at Sam Smith and the Elite X title-.”
“I don’t care about that anymore,” I snapped. “I don’t care if I win or lose, I don’t want to train, and I just want to be by myself.”
Sandy sighed and stood, “Fine. But you’ll get nowhere in life if you spend all day just mopping about. Be proactive and do something about all this.”
Do something about all this? Do something about all this!? Just who the fuck did she think she was? Haven’t I done enough already? What was the point? I brushed her off and pulled the covers back over my head, and Sandy begrudgingly left the room.
Burn everything with fire. Make it so the ashes never regenerate. To find peace within my existence I had to find out just who I was. Would one more loss be the last straw? Who am I?
Let me teach you people a word.
The screen is full on white, as snow falls at a rapid rate. The field Jimmy’s in is covered with hills of snow, and more continues to fall.
Jimmy: This is snow, hope I don’t have to teach you that.
He winks at the camera.
Jimmy: The word I want you to learn is a downeast word. You come up here during the winter, and you’ll hear it often.
Flynn extends his bare arms and motions to the flurries around him.
Jimmy: A storm like this has happened over the year. Superstorm Sandy, whatever Nemo classified as. They both were nor’easters.
Jimmy glares around at the activity in the air around him.
Jimmy: This week, the shows are randomized. This nor’easter goes through the town, not caring about what’s around it. Just like I don’t care about the roulette being stacked against me.
The Devil’s Dancer smirks and looks up at the sky, the snow sprinkling in his hair.
Jimmy: The fear of the unknown is unneeded; if you fear not knowing then you fear life itself. The unpredictability is what makes life. The shows this week show this, and I will enter with no fear.
Jimmy shakes his head, causing moisture to fly from his hair as the motion dislodges the snow.
Jimmy: I could face Vega again, one of the few men in sports I do not respect. I could be facing David Cougar on Aftershock in a cage for the championship. Hell, I could face a returning Ty Burna in the cell for all I care!
Flynn sweeps his hand across his body, removing more snow from his person.
Jimmy: This nor’easter has no care in the world, and I will have no care for what happens this week.
Jimmy glares into the camera, his eyes cold and piercing.
Jimmy: WZCW, you’re on notice, there’s a storm alert. The Devil’s Dancer wants a match, and he don’t care who he faces, so you best be ready to dance.
“What do you mean it’s gone AWOL?”
“Just exactly that,” said the Scientist, more patiently than he would’ve given himself credit for. There is nothing worse than people who ask to have explained what should be obvious. “Come and see for yourself.”
He beckons the moderately dressed man over the S.H.I.T’s storage crate, indicating that he should look inside, the other man does so.
“Good God,” he blasphemed, “what the hell is that?”
Excuse me sirs, could you let me out of here?
The Scientist rolls his eyes, “it would appear to be a small metal, orb shaped object, if you would indeed notice its roundness.”
Hello? Can you hear me?
The two men look down at Krypto’s robot companion RXJ, left on the floor of S.H.I.T’s storage crate, propped up and stopped from rolling over by a small sign on which is written “I am S.H.I.T, please insert target for destruction!”
“It appears it wants us to think that it is still here. That this is indeed S.H.I.T.”
“This poor, pathetic thing?”
Now there’s no need for that!
“So where the hell has the actual S.H.I.T got to?”
The scientist sighs, if he’d known that he’d be out looking already.
------------------- -------------------------------- --------------------
S.H.I.T didn’t really know why it’d run out on that place, why it had convinced RXJ to take its place while it travelled to the next event with the man it had called its enemy only recently. Perhaps it was because of the change it had noticed within him inside of Bethlem, instead of reciprocating as mercilessly as S.H.I.T itself had attacked, the other had actually backed down, the man of many voices had re-emerged.
This was a change only further exaggerated on the plane journey, Barbosa had spent almost the entire thing ranting to himself as much as to S.H.I.T about various things, all the while S.H.I.T had watched, learning when to recognise his various incarnations, the wide eyed maniacal, the nonchalant but more aggressive one and the subdued one, the most reasonable of the three or perhaps more personalities shown by this once single-minded creature.
S.H.I.T had endeavoured to destroy the emotionless husk that Barbosa had become, almost hoping that Barbosa would return the favour. It had thought until that moment in Bethlem that it had failed, but when it was spoke to by no less than three variations of the “Ultimate Inmate” it had realised that it had perhaps been more successful that it thought, just not in the way it set out to be.
S.H.I.T exists only to destroy!
Barbosa was of a similar vein once, but now he is more than single-minded destruction, perhaps S.H.I.T could achieve that as well. Perhaps a journey of sorts was needed.
It’s thought process was interrupted by another figure clattering into it, knocking them both over. S.H.I.T starts to climb back to his feet.
“Get up Fats!” Came a voice that was instantly recognisable to S.H.I.T. “My luggage won’t carry itself!” S.H.I.T looked at the prone, obese figure lying in front of it, surrounded by split open bags with more food than two men could possibly eat in a lifetime, as well as more condoms than either were likely to use in their lifetimes. The fat man was clearly unconscious but that wasn’t stopping the smaller man from berating him, delivering a good, solid kick into his bulbous side.
Alhazred sighed and looked around for the first time, to see what had caused this incident, his eyes immediately spy S.H.I.T and he takes in instant step back with a gasp of surprise, dropping on the floor S.H.I.T couldn’t help but notice an awful lot of Sandy Deserts pictures. Not all of them in the cleanest of conditions.
Alhazred points an accusing finger, “you!” He said, and made as if to attack.
------------ ------------------------- ------------
“We must get searching for it, if something happens to that thing it will be the end of both of us.” Said the moderately dressed man, putting his jacket and shoes on.
“Yes,” said the Scientist patiently, “but a blind search will no doubt be fruitless, I have contacted WZCW and asked them to get in touch should they hear anything.”
“You’ve told them that we’ve lost it?” Said the other man, rage clearly rising.
“Not at all,” said the Scientist soothingly, “I’ve told them that we’ve let it out for the day but asked them if they can keep an ear to the ground, they are of course highly invested in it for their performances.”
The other man grunted, placated for now.
-------------- ------------------------- ------------
S.H.I.T prepared itself for battle but none came, instead Alhazred lunged forward and before S.H.I.T could react threw his arms around the Automaton, burying his head in S.H.I.T’s cardboard chest.
“Let’s never fight again.” He said, a tad weepily. S.H.I.T’s urge to destroy was almost overwhelming, Alhazred had left on bad terms, left it alone with the brainwashed, mindless drones of chaos, but S.H.I.T resisted the urge, instead using its arms to reciprocate Alhazred’s hug.
After a moment that probably would’ve been too long for anybody watching Alhazred finally released his grip, “lets go out,” he said smiling almost maniacally, “just like the old days.”
S.H.I.T considered this for a moment, before nodding in the affirmative, although it takes the time to indicate the Human known as Fats. Alhazred looked where S.H.I.T was pointing.
“Fats!” He shouted, “Fats, wake up!” He delivered another stiff kick to the man’s blubbery belly but was unable to stir him. “Oh well,” he said, fishing in amongst his luggage he withdraws a marker pen but unable to find paper settles for the fat mans forehead, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he writes “gone out with S.H.I.T!” On his forehead. Then, no doubt unable to resist he adds a picture of a penis, complete with hairy testicles.
----------------- ------------------------- ---------------
The Scientist puts the phone down.
“Well?” Asked the other man immediately, much to the Scientists annoyance, he’d spent too long with this man, even the sound of his breathing was revolting to him now.
“It has been sighted in a restaurant, called (name removed, advertising prohibited) with, Raziel Alhazred of all people.”
“Who is that?” He snapped.
“Alhazred was the man who converted S.H.I.T to the Apostle’s of Chaos in the first place.” Said the Scientist.
“Loyal to this man was it?”
“It would appear so,” the Scientist conceded.
“Then it would seem even he succeeded where you failed.” He said nastily.
The Scientist gritted his teeth. “Let’s go find our project shall we?”
“’Project’” the other man mocked, “you really do think you are a Scientist, don’t you?”
--------------- ------------------------- ----------------
“Then Missy went missing so I tried to find her for a while, then I recruited Fats, did you meet Fats?” Alhazred asked, swaying by this point, polishing off his second bottle of wine. S.H.I.T nodded in the affirmative. Alhazred hiccupped, “where was I? Oh yeah, then Mister!” other patrons looked around as he said the accused name far too loudly, “Mister has been hiding her from me!” He shouted, slamming down his glass causing the remnants of wine to fly out, mostly all over another table, the patrons look set to complain but S.H.I.T turns its snarling, furious gaze on them and they go back to their meal.
S.H.I.T looked back at Alhazred and again nodded in the affirmative. Implying that he should continue, but the smaller man was occupied attracting a waitresses attention, clicking his fingers and making some kind of strange thrusting motion with his pelvis. Finally the Woman can ignore him no longer and approaches the table.
“Are you ready to order now?” She asked, huge fake smile plastered on her face while on one side the Machines unrelenting stare seemed to bore straight into her and on the other the strange man with the large glove was certainly leering.
“Yes, another bottle of that (name removed, advertising prohibited) please.”
“Sir, this is a restaurant, are you ready to order food?” She asked patiently.
“What? No, I’ve already eaten and he doesn’t eat at all. The wine will do fine, you’re welcome.” He said, turning his attention back to S.H.I.T as the Waitress left. He indicates her retreating back, raising an eyebrow at S.H.I.T and thrusting with his pelvis. S.H.I.T has no idea what Alhazred is trying to say, so it just nods its head in the affirmative. Alhazred gives S.H.I.T a “you dirty bastard” look before filling both of their glasses with the wine.
------------ --------------- ---------
“How much longer?”
“Hours yet,” the Scientist replied, the same reply he’d been giving for an hour already. His attempts to make the other man wait for his return was fruitless and now he was becoming even more unbearable in the close proximity of this car, the thought of a few more hours with him was not a pleasant one.
“Put your foot down will you for God’s sake!”
------------ ---------------------- ------------
Alhazred slammed his empty glass down on the table and staggered toward the restroom, S.H.I.T watched him leave before picking up its own glass and carefully pouring the contents into Alhazred’s, not spilling a drop. A Woman from another table notices this and leans across, “are you trying to get him drunk?” She said with a giggle.
S.H.I.T turns its furious gaze on her. Cold red eyes staring straight into hers.
S.H.I.T exists only to destroy!
The Woman flinches back, and looks down, concentrating solely on her meal. Just in time for the return of Alhazred, who happily drinks the full glass of wine. He rises to his feet again, clumsily, knocking the chair over behind him and raises the empty glass.
“I propose a toast!” He said far too loudly, drawing the attention of all the other customers, “will somebody fill my glass please?” No one moves, “that’s better,” he said, proffering the still empty glass in the air, “I propose a toast!” He shouted, “to old friendships renewed!” Here he indicated S.H.I.T with a big beaming smile. “Will somebody fill this glass!” He shouted again, thumping the table.
A snobby Maître D approaches the clearly plastered Alhazred, “excuse me sir, I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave.” He piped up, voice thick with disdain.
As a reply Alhazred turns and throws up on his shoes.
“Thats the man!” Came a deep, husky but female voice, “thats the man! He made” and here she visibly shudders, “thrusting motions at me!” She was pointing at Alhazred and flanked by two large security personal, who were both dwarfed by her. Alhazred see’s the commotion and commences thrusting at the Woman again, vomit all down his front. Seeing all they need to see the Security Personal make a move for Alhazred. Alhazred see’s them coming and immediately flips the table over, causing screams and comments of “dear me,” from the rest of the patron’s while he grabs the Maitre D and attempts to use him as a Human shield, keeping the Security at bay.
S.H.I.T exists only to destroy!
Suddenly S.H.I.T was on its feet and the first Security guard was dropped with a Piston Chop, Alhazred shouts out and throws the Maitre D into the second one who is staggered, S.H.I.T reacts instantly and locks him in the Industrial Strength Vice, causing the man to cry out in pain. Alhazred turns and runs, stopping for long enough to shout out “thank you!” before disappearing completely as Police flood the building.
“Let him go!” One of them demands.
When the Human submits! S.H.I.T replies. The officer withdraws a taser gun and shoots S.H.I.T with it, causing the Machine to release the hold and rise to its feet.
Power capacity at 400%!
“Well what do you know,” said the officer. S.H.I.T raises its hand for a Piston Chop on him but is shot with three more tasers, these eventually manage to subdue the Robot.
----------------- ------------------------- ----------------
The Scientist walks out of the restaurant and back to the car where the other man is waiting for him.
“Where is it?” He barks as the door opens, the Scientists sits down and straps himself in before deigning to reply.
“The Police Station.” He replied simply.
“How?” Begins the other man, but is cut off.
“It doesn’t matter, what does matter is we are not the first to come looking,” he said in a warning tone.
“Oh no, any idea who?”
“The Maitre D simply said a big man, who managed to convince the owner not to press charges.”
------------- ---------------------- ----------
S.H.I.T sat in the holding cell, surrounded by the dregs and scum of Humanity. It’s night with Alhazred had taught it something, the man was still clearly a deranged madman, and a roaring pervert, S.H.I.T could be glad that his most likeable qualities are still in place. Still he had taught, or perhaps he had re-enforced a lesson Barbosa had taught it. To be Human is to be lost, is to be searching.
Alhazred had left again though, left S.H.I.T alone to take the fall in the restaurant, much like he’d left S.H.I.T alone with the Apostle’s of Chaos. That was another important lesson. If you are going to spend your life lost, searching, then it is perhaps not best to revisit your past and make the same mistakes again. S.H.I.T wasn't angry with Alhazred, it had learned to expect it from Alhazred, it could almost say it liked Alhazred.
S.H.I.T looks up from its view of the ground, even the people in this cell were giving it a wide birth now, after S.H.I.T had dealt with a particularly difficult one of them by twisting his arm up his back and ramming his head into the wall. The cell was darkened now by the presence of a large Police Office, who is looking directly at S.H.I.T.
“Him?” He asked, pointing at S.H.I.T.
Yes, he is the one. Came a voice that could only have been from behind the frame of the large Police Officer.
“You can’t even see who I am pointing at,” said the Officer.
Indeed but we described to you a man in a cardboard box, we can’t imagine you are pointing at anyone else.
The man grunted in acknowledgement and opened the door, “you are free to go.”
Without question S.H.I.T stood up and walked past the others, straight out of the door.
----------- ---------------- ---------
"Its made bail," said the Scientist, sitting down in the car again.
Both men sit in the car in silence for a long time.
"So what now?"
"We are back to square one. No idea where it is, waiting on word from WZCW, hoping it is in good hands."
"The only good hands are ours."
------------ ----------------- ---------
S.H.I.T and Barbosa head down the road away from the Police Station, to passers-by they no doubt looked like the local weirdo’s, whereas normally a robot would look like fun, this one and the strange man muttering to himself create a wide berth.
Why? Why did we collect it from there?
He asked us to.
Did they read it it’s rights?
The Smoker rolls his eyes at this. Robot’s don’t have rights. Robot’s also have to obey the three laws.
Thou shalt not. . .
The three laws of robotics;
A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.
But it hurt us!
What should that tell us?
That those laws are the product of fiction, devised by author Isaac Asimov for use in his Science Fiction Novella.
So we are not giving instructions, it is doing what we ask of its own free will?
The four walk in silence for a while, or in S.H.I.T’s case even more silence.
So why did we help it?
Because he asked us to.
Because it watched Cash It Dolph with us!
The group come to a stop outside of the arena, Barbosa turns and looks at his cardboard ally, S.H.I.T stares back, both nod before going their seperate ways.
S.H.I.T didn't bother to thank him, it doubted very much he required thanking anyway, it didn’t know why it had chosen Barbosa as its contact, why it had asked Barbosa to collect it from the Police Station. Still, the fact remained that the man had. S.H.I.T wondered how much internal debate that had caused, it had watched Barbosa seemingly go to pieces on that plane journey, a man once of a single-minded purpose as S.H.I.T shattered into fragments again.
S.H.I.T knew it would never understand Barbosa, but it realised now that it wasn’t important, not if it could depend on him to help when needed. Like at All Or Nothing.
It’s thought process was interrupted by running feet, S.H.I.T turns to look in the direction the sound was coming from.
You didn’t say thank you!
S.H.I.T wondered if it would ever understand the Human race in general, like its endevours to understand control mechanisms, religion and a lot of other things this exercise was met with failure. Perhaps S.H.I.T's ability to only see things at base value was a hindrance, perhaps a higher level of thought really was required, the ability to believe in what you can not see, for the first time S.H.I.T considered that being single minded was a drawback. Perhaps the Human's it had observed and tried to understand had been the wrong choice, Barbosa and Alhazred weren't normal by their races standards. Still, if to be Human was the be lost, to be searching, then it was at least starting on the right lines.
If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.
It didn't know who had said that, or if it really was good advice, but it was a start.
Last edited by New Name : 03-12-2013 at 12:33 PM.
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