K.C. IX: Mayhem Championship - Bring your Own Weapons Match (participants inside)
Tony Mancini © vs Vega Vs Ace Stevens vs Harald Var Krigare vs Blazing Tiger
RP Deadline is Tuesday June 19th at 11:59pm PST
**NO EXTENSIONS AVAILABLE**
The camera turns on but instead of showing Tony Mancini it shows Agent Henderon and an Unknown Agent sitting in the former's office in the FBI building at Federal Plaza. On the desk between them is a stack of tapes and a tape player.
"O.K. Agent Esposito before you leave on assigment I want you to listen to these tapes and get a feel for Tony Mancini and the kind of operation he runs. The other guy you're gonna hear is Gino Rizzoli. You'd think him and Tony were conjoined twins with the amount of time they spend together. Rizzoli is nothing but a muscle-bound meat head so you'll have no problem fooling him. Mancini on the other hand is smart so you'll want to be very careful how you act and what you say around him."
Agent Esposito nods his head as Agent Henderson pulls a tape off the top of the pile and puts it into the tape player. After a few seconds the voices of Tony Mancini and Gino Rizzoli and be heard coming through the tiny speaker.
"I thought Mancini was the head of a major crime Family, what am I listening to?"
"He is but when he's not here in the city he's on the road with WZCW as their Mayhem Champion. The man you'll be working with most of the time is his Consigliere named Vito. He's a smart buisness man if nothing else but he's not afraid to kill anyone that gets in the way of the Mancini Family. Liste to this."
"See what I mean," he said as he takes another tape out of the pile and puts it in the tape player. "Mancini is more of a figure head with Vito being the brains and voice of the whole thing."
As if to prove his point he slams the lid shut on the tape player and hits the play button.
"So that's what you're dealing with Joe. They may sound nuttier than squirrel shit but all of a are stone cold killers that won't hesitate to bury you if they even suspect you're FBI."
As Agent Esposito starts to tell Agent Henderson his plan for infiltrating the Mancini Crime Family the camera fades to black before cutting out entirely.
Harald: It was nearly ten years ago since I felt this futile.
Harald Var Krigare sat in a dilapidated, yet partially regal Gothenburg church, his palms clasped together in prayer and his vision anchored to the stone beneath him. To his left, an undisclosed, amber alcoholic beverage was housed in a large plastic bottle, unopened, with an empty sky-blue plastic beaker leaning next to it in preparation. Through the stained glass windows, the darkness of the night cast shadows across the vast space of the hall, as rolling thunder and heavy rainfall seemed to represent a calming, if somewhat chilling omen.
Harald: I was fortunate enough to live in a small town whilst I was growing up. My parents moved away from Gothenburg when I was 6 years old, to the country-side, where nature became my closest companion. The environment, my nation, they were my closest allies back then. But then joy and self-security were stripped from me, as if an angle grinder had incised through my very soul. Soon, I found myself in the firing line, feeble prey for even the smallest predators on the societal food chain at high school. But that wasn't the worst of it.
Harald shook his head to himself and looked at the bottle beside him for a few moments, contemplating his next move. He then shook his head once more, and returned to praying.
Harald: The worst were those at the top of the food chain, the ones whose status had been cemented as the very best that the hornet's nest had to offer, and yet, they had to make an example of those beneath them, in an effort to cultivate subservience and awe. And I was anything but not prideful back then. I didn't have the sense to blend in or to flee when it came time for the kings and queens to hunt. It was a perpetual state of torture, metaphorically being harvested for pleasure and fuel, as I was trapped in an endless cycle of falling, my stubbornness being the only thing that kept me going as like ants, the hive-mind destroyed every solitary molecule of individualism in me, until I was little more than a husk, bereft of true friends, bereft of happiness...bereft of life, in fact.
The Swede began to choke up momentarily at that point, recalling the horrors he once felt.
Harald: I ceased being an individual. I became just another spoke on the wheel...
Harald then turned to his drink once more and without hesitation, twisted the cap off the bottle and began to pour himself an escape plan.
Harald: Forgive me if you will, my Lord, but the spirit alone is not enough to empower me before your presence. To approach you for guidance whilst inhibited...bereft of the sincerest honesty and fortitude, would be a sin far greater than the consumption of alcohol.
Clasping the container in his colossal hand, the gladiator casually brought it to his lips and quickly downed the pint he had poured. He then reached and wiped any excess froth caught in his beard with a great forearm, and sighed to himself, partly out of content, and partly out of frustration.
Harald: For as much as I tell myself that the material is insignificant in comparison to both mind and spirit, we must both be honest with ourselves. Without the material, I would have never been able to recover from high school, nor would I be participating in the most monumental match of my short WZCW career.
Placing his beaker next to the bottle once more, Harald reached down into his shirt and pulled out a crucifix pendant. He gently kissed it, before returning it back beneath his shirt.
Harald: Likewise, without the material, it is debatable...no, a certainty, that your influence would not be as felt within human civilisation.
As the words left his lips, Harald suddenly felt an other-worldly chill down his spine, as his blood ran cold momentarily. He trembled and fell to one knee on the floor, incapacitated by the sheer splendour that the freeze had brought upon him. He could scarcely form words, let alone stand up, as it felt like God himself was preparing to catch judgement upon him..
But it was at this point that instinct took over, and like a man possessed, Harald defiantly rose and gazed at the heavens, a grimace coating his face. He lost awareness of God's omnipotence, and instead, focused solely on directly addressing his deity.
Harald: No, I'm actually not sorry.
The warrior pointed a figure upwards, releasing all his pent-up frustration.
Harald: I vowed to myself, I vowed to YOU, that I would be honest, and yet, it is you striking intimidation into my heart, exerting your omnipotence to shield yourself from no universal truth, but the truth as seen by the very man who sought your council, who sought your comfort!
Harald sat down, and took a deep breath. His tirade was not over.
Harald: I am no immortal. In fact, I recognise exactly what I am. I am nothing but a marionette, frigid in the winds of mortality, swaying to and fro like a corpse at the hangman's gallows. I am no God, nor will I ever come close to becoming one. And yet...you still feel the need to tighten the noose. But why? Why are you afraid of the opinion of a single man, a man desperate for guidance, as evidenced by his presence before you? Do you consider this insubordination, a denouncement of my faith, as my peers thought before you?
He took to laughing to himself at this point, the absurdity of the situation beginning to become more clear to him.
Harald: At one point, I was an unbeliever, my lord. At one point, I even thought the fedora was not an example of poor fashion sense. But no longer. Why else do you think I would come before your presence? It's because I obviously have respect for you. But you need to understand something, something that not only mortals must abide by, and that is that nothing is above criticism. Nothing is beyond reproach. And the glacial shiver you sent down my spine, a callous frigid gust enough to immobilise even a tempered Nord, won't change anything.
At that point, a cacophonous slam could be heard throughout the church, as Harald only partially flinched, the heat of the moment coaxing him to continue.
Harald: In fact, the fear you attempt to surgically strike within my heart...it won't do a damn thing...
???: You can't win...
Harald couldn't believe the voice he heard. He recoiled in his chair, craning his neck towards the aisle to see an unexpected, yet eerily familiar face.
Fallout: No. My name is Viktor Petrov. Fallout has been dead for almost two years now. Or so he was, until you felt the need to resuscitate him. You brought him back into the world of the living.
Having recovered from his initial shock, the hairy giant rose from his chair, and crossed his arms, his body language suggesting defence and apprehension as Fallout strode closer.
Harald: Don't try and deny what you are, abomination. I'm fully aware of what you're responsible for, the harm you've inflicted upon others.
Fallout: You don't know the half of it. The fact you refer to me as Fallout shows your ignorance, as opulent as crystal.
Harald: Why are you here?
Fallout: I'll repeat myself: You can't win.
Harald: That explains nothing.
Fallout: You are many things, Harald Var Krigare, but I had never thought of you as lacking perception.
At this point, Harald had heard enough. He grasped Fallout by the throat, as a viking's fury ran through his veins, his temperance waning as the spectre mocked him.
Harald: No, I'm lacking patience for your pseudo-intellectual ramblings. How about you be more direct and actually tell me the real reason why you're here, before I cast you into the fiery depths where you belong!
Fallout: That's what I was eventually expecting from you, Harald, but I didn't realise you had such a hair trigger.
The proud Swede reached his breaking point. He let out a blood-curdling scream and threw Fallout into the wooden benches he once sat in. As they caved in from the Fallout's impact, Harald roared in defiance.
Harald: You're fucking right I have a hair trigger!
Hyperventilating from his outburst, it suddenly dawned up the Lion From The North that he had completely lost control of himself and the situation before him. As he gazed at the carnage he had caused, a feeling of repentance and guilt then began to surge through his being.
Harald: Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the fact that I can't stand to have a demon of your magnitude chastising me, mocking me, but nonetheless, I was wrong to behave as I did.
It was now Fallout's turn to chuckle, much to Harald's shock.
Fallout: Don't be.
The warrior was flabbergasted as Fallout picked himself from the debris, as if nothing had happened.
Fallout: The thing is, you CAN win, Harald Var Krigare...but only with my counsel and only if you free yourself of all inhibitions.
Harald: What inhibitions?
Fallout: Your pitiful grasp onto self-restraint. Your celebration of moderation is nothing but crippling, an enclosing compactor from which you cannot escape. You lack a true killer instinct, a desire to triumph over the obstacles in your path.
Harald: And how would you claim to know what standards represent? At Kingdom Come 7, you choked an innocent woman in the audience close to death.
Fallout: But Fallout made the great Ty Burna submit, did he not? The same Ty Burna who you decided to call out at the Lethal Lottery, and yet you didn't even last long enough in the match to even confront. The same Ty Burna who now main events Kingdom Come against Eve Taylor, another who Fallout choked to submission.
Harald briefly considered these points, thinking to himself. They were good rebuttals...too good to be true from the demon that tormented him.
Harald: I don't care if you beat Ty Burna! You only beat him through pure malevolence, the only language a creature like you can express. And I will never surrender my morality, particularly on your whims.
Fallout: Then I'm afraid you can't win, as I said before. Your failure to prepare is a preparation for failure.
Harald sighed from the bottom of his soul, as he turned away from Fallout, and gazed at the damage that lay in his wake. By letting going of standards and etiquette, he had within him unrelenting power, the force of a nuclear warhead in his very hands, if he so chose to use it. And yet, it took anger, chaos...sheer inner mayhem to find this potential. Harald wanted to win for the benefit of Sweden, the benefit of the globe, but would he benefit them by winning through barbarism?
Fallout: Really think about it, Harald. You may think of me as a Freudian nightmare, an example of id triumphing over superego, but I was closer to a Freudian masterpiece, a weapon of insurmountable power at my peak. You have the potential to be that, and yet you acquiesce yourself to restraints, anchoring yourself to standards of acceptability and...'dignity'.
Harald: I understand that if I were to truly fight you at your peak, I would lose. You're right, I've tried to live my entire life according to standards and protocol, ever since my baptism of fire through high school. And it really has made a stronger person...a better person.
Fallout: But are you the warrior you truly could be? The warrior you supposedly claim you are?
Harald turned to face Fallout once more, a look of deep confusion across his face as he mind raced for an answer.
Harald: I don't know...I honestly don't know.
Fallout: I have something for you. Follow me.
Both men walked to the entrance of the church together, Fallout's point seemingly made. The gas-masked gladiator then reached towards a cloth-wrapped object leaning against the doors, and handed it to the man who initially sought council, motioning for him to unwrap his gift.
Fallout: Just remember that all I offer is another perspective, and that everything is not entirely black and white. Even I know the damage that a savage, insurmountable mind can do to oneself, hence the death of the one you called Fallout. But nuances are no excuse to resist self-development. And there is no greater time for you to no longer release the kraken, but to become the kraken.
Having unwrapped his reward, Harald smiled to himself as he inspected his weapon for Kingdom Come: a robust, steel sledgehammer.
Fallout: Where piety fails, your hammer falls.
When Jacob Westwood came to look for his friend at the church the following morning, he found a note nailed to the door, ominously titled 'A Declaration Of War'.
Click for Spoiler:
"The King is back." -Vega
The setting sun radiates a reddish-orange glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the master bedroom of Vegaís New York City penthouse in the fiery hue. The covers on the king-sized bed hang haphazardly off to the side. An empty bottle of Dom Pťrignon lays sideways on the nightstand next to a crystal ashtray full of ash and cigarette butts. Vega is standing there looking as if he has just woken up wearing last nightís jeans and undershirt. Although only recently breaking his slumber, his face reads as if he has been deep in thought for hours. Perhaps Vega cannot even find solace in his own sleep.
His eyes are fixated on a large bookcase on the wall. He slowly walks over towards it and searches for a specific book, blinking exaggeratedly in an attempt to clarify his blurry morning vision. Vega finds the book he wants and pulls it halfway out. Suddenly, the bookcase slides to the left exposing a door with a handprint identification security system. Vega places his hand on the scanner to verify his identity causing the door to slide open as well.
He walks into the secret room and stands there looking around. It is a weapons stash room. The walls are all lined with various tools for chaos; knives, swords, brass knuckles, handguns, shotguns, machine guns, sniper rifles, bullet proof vests, grenades and even a rocket launcher. Vega looks towards the wall containing his handguns. He walks over and reaches for a specific gun; his matte black Five-seveN semi-automatic pistol. Vega holds it firmly in his hand. His eyes stare intently at the gun as he holds it up. He seems to lose himself in thought while focused on the firearm.
Why do I need a weapon?
A significantly younger looking Vega holds up a matte black Five-seveN semi-automatic pistol in confusion as he stands there wearing black tactical gear receiving instructions from a man in a suit.
The gun is a last resort, ďjust in caseĒ sort of thing. Besides, the Agency does not send operatives out on a mission unarmed.
Operative? So, Iím an operative now, Fields? I thought you arrested me because I was a criminal.
Youíre only a criminal when you break the law for the wrong people.
Vega looks towards Agent Fields for only a moment before reverting his attention back to the gun.
Look, all we need are those files. itís a simple snatch job, in and out. Nothing you havenít done at buildings and museums across the globe for your entire life. Now instead of snatching money and jewels for your own pleasure, we will use your skills to procure sensitive materials in order to advance our investigations against enemies, both foreign and domestic alike. You accomplish this mission and you will find yourself one step closer to freedom. Fail, and we prosecute you for your crimes.
Like a criminal...
Like I said, Vega... youíre only a criminal when you break the law for the wrong people.
Vega hesitates to holster his pistol, but begrudgingly does so to begin his first mission.
Nobody will get hurt, I promise.
Back in the weapons stash room we find the more aged version of Vega we are familiar with as he continues to stare at the Five-seveN pistol. His eyes seem to be fighting back an assortment of emotions. Vega isnít sure if heís angry or remorseful or grateful or proud. He just stands there, lost in the moment as he holds onto his weapon.
Priyaís soft and familiar voice anchors Vega to the present, causing him to turn towards the open sliding door.
Moments later, Priya approaches the opened bookcase with bewilderment. Although she if blind, Priya realizes she is standing somewhere she has never been before. Her eyebrows are visibly furrowed behind her dark circle-lensed Lenon-esque sunglasses.
I didnít know you had another room in your bedroom.
Priyaís English accent echoes quietly in the stash room. She lifts her nose up in the air slightly, trying to identify the peculiar odor in the room.
Whatís that odd smell? Kind of smells like a metallic Sulphur or something.
Thatís probably the gun powder.
Yeah, there are a lot of guns in here.
And some explosives.
Priya remains silent for a few moments as she digests the information.
So, this is like a weapons room of sorts?
Vega looks around at his impressive collection of artillery before responding.
You can say that.
A smile slowly creeps across Priyaís face.
Vega is a bit taken back by her reaction.
And is there like a hidden door with a secret code?
Handprint identification system behind the bookcase.
Brilliant! I love it. Give me something!
He hesitates for a bit before slowly handing over the Five-seveN pistol he was holding. Priya grabs it firmly but seems disappointed.
Oh, come on now. Give me a real weapon.
She holds the pistol out to hand it back. Vega takes it back from her and places it back on the wall. He then surveys the walls before deciding on an AR 15 rifle with a mounted scope. He pulls it off the wall and places it in Priyaís waiting hands. She is a bit stunned by the weight of the rifle, but quickly adjusts and holds it up like a soldier, unaware that she is pointing it towards Vega. He remains still, confident in the fact that the gun is not loaded. With a smile on her face, Priya inquires about the weapon.
So, what am I holding?
A Colt AR15A4 Semi-Automatic with a Nikon P-223 reticle scope.
Oh, an AR 15 you say?
Vega continues to be dismayed by the pleasure this discovery brings Priya.
You know, I would have never pegged you to be such a fan of guns.
Oh, I suppose Iím simply fascinated by things that are foreign to me.
And here I thought youíd be pro-gun control.
I am. I think the gun laws in this country are mad. But I donít suspect youíll be shooting up a school any time soon. Besides, Iím guessing not a single gun in this room was purchased legally.
Vega looks around while silently conceding the fact.
So, itís obvious that gun laws mean nothing to you.
Satisfying her curiosity, Priya lifts the AR15 up towards Vega. He grabs it from her and turns to place it back on the wall.
Does that make me a criminal?
Breaking the lawÖ does that make me a criminal?
By definition, love.
Vega lets out a defeated sigh as he stares at the Five-seveN pistol he put back on the wall minutes ago.
Somebody once told me that youíre only a criminal when you break the law for the wrong people.
Whoever told you that sounds like the wrong people.
A subdued chuckle escapes Vega as he mentally agrees with Priyaís sentiment.
In the 4 years that Iíve known you, Iíve never known this room existed.
This isnít exactly the type of thing you display during a cocktail party.
Do you spend a lot of time in here?
Not normally. This isnít what I want for my life anymore.
Then why hold onto it.
You donít always get what you want. When you live the type of life Iíve lived, you grow used to looking over your shoulder. The very first weapon in this room was given to me by Agent Fields of the CIA before my first mission after getting caught. That weapon defined the type of person Iíd be for the rest of my life. The mayhem I have created will always follow me for as long as I live. I can never stop looking over my shoulder. I can never be unprepared. This weapon roomÖ itís me being prepared to face the mayhem once again.
You think youíre defined by a weapon?
I think Iím defined by a choice. I not only chose to use weapons, I allowed myself to become a weapon. I chose to be weaponized by a government agency rather than face the consequences for my crimes. The choices you make will define you.
Vega looks around his weapon room while shaking his head. His body language reads as if he were hopelessly trapped.
The funny thing is, I didnít choose to be back here.
In the mayhem.
Priya remains silent, confused by what Vega is saying.
I suppose I simply canít escape the past.
Without warning, a loud jarring thud can be heard coming from the master bedroom. Itís almost immediately followed by the sound of cracking glass. Both Vega and Priya are startled by the sudden sound. Vega quickly grabs his trusty black Five-seveN semi-automatic pistol and cautiously heads into his bedroom. Priya follows behind blindly while holding onto Vegaís waist for guidance. He looks towards his floor-to-ceiling windows to notice one of them cracked in the middle. Thatís when he notices it; a high-grade hunting arrow jaggedly lodged into his window. What is even more peculiar is the note tied to the arrow hanging on the other side of this cracked window. Vegaís eyes focus in on the note as Priya speaks up.
What on earth was that?
Vega realizes Priya canít see what caused the commotion, and offers an explanation.
Looks like a damn bird flew into my window.
YeahÖ cracked the window.
My goodness, that must have been one enormous bird.
Vega looks towards the note again before reverting his attention to Priya.
I have to clean this mess up.
Iíll help you.
No, thatís okay. This is something I have to do myself.
Are you sure?
Okay. Good luck, I suppose. Iíll see you later.
As Priya exits the room, Vega looks back towards the note on the arrow with a puzzled expression on his face while he leans in close to read it.
Click for Spoiler:
We find ourselves 104 floors above ground on the roof of the tallest structure in the Western Hemisphere; One World Trade Center, aka The Freedom Tower. Although it is the middle of the night, the rooftop is illuminated by the lights emanating from the very top of the buildingís enormous antenna. At this altitude the winds are strongly swirling around, almost violently at times. Just then, a door opens up. Vega enters onto the rooftop area donning his black tactical gear he used to use during his missions. He calmly walks out onto the roof while yielding his black Five-seveN pistol in his hands.
Vega carefully walks around as he surveys the area. Just when he feels as if there is nothing noteworthy in the area, he hears a voice he hasnít heard in years a few feet behind him.
Vega swings his arm around aiming the Five-seveN handgun directly in the direction he heard the voice come from. A shadowy silhouette stands a couple of feet away staring down the barrel of the pistol as the figureís hair blows in the strong wind. Vega keeps the gun aimed on the target until his eyes can recognize who it is.
Vegaís old partner in crime slowly steps out from the shadows, unwavering at the sight of a gun aimed directly for her head. Instead, she approaches with a coy smile enjoying the disconcerted look on Vegaís face. Alexis notices what kind of gun is pointed at her and shakes her head.
You always did have a soft spot for that Five-seveN.
Alexis slowly walks around Vega, as if she wants to get a look at him from every angle. Vega stands there perplexed, holding the gun up at nothing in particular now while watching her circle him.
You can lower your weapon now.
Vega looks at his pistol and realizes he is aiming at nothing. He obliges Alexis and lowers the firearm before breaking his silence.
You know, you could have just sent an e-mail.
Alexis chuckles at his attempt at levity to open the conversation as she finally finishes her slow revolution around Vega. They stand face to face for the first time in years as they continue their conversation.
Oh, I thought this was much more your style. Wouldnít you agree?
Unfortunately, I would. Hell of a meeting place you chose.
One World Trade Center? One of the most highly secured building in the world? It wouldnít be a problem for the Vega I knew.
Well, it wasnít a problem for the Vega you donít know either.
Alexis nods in reluctant agreement.
Youíre right about that, Will. About this being the Vega I donít know. I mean, how could I know you? I havenít seen you in 4 years.
Thatís not on me. You were the one the disappeared, not me.
She nods once again in the same reluctant agreement as before.
Yeah, I did. But I didnít think that meant that you would disappear, too.
What do you mean?
The way you left WZCW. You just disappeared.
The Vega I knew would never do that.
Do they, though? In 2013, you were in a match at Kingdom Come 5 with Ace Stevens for the Mayhem Championship. 5 years later, at Kingdom Come 9 you are in a match with Ace Stevens and 3 other people for the Mayhem Championship. Except, back then I knew youíd walk out as champion.
Now Iím not so sure.
And why is that?
You know exactly why, Will. Last time you wrestled at the biggest stage of them all you were entering with a streak of 5 successful title defenses. You defeated Ace Stevens at Kingdom Come 5 and then went on to defeat Titus and his alter ego, Red Mask on back to back occasions before the Mayhem Championship was retired. 2013 Vega was unstoppable. The King of MayhemÖ thatís what you used to call yourself. And it was a claim that was undisputed. Nobody ever took your crown.
Alexis shakes her head in disappointment as a discouraged demeanor comes across her face.
But youíre far from 5 title defenses now. Youíre going into this match off the heels of a loss to Wren, someone you soundly defeated in your first match back in 5 years. The King has lost his focus.
Iím no King. Not anymore.
Thatís the thing, WillÖ you are. You just donít realize it. Donít you see, this Tony Mancini is a fraud. Every seat he sits on is built on lies. Heís as much the New King of Mayhem as he is the Head of the Family. He holds a fake seat at the head of the mafioso table, he sits on a false thrown atop the Mayhem Division, and itís only a matter of time until both of his worlds come crashing down upon him. As long as you realize you are simply a King without his crown.
Mancini may be a more of a figurehead in the family but he still has legitimate ties to the New York City Cosa Nostra.
And you are a legitimate assassin.
Vega looks down to the Five-seveN pistol in his hand.
There are times that I find myself trying to forget that.
He looks back up towards Alexis.
And other times where I find myself blithely reminiscing about those moments. Itís like thereís this voice in my head constantly reminding me of all the mayhem I have caused in my lifeÖ and itís slowly driving me insane.
Alexis looks off to the side and walks towards the edge of the roof. She hops over metal railing meant to prevent people from walking any further so that she can get closer to the edge. Vega finally holsters his Five-seveN and eventually follows her over the railing and approaches the edge as well. As they look out they struggle to even see the Manhattan streets and sidewalks beneath them from that height. Neither Vega nor Alexis seem nervous to be standing so close to the edge of the tallest building in America.
Thereís a New Kingdom of Mayhem out there now begging for itís rightful King to reclaim his crown.
New Kingdom of Mayhem, huh?
Back then you had eyes in the back of your head. You used to see all the angles as Mayhem Champion. This time, you had your sights set on the Elite Openweight Championship so much that you never realized the target Tony Mancini had placed on your head. Heís obsessed with youÖ and the only reason he cost you that match against Wren is because he knows he cannot call himself King until he defeats you. His crown? Itís made of foolís gold, and he knows it.
Back then, you were the eyes in the back of my head.
Bullshit. Youíre an assassin, Vega. You always have been and you always will be. And that doesnít make you a bad person. It simply makes you extremely fucking dangerous.
Vega breaks his concentration from the world below and looks towards Alexis curiously.
You disappeared for 5 years. Why have you come out of the shadows now?
Alexis stops looking down as well and looks Vega in his eyes.
When you left WZCW I was prepared to go on a worldwide expedition to find you if need be. I wanted to see what made you want to leave the place that made you feel the most alive you had ever felt. I wanted to see what could have torn you away. It didnít even take me 12 hours to locate you. Back in New York City renting out a lavish penthouse, wasting his days away binging out on cigarettes, cocaine and alcohol with some blind girl. I just wanted to make sure you didnít waste this opportunity.
Youíve been spying on me?
Alexis looks back down towards the city beneath them.
Keeping an eye on you. And let me tell you something, WillÖ she doesnít understand you.
Priya? Sheís harmless. Is that a hint of jealousy I detect?
Youíll always have a place in my heart, William.
A smile comes across Alexisí face as she briefly looks towards Vega for just a moment.
I like the blind girl. She may not understand you, but she accepts you.
Vega nods in agreement while admiring the awe-inspiring view.
Have you thought of what weapon youíre going to bring to Kingdom Come?
I bet youíve been thinking about your Five-seveN a lot.
You know you canít bring a gun to Kingdom Come, right?
Well, I couldÖ but I wonít. My Five-seveN, itís the weapon that started me on this road of mayhem years ago. And here I am at the biggest event of the year and the one mandate I am given is that I can bring my own weapon.
Unarmed? Against a monster like Harald Var Krigare?
Harald Var Krigare, he looks like a man that needs no weapon.
He also looks like an intelligent man, meaning heíll be coming armed.
Youíre probably right. Krigare can wield some mighty weapon. Tony Mancini already hit me with a chain wrapped around his arm. Ace Stevens wonít be averse to using some artillery on me. And who knows about Blazing Tiger. The point is, I thrive in mayhem. I will find everything I need to win this match out there, and if I have to, I will do what I do best Ė steal. It would bring me no more pleasure than to steal one of these weapons away and beat my enemy with their own weapon. Krigare, Mancini, Tiger, AceÖ theyíre all dangerous people, especially with weapons. Perhaps Iíve held onto my weapons a bit too long.
Maybe youíre right. Maybe you donít need a weapon. Maybe you are the weapon.
Both Vega and Alexis let a subdued chuckle escape as they continue to stand by the edge of One World Trade Center. Alexis looks up towards the night sky with a smile on her face.
Have you ever heard the story of the Russian cosmonaut?
Vega looks towards Alexis while she continues to fixate on the sky above.
So, he was the first person to ever go up into space. He goes up into space in this rocket ship that looks big from the outside but is actually quite small once inside. Regardless, this Russian cosmonaut is able to see through a tiny portal window. ImagineÖ
Alexis suddenly diverts her attention from the sky back down to the world beneath her.
Öbeing the first person to ever look down on the world.
Vega turns his attention away from Alexis and back towards the city below.
The cosmonaut, he gets lost in the moment, just staring at the Earth when suddenly his attention is jarred by a sudden ticking. Itís constant, this ticking. He starts looking throughout the space shuttle to find the source of the ticking. He takes out his tools to try and fix whatever may be causing this ticking noise, but no matter what he tries, he canít find the source of the noise. Minutes turn into hours, and hours into days. This poor cosmonaut, heís going to be in space for months. He knows that this damn ticking is going to drive him insane. So, the cosmonaut decides that the only way to save his sanity is to fall in love with the ticking.
Alexis turns towards Vega with a confident look in her eyes.
That voice you say is in your headÖ the one that is constantly reminding you of all the mayhem you have caused in your life? Donít let it drive you insane. Fall in love with it instead.
Vega turns towards Alexis with a confident smile plastered across his face.
I think I just thought of what to bring to Kingdom Come.
I thought you were going unarmed?
I still plan to. This thing I want to bring, although it is heavy and can be used to strike people with, it isnít typically considered a weapon. Wanna help me get it?
You want my help?
For old timeís sake.
Alexis looks intrigued as a smile matching Vegaís comes across her face as well.
Letís do it.
We cut to Vega sitting at the kitchen counter overlooking his lavish living room eating a bowl of cereal. Behind him, the morning news can be heard playing on his flat screen television.
ďIn other news today, a solid gold crown was stolen from the Egyptian Exhibit at the Museum of Natural History last night. The crown was said to have been from around 1300 to 1200 B.C. and extremely valuable. Police have no leads but claim to be hard at work on the case.Ē
A sinister smile creeps across Vegaís face as he reaches for something on the counter. He holds up a beautifully ornate, heavy golden crown and places it on his head.
The King is back.
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