Roulette Round: Meltdown Madness 85, Ascension Anarchy 60, Aftershock Insanity 19

[Infinity]

-Open-


--------------------------------
Medellín, Colombia
FARC-EP Guerrilla Safe House
1996
--------------------------------


Let's play a game, shall we?


The foreign voice of an older man with a thick Hispanic accent echoes eerily inside this decrepit room. The walls are broken down and chipped cement, just like the floor. The room is barely illuminated by a dim light bulb which flickers on and off every now and then. The man who spoke is sitting at a table wearing a green military outfit with black combat boots and a black beret. On the front of the beret is a golden logo in the shape of the Colombia with the word "FARC-EP" in the middle of it, a Colombian revolutionary army. He places the AK-47 rifle he's holding down next to him and strokes his thick black beard for a couple of moments as he looks across the table at Vega. He sits there, with his hands tied up in front of him and his head hanging low. His long hair covers his face, but we can see blood stains on his white button down shirt and matching white pants.

Vega lifts his head up to reveal a badly beaten and broken face. His left eye is nearly swollen shut, and his right one is bloodshot. Two other men are standing in the room; one to Vega's left, the other to his right. They both are dressed just like the first man, and have rifles aimed directly at Vega's from a distance. The initial man, the one sitting across from Vega, reaches to his side and removes a revolver pistol from his holster. He flicks the revolving chamber open and empties out the 6 bullets. He puts them all in his right hand, and places all but one in his pocket. He holds the one bullet up with two fingers so that Vega can see it clearly. The lights flicker on and off erratically for a couple of moments.


Russian Roulette.


The FARC soldier laughs as he places the bullet into a specific slot in the revolving chamber. Vega squints as he stares directly at the gun before he flicks the chamber shut, thus loading the gun.


So, you are familiar with this game. Well, what do you say?


Vega doesn't respond. He slowly turns his read towards the guard off to his right holding an AK-47... and then turns to the guard off to his left also holding an AK... then back to the soldier in front of him holding a revolver. The soldier sitting across from him smiles sadistically as he casually holds the gun up as if it were a glass of red wine. He chuckles to himself...


Well, I suppose you don't really have a choice... do you?


He laughs to himself even louder this time.


Look, I'll even make it easier for you. Me first?


Without hesitation, the soldier holds the revolver up to the side of his head and squeezes the trigger.


*CLICK*


He slams the gun down onto the table triumphantly. He hesitates giving Vega the gun, and looks towards the soldiers standing to Vega's left and right.


If he points that gun anywhere else besides his own head... kill him.


They nod, and aim their AK's directly at Vega. He then slides the revolver across the table. It comes to a stop in front of Vega as he just stares at it... studies it. Vega looks up to the soldier's face tries to study him as well. The two men share a look. The FARC soldier smiles... and at that moment, so does Vega. The lights flicker on and off again for a few moments.


You're turn.


--------------------------------
New York City
United Nations Headquarters
Present Day
--------------------------------


We find ourselves on the roof of the UN building on a sunny, yet chilly, March afternoon in New York City. Alexis is standing there, alone. Her long black trench coat blows in the brisk wind as she calmly looks out towards the East River. The sunshine reflects majestically off the water. The warm colors soothe Alexis as she stands there with her arms crossed and a serene smile on her face. We can see a security clearance badge attached to her coat.


Just then the sound of a door creaking open breaks the relative silence. A man with short blonde hair and greyish eyes wearing a black suit walks out onto the rood. Alexis turns around. The two lock eyes as the the man continues to casually walk up to her. He reaches into his blazer and reaches for something. Alexis doesn't react. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes, and places one on his lips. He motions the pack over to Alexis.


You know I don't smoke.

Never too late to start.


His English accent is strong, definitely not American. He places the pack back into his blazer's breast pocket and then reaches into his pants pocket to pull out a silver lighter. He flips it open and lifts the flame to the tip of his cigarette before flipping it back closed and putting it back in his pocket. He immediately takes a puff and holds the smoke in his lungs. He exhales smoke with every word he says...


You've got a lot of balls meeting me here of all places.

It's convenient for you.


He chuckles. Casually, he leans in and looks at the security clearance badge attached to Alexis' coat.


Vega?


She smiles almost proudly and nods. The man shakes his head while enjoying another puff of his cigarette.


He's good.

The best.


Alexis looks at him as he continues to smoke. He shakes his head, silently agreeing with her.


So if you can get into the building so easily, why not just meet me in my office?

I'd rather not have U.N. cameras catching me walking into the Interpol offices or be seen by anyone talking to an Interpol agent. So, what you got for me Hewitt?


The man, identified now as Agent Hewitt from Interpol, stands there for a few moments as he thinks of how to word what he is going to say next. After another puff of his cigarette, he answers.


Nothing.

What do you mean?

I mean Interpol has no leads on you or Vega's whereabouts. Neither does the CIA. Hell, nobody even knows Vega's real name, and the only picture they have of him is from 1994. Even I don't know what he looks like now. You know I would never turn you in either, Alexis. I've always thought what the agency did to you was wrong. I think my discontent is part of the reason I was transferred over to here. Nothing against New York, I love this place, but I miss home. I miss watching Man U games in a city that actually gives a crap about it. But I'm just whining now, aren't I?

I'm a Chelsea fan.

Oh piss off.


Agent Hewitt smiles at Alexis as he continues smoking.


Have you ever thought about just turning yourself in?

Never.

Why not?

I'll never turn my back on Vega.

What? But, why? What's this grip he has on you?

It's not a grip. I owe him my life. He's shown me on multiple occasions that he cares about me. More than the agency you still work for ever did. Vega and I? We were more than just pawns on a giant chess board. We flexed the muscles of our free will and chose not to blindly listen to the orders our superiors passed down to us. And for that, we are wanted war criminals. Is that fair?

You know the games we play are never fair.

Games? What do you know about games?


--------------------------------
Medellín, Colombia
FARC
Present Day
--------------------------------


Don't you want to play?


Vega stares at the revolver laying on the table in front of him as he ponders the revolutionary soldier's words with a smirk on his face. He reaches for the gun with his hands which are still tightly tied together with rope. Vega picks up the revolver and holds it with both hands firmly. The guards at either side of him ready their rifles in case Vega tries anything. He points the barrel of the gun directly under his chin. The soldier stares at him, directly into his eyes. His smile is encouraging. Eagerly the FARC soldier waits for Vega to squeeze the trigger. Vega stares back at him as he squeezes...


*CLICK*


Vega calmly places the revolver down onto the table and slides it back over to the soldier. The smile never left Vega's face.


I knew you were a confident man.


The revolutionary appreciates Vega's bravado and nods his head in approval as he picks up the gun. He continues to speak as he waves the gun around carelessly, treating it as more of a prop used for emphasis rather than as a deadly weapon.


You think I don't know why you're here? Even in dire situations you seem confident. You know, they say "confidence is the food of the wise man, but the liquor of the fool." I assure you... I am no fool.


He holds the gun to his own head, digging the pistol's barrel into his right temple. The lights begin to flicker on and off for a couple of moments. Once they remain steady, he squeezes the trigger.


*CLICK*


The soldier places the gun on the table, and slides it back over to Vega.


But then again, I don't take you for a fool, either.


Vega picks up the revolver, with his hands still restrained, and places it under his chin once again. His eyes remained locked with the soldier sittong across the table. Both of them look unfazed by this "game." The lights flicker just briefly. Vega inhales and squeezes the trigger.


*CLICK*


He gently places the revolver back down on the table, and slides it back to the soldier with a smile on his face.


Confident... confident man. Are you sure you're full of it, and not drunk?


The soldier laughs to himself as he picks up the gun, this time a little more seriously than the last time.


That's four shots. Two left. This one could be it. There's a 50% chance that this next chamber will be the one with the bullet in it. For your sake, I hope the odds are in your favor.


He smiles as the lights flicker again. He places the gun to his head, but before he squeezes the trigger, Vega speaks up.


Actually you're wrong.


The revolutionary furrows his eyebrows in slight confusion. He humors Vega...


Oh? How so? Perhaps you have forgotten simple mathematics?

Or perhaps you truly do believe that I am a fool.


The soldier lowers the gun down to the table having never squeezed the trigger while still a bit confused.


I know what you did. You didn't load the gun in a random chamber. You knew exactly which chamber you loaded. You know as well as I do that there is a 100% chance that that bullet is not in that chamber. You know you can put that revolver to your head, squeeze the trigger, and smile a foolishly confident smile because that bullet was always in the 6th and final chamber the entire time. That's why you volunteered to go first, because simple mathematics dictates that I would end up with the 6th shot.

So go ahead, squeeze the trigger and pretend to be brave. Then, do with me as you wish. If you give me the gun, I'll have 1 bullet in one gun with my hands tied. You're three men with fully armed AK's. I'm a dead man either way. I know the games we play are never fair. At least give me the dignity of dying at my own hands. I'm sure it's a dignity you would want granted to you one day... in this twisted life we live.


The soldier stares at Vega, unsure of how to respond. He bites his lips as he grasps the revolver again. He begins to look angry, his eyes look more and more intense. He points the gun right at Vega's head as he takes a deap breath. Then he pulls the trigger.


*CLICK*


He slams the gun down onto the table and leaves his hand on top of it, pressing it down with some force before shoving it back over to Vega. Vega has to catch is as it slides off the table with his tied up hands, but he manages anyways. Once it's in his hands, he sits up straight and looks back over at the soldier sitting across from him.


You think you're so wise because you had a plan this whole time. It was you who were drunk with confidence this whole time.

Oh really, wise man? Since you are so unfoolish, how do you explain getting caught?

It was all part of my plan.


The soldier sitting down reaches over and picks up his AK-47 and points it at Vega as he laughs to himself. At this point, all three men have their rifles aimed directly at Vega.


Oh, you're plan. Right, right. Well, what do you have to say now that your plan has failed?


Vega simply smiles.


Who said my plan failed?


The soldier sitting at the table laughs. The other two soldiers standing up begin to laugh out loud as well. Vega even joins in with them as the lights flicker on and off a little bit. Without warning, as the lights flicker on and off repeatedly, Vega squeezes the trigger.


*BANG!*


--------------------------------
New York City
United Nations Headquarters
Present Day
--------------------------------


The games you play? They're just like video games. You're safe in this office here in New York City, just like you were safe back home, never in the field... like me. I know about the unfair games this twisted life has to offer all too well. Vega saved my life by risking his. I'll never turn my back on that.

Right, when he refused to carry out the hit on you.

No. That was him sparing my life. I'm talking about the time in Colombia.


Hewitt looks confused. He slowly exhales smoke through his nostrils as he stares intently into Alexis' eyes.


Colombia?


Alexis nods her head as Hewitt can't seem to comprehend this.


What are you talking about, we got you out of Colombia... Interpol did.

During a failed assassination attempt, mind you. But that was the first time I left Colombia.

First time?

You know Vega and I turned rogue in '94. Well in '95 I decided to go back to see if I could find out what happened to my family. If they were even still alive. The Revolutionary Army thought I was dead, so I thought I was safe. I left Vega a letter telling him I had to go back and that he should continue to live in anonymity without me. A few months into my visit in Colombia, I was captured by FARC soldiers and held captive once again. Vega never listened to my plea for him to live his life without me. He followed me to Colombia... and he saved my life all over again. He infiltrated a FARC safe house as a hostage and got me out of there.


How did you guys manage to do that!?



-To Be Continued...-









​

 

[TBK]

???: Gent.

...

???: ”Gent.”

...

???: ”GENT!”

...

*SLAP*

With that wake up call from his tag team partner, The Beard, we see WZCW Tag Team Champion, Le Gentleman Masque wake up from his slumber and fall down to the ground. We see the two champs in a living room, not a familiar one, mind you, someone else's living room in the middle of the night. With a fireplace, two pretty well made looking couches, a flat screen TV, a comfortable red chair and decorations around it,, it was a living room that screamed of 'upper middle class'. Gent having been sleeping on the smaller couch for some time, he takes time to scan the area before looking up at his partner, who is standing above him dressed in a casual attire.

Beard: ”Gent...where are we? Please don't tell me that this is another training technique you didn't tell me about until we got here.”

Stretching as he starts to stand up, The chivalrous masked brawler gets to his feet before answering his partner.

Gent: "I'm afraid not, Beard, my friend. It appears as if we've found ourselves in a mysterious room. What this could mean for us is I cannot say. Our predicament could be many a thing."

Searching for his trademark cane, he finally finds it to the side of the couch. Picking it up, he uses to point at his partner for a dramatic effect

Gent: "So then, your guess is as good as mine as to our whereabouts. Perhaps we've found ourselves kidnapped by a mysterious villain to participate in a 'game' with a few others we've yet to meet, where the punishment will be our very lives."

Placing his cane back down, he keeps a close eye on his tag team partner.

Gent: "Such a situation would be of great benefit with the upcoming Roulette round, do you not agree? You need not worry about us losing, we shall overcome any obstacle, for we are the WZCW Tag Team Champions!"

Unsure if his partner is serious, The Beard clears his throat to be the voice of reason among the two.

Beard: ”Riiiiiight. I'll be honest Gent, don't you think the more likely situation is were dong something, we somehow blacked out and ended up here?”

Sighing, The Gent shakes his head.

Gent: "I suppose, but where would be the fun in that situation? Imagine, if you will, a calamitous situation in which we find ourselves in a survival of the fittest. A physical and mental challenge ending in all members brought together through adversity and walking out alive, exposing the true man who had set up the situation! To make things even more dramatic, it turns out that the situation was the work of one of the very members of our party. Nearing the final trial, all the pieces come together and it all comes together to expose our connection to the host as well as why we are in the situation we are in. It'd truly be something right out of the shelf of mystery novels in my personal library."

Beard: ”...Y'know, you might actually want to cut back on the 'mystery novels'. ”

Suddenly, a thought pops into Beard's head.

Beard: ”Wait a second. Gent, have you seen our titles?”

Gent: "I should remind you that you have been awake longer than I have. I'm finding it hard to remember what had happened before I woke up here, my friend. Are you sure we had it?"

Beard: ”I can't really remember where we were myself, but I barely find a time I've let go of my titles since I've won it. I don't think I'd put it down without a good reason."

Gent: "Then I suppose we should look for both our titles as well as a way out, agreed?"

Beard: ”Agreed."

As they make their way through the only exit to the living room, a door leading to the kitchen, suddenly they hear the thumping noise of a someone heading down the stairs to the house. Trying to avoid a confrontation with whoever is there, The Beard ducks behind the counter facing away from the only other exit but the living room, making sure to drag the Beard with him

Beard: ”Gent, stay down. We may get the reason we are here in a few minutes. When he leaves the room, we can get a shot of the person who owns this house.”

Gent: "...and then we jump him and show him what for, correct?"

Beard: ”Let's just stick to waiting until we see who it is. This could be a huge misunderstanding.”

Before they could continue their bickering any longer, the man enters the kitchen, turning on the lights. Grabbing a newspaper off of the counter, the man sighs before turning around, shutting off the lights. As he heads back upstairs, The Beard peers from the side of the counter to see who it is. Eyes lighting up as he sees the man, Beard turns to Gent.

Beard: ”It's Kensworth.”

Gent: "The interviewer? ...Then this MUST be some sort of game in which all participants are related to WZCW."

Beard: ”Actually, I'm pretty sure we're in his house.”

Gent: "Perhaps. The question is, if we are in his house, then why would he go through the effort of kidnapping us? I see no reason for him to hold any semblance of a grudge."

Beard: ”What about the time you left him in the middle of a rooftop in France with no way to get down?”

Gent: "Ancient history between the two of us, my friend."

Beard: ”The time you locked him in your basement by accident when you were drunk?”

Gent: "I sent him a card apologizing for the situation."

Beard: ”The time you let loose a wild tiger in a Casino trapping him in a small empty room?”

Gent: "Granted, Sabrina's handling could have been done with more supervisions, but she was a very good girl and Kensworth knew she would never harm a fly."

Beard: ”Whatever it is, he's wearing our belts right now.”

With his last words spoken, the WZCW Tag Team titles, no words spoken to each other, made their way to Leon Kensworth. As he sits in a chair outside on the patio, reading the newspaper, he is approached by the current WZCW Tag Team Champions.

Beard: ”Hey Leon, mind telling us what you're doing with our titles?”

Startling the interviewer, Kensworth turns to face WZCW's newest tag team champions. Nervously laughing, Kensworth hands both men their belts back.

Leon: "There you are. So, Beard and Gent...you guys passed out backstage in your dressing rooms. They were clearing out the arena and...nobody could wake you up. They sort of had me volunteer to take care of you guys until then."

Gent: "I commend you such a task, but I'm afraid I must echo my partner's question, as it was not answered. Why were you wearing our titles?"

Sighing Kensworth looked at the ground.

Leon: "...I thought it'd make me look cool."

Looking at each other, both of them give him back their titles.

Beard: ”Consider this a thank you from us for doing this. Just, remember we'll be back for them later on tonight. Got it?”

Leon begins to smile as he nods to the Bearded Gents.

Leon: "Thanks. I promise you I'll take care of them."

Giving their proper salutations, The Bearded Gents leave Leon's home. With Leon on his own, he turns around to head back to his door. Unfortunately for him, the door seemed to have been locked on impulse by one of the same men who had handed him their titles just a few minutes ago. Giving a sigh of disappointment, Leon sits back in his chair to continue reading his paper.

 

[Kermit]

The Prophecy​

A vague business card rests in-between the fingers of WZCW’s self-proclaimed savior, Chris K.O. He sits idly on a sea-green cushioned chair as the sound of his tongue exploring his own mouth spurts out through the crack of his closed lips. For a moment he opens his mouth and we see him licking where his lateral incisor use to be on the roof of his mouth. It was a sacrifice of the war waged between two men. Chris was willing to settle with the loss, but it still annoyed him that his pearly white smile was now fractured and impaired. However, despite the pain and the inconvenience of fixing his teeth, Chris was fixated upon one thing.

Spoiler

Make no mistake, Titus was still fresh in his mind, but Chris had invested so much time into exposing the fraud of Titus that he was ready to entertain some curiosity outside of WZCW. Besides, Titus had done enough damage to his own reputation by sneak-attacking him in the back after Chris’ win over him. For that, the swelling in his ankle was worth it.

Why would they not have an address on the card? How the hell does he expect me to find him?

Chris flips the card over as he continues to think to himself.

The blank side is just as useful as the side with only a name. The Light… what is The Light? And who the hell was that guy?

We get a quick flashback of the man in a white and black mask handing Chris the business card.

Chris: Hmmph

With that sound of arrogance, Chris slides the card into his coat pocket.

???: Sir.

Chris looks up and sees a woman with curly brown hair.

Woman: Are you ready to be prepped?

Chris: I’ve been ready for a while actually.

The woman smiles politely, yet begrudgingly, as Chris stands up and heads into a door way that she is gesturing towards. With that, the woman walks through the doorway herself and pulls the door shut. The camera looks at the closed door for a moment, but then pans over to a wall where we see a plaque resting on it. It reads, “Dr. Steve Giles: Licensed Oral Surgeon.”

We transition scenes and we now see Chris lying on an operating table face-up, with his upper-torso slightly elevated. We can only assume that time has elapsed some fifteen or twenty minutes as it now seems that Chris is prepped for whatever comes next.

A man in scrubs with small circular spectacles walks into the room with a chart in front of him. Two women in scrubs follow in behind him. His attention is directed towards the chart as he flips over a page. Chris glances at the dangling document and recognizes it as x-rays of his mouth. The man smiles weakly as he tosses the chart onto a counter nearby.

Man: Hello Mr. K.O., my name is Dr. Giles.

Chris: Greetings.

Giles: I must admit that when I was first contacted about doing an emergency tooth implant, I chuckled. I had decided to take an early vacation this year, and I had no intention of postponing that for anyone. However, I was pleased to alter my thoughts after a large stack of money was placed in
front of me.

Giles grins somewhat wickedly. Chris just stares at him.

Giles: I can tell you are a man of business Mr. K.O., so allow me to cut to the point and tell you what your money bought you.

Giles proceeds to take a seat on a stool that is positioned next to Chris.

Giles: This is the typical time table of putting in an implant tooth: First, a tiny hole is drilled into the jaw bone. A medal rod is then positioned in the bone. This is what will supply support for the artificial tooth. After a few months of healing, a second procedure is done where another rod is inserted into the first rod. This is the part that the artificial tooth will fit into.
Impressions will be taken and the artificial tooth will be constructed. On the third visit, the artificial tooth will be inserted into the second rod. It's screwed in so that it will lock into place. The artificial tooth will look like a natural tooth. An implant procedure takes several months to complete. There needs to be enough time in between each stage for proper healing and to make sure the implant rods are firmly seated in the bone.

Chris: I don’t have time for that.

Giles: I understand your time is valuable to you, which is why I am going to offer you’re an alternative method. A process that usually takes six months can be done in two months provided the right price. And Mr. K.O.-

Giles pushes up his glasses and smiles.

Giles: You have the right price. Now, there are some down sides. The pain that you feel will be constant and can only be subdued by a wide-range of narcotics. All of which I will gladly prescribe for you. Also, I am going to have to ask you step away from the ring, at most for two months.

Chris: Like hell I am.

Giles: I don’t want to have to go in every week and re-fix what you break in your matches.

Chris sits up and shoots a darting stare at Giles.

Chris: You’ll fix and re-fix whatever you have to. That is what I am paying you for damn it.

Giles: Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. You are only going to cause yourself more pain.

One of the ladies in scrubs places a hand on Chris’ shoulder as she slowly pushes him down and back into a relaxed position. Giles proceeds to allow the other nurse to put gloves on him. Giles looks over at Chris.

Giles: If you want to do it the hard way, then you will have to at least wear a mouth guard over your top teeth for the next two months. Protect yourself a little bit; I am not a miracle worker.

Chris: (mutters) No, but I am…

Giles doesn’t hear him as picks up something from off of the counter. Chris isn’t sure what it is, but his attention is quickly snagged by one of the women, who is bringing him a clear mask that is attached to a tube. Giles returns to Chris as the woman places the mask around Chris’s nose and mouth. Chris’ eyes shift back and forth from the woman to Giles

Giles: Suzanne told you in the prep room about the gas, right? Pretty soon Mr. K.O. you will be knocked out and I will begin working on your generous purchase.

Giles cackles as he turns back around to the counter to grab something. We hear the sound of a valve turning and gas escaping as a fog begins to climb up the tube and fill the mask around Chris’ face.

Giles: Tell me something Mr. K.O., I have never got into watching wrestling; how exactly does one become a professional wrestler?

Chris: I find it hard to believe that you actually care how one becomes a professional wrestler Dr. Giles. If you only knew of what I have done for the people in that business, you wouldn’t mock me as-- -- you--------do…………

The screen goes black, but then it reappears, but now we are somewhere very different. Chris K.O. is the only thing familiar about the scene. However, he is no longer on the operating table, but on top of a donkey. He is dressed in black robes as he holds onto the reigns of the ass. We get a close up of his eyes and he begins blinking furiously.

Chris: What? What’s going on?

Chris looks out in front of him. It appears that the donkey is trotting down a terracotta pathway, but the weird thing is what is happening on the edges of the path. Hundreds of midget-sized teeth are waving fig leaves as Chris rides the donkey. Chris looks around with confused eyes.

???: All hail the savior!

The faint voice can be heard as Chris looks around to spot the speaker. He finally sees someone off in the distance, which is the direction that he is heading.

Chris: Hello?

???: All hail the savior of WZCW!

Chris squints his eyes as he tries to identify the person yelling. Suddenly, a giant structure appears behind where the speaker is standing. As the donkey gets closer, Chris begins to marvel at what he is approaching. He looks up and sees a beautiful shining white helmet above the entrance of what appears to be a terracotta stone temple. At the very peak of the roof is a spinning light, one that resembles the top of a lighthouse.

???: All hail the one who was crucified!

The magnificence of the building has almost made him forget to check who the speaker is. He looks over at him just as the donkey comes to a halt in-front of the temple.

Chris: M- Me?

Sure enough, we see little Sam Masters standing in front of the temple in blue robes and with what appears to be a giant animal horn in his hand. He shouts into it.

Sam: All hail the savior!

Chris proceeds to get off of the donkey and looks down at the younger version of himself.

Chris: Where are we?

Sam: In your mind Chris.

Chris blinks and then looks up at the amazing temple.

Chris: Why am I here?

Sam: Because there is something that needs to be cleared in your mind. There is something that you have overlooked.

Chris: What do you mean overlooked? I overlook nothing.

Sam: Come.

With that, Sam drops the horn on the ground and proceeds to walk towards the temple entrance. Chris hesitates and looks behind him. Everything is gone, the donkey, the teeth, and the pathway. The only way to go now is into the temple. He quickly follows behind Sam. They both walk into darkness, but after doing so they find themselves in a long corridor. Chris looks around and examines the stone walls around him and doors off in the distance.

Chris: My mind is filled with hallways and doors? I didn’t know I thought so much in clichés.

Sam: You’d be surprised.

Sam begins walking and Chris follows behind. They pass a doorway, but Chris’ curiosity gets the better of him.

Chris: Stop.

Sam stops and looks back at Chris.

Sam: Yes?

Chris: What is behind this door?

Sam: I don’t know. This isn’t my mind.

Chris: But you are me.

Sam: I am not Chris K.O.

Chris hesitates, but then opens the door. He peers inside and sees that there are metal bars going from the floor to the ceiling to make a cage-like environment. Chris is intrigued, but what intrigues him even more is the content inside of the cage. Chris’ eyes are locked with what appears to be a man who is on fire. The man breathes heavily as the fire crackles off of his body. Suddenly, the sound of dripping is amplified in the room and Chris spots the source. A faucet is placed just outside of the cage and it appears that water is dripping from it. The man on fire quickly rushes to that side of the cage and sticks his head through the metal bars. He extends his neck out and even sticks out his tongue, which is also on fire. However, he can’t reach the water. He is just barely an inch away. The man on fire becomes enraged and starts screaming, but the screams are quickly silenced by the slamming of the door as the young Sam pulls it shut.

Sam: This isn’t what you came to see.

Sam begins walking down the corridor again and Chris follows after him.

Chris: Who was that man? If this is my mind, why do I not know who he is?

Sam: You know who he is.

Chris: Who is he?

Sam: He is every lost soul you hope to save. Pick any wrestler or fan. He is symbolic of them. Your most recent comparison would probably be Titus.

Chris: How do you know that, but you didn't know he was originally behind the door?

Sam: Because I am you.

Chris looks highly confused, but then begins pondering the symbolism of Titus as the burning man.

Chris: The burning dog.

Chris smirks.

Chris: Begging for a drop of truth, but yet he suffers in his own sin.

Sam: Very poetic.

Chris glares at the young sarcastic version of himself. Sam continues to walk until they reach another door. Chris doesn’t even ask this time, but goes ahead and opens it. He is very confused to see the sight before him. A man is rummaging through a file cabinet with a flashlight in one hand. Finally, the man notices that someone has opened the door and he looks up at Chris and then sees the young Sam standing beside him.

Chris: You look very familiar...

The person looks around nervously.

???: You don’t know us. We were never here.

With that, the person stands up and walks out of the door and brushes shoulders against Chris. The sound of the door slamming gets Chris’ attention for a small second, but when he turns to look at the man who just walked past him, he is gone. Chris looks down at Sam.

Chris: That was definitely not clear.

Sam: Yes, but still not our purpose.

Sam begins walking down the corridor again.

Chris: Not our purpose?

Chris follows behind.

Chris: I thought the purpose was to reveal something that was not clear or overlooked? There was a guy I don’t know rummaging through a file cabinet in my mind. That doesn’t sound very good to me!

Sam stops and shoots Chris a glare.

Sam: Not everything means something Chris! Some of this could just be random ideas put together. Do you honestly think that the teeth waving fig leaves have any significant meaning?

Chris is pissed at being reprimanded by his own self.

Chris: Just walk.

Sam turns back around and continues walking. They walk by another door, and once again Chris opens it. The sound of buzzing and dinging goes off as Chris veers inside and sees flashing lights in what appears to be a cas-

*SLAM!*

The door shuts quickly. Sam looks up at Chris while holding the handle.

Sam: Trust me; you do not want to open that door.

Sam continues walking and Chris doesn’t question him. Finally, they reach the end of the corridor where a single red door stands in front of them.

Sam: Alright, here we are.

Chris looks at the door and then down at Sam.

Sam: Go on in.

Chris: Are you coming?

Sam: No thanks. I’m not really too fond of the thing inside of there.

With that, Sam begins walking back down the corridor in the opposite direction. Chris barks at him.

Chris: Where are you going?

Sam doesn’t answer and he vanishes into the darkness.

Chris squints his eyes, but he can no longer see Sam anymore. He turns back around and sizes up the red door in front of him. Chris swipes his nose and then proceeds to enter the room. The door shuts by itself behind him. Chris can only look out in front of him as he spots a small table with an old-fashioned lantern resting on it. Next to the lantern is an ashtray. Behind the table is a figure with glowing eyes and a cigar in his mouth. The figure takes the cigar out of his mouth to speak.

???: My have you grown my pet.

After that, the figure smiles with bright yellow teeth and Chris instantly knows who it is. He quickly walks up to the table and grabs the lantern off of it before flipping the table over and onto its side. We hear the ashtray smash into pieces in the background as Chris reaches out and grabs a handful of cloth. He rises up the lantern and there he is, the demon that use to live inside of Chris in a black suit. The demon looks panicked as Chris gets into his face.

Chris: What the hell are you doing here?

Demon: Relax! Relax!

Chris shoves him to the ground and out of his chair.

Chris: I banished you from the caverns of my mind for good. Now you better tell me why you are hear before I kill you, you son of a b-

The demon holds up his hands in order to halt Chris.

Demon: I am not the demon you once knew Chris. I am just a carbon copy that you are projecting in your mind. I don’t know why you chose me for this, but you did!

Chris chews on his words before sneering.

Chris: Get up.

The demon bears a scared smile as he rises to his feet and brushes off his suit. Chris walks over to the table and returns it to a standing position. He fiddles with the lantern and makes it brighter before setting it back on the table. The demon reaches inside of his suit pocket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes.

Demon: Smoke?

Chris: I haven’t relied on that crutch for months. Just like I haven’t relied on you.

Demon: I get it, you hate m-

Chris: Why am I here? What is it that I have overlooked so badly that I sent such a disgusting thing like you to remind me of it.

The demon grits his yellow teeth in a smile as he lights a cigarette and sticks it in his mouth. He puffs out some smoke before talking.

Demon: You need to wake up and smell the roses Chris. Something is awry.

Chris leans his back up against the table.

Chris: What do you mean?

The demon smirks and stalls.

Demon: I get it; you are a busy man now. You are doing far more than I could ever do with you. I mean, your mind has to be all over the place, with Titus and this being the week of the roulette rounds. Any member could be “saved” by you this week. What a "blessing" I might add. Bu-

Chris: Spit it out!

Chris stands up and looks at the demon fiercely. He is tired of the beating around the bush. The demon looks at Chris and takes one more puff of his cigarette before throwing it to the ground.

Demon: No ignore que llaman locos. (Do not ignore the one they call crazy)

Chris: What?

Suddenly, bright white lights begin flashing in the room. Chris is almost blinded by them.

Demon: Él viene.(He is coming)

Chris: What did you say?

Demon: Él viene.(He is coming)

The brilliant bright light fills the room and when the scene begins to reappear we find ourselves back at the dentist office. Chris is waking up from the gas and we get a close up of his eyes blinking furiously. The screen goes black.

 

[Da Prophet]

HEY AMERICA, GUNS REALLY DO KILL PEOPLE!

The sound of a thunderous gunshot echoes. A dark screen is the only visual presence we can see at the moment. Once more we hear the sound of a gunshot, it echoes just like the first. Without warning the screen changes to Columbine High School back in April 20, 1999. Quickly shots are heard over and over again. Pictures fly across the screen of the people involved in the massacre. After a few moments the screen blacks out.

Cooper: It never should have happened.

The voice of Justin Cooper is heard but he cannot be seen. The darkness that we see blocks any voice of him. Once again the gunshots are heard and this time the screen takes us to movie theater in Aurora, Colorado on July 20, 2012. Police can be seen all over the area with hundreds of people rushing around the scene. Before our very eyes pictures of men, women and child all scatter on the screen. Slowly they begin to fade away and the screen goes black.

Cooper: You would think that you people would have learned after the first time. In the end it takes the young people to get you all to think.

With that said the screen morphs into a shot of Sandy Hook Elementary School in the village of Sandy Hook in Newtown, Connecticut. This time no photos are shown. In their place is an image of the America flag being thrown to the ground as the victims’ names are read.

Until this point Cooper has not been seen. He has remained in the shadows and allowed us to simply watch the footage. After a few moments Cooper does finally appear. The scene lights up and we find Cooper standing on a small American street. It’s a rather nice place with a few kids running around and a couple of fathers cracking a beer open. Cooper is looking sharp. His suit is fresh and he holds a smoke in hand. Like a dragon Cooper blows the smoke from his mouth one final time before speaking.

Cooper: Round of applause. Only here in America could something as disgusting and unthinkable like that happen three separate times. That my friend deserves some type of medal from your government. It could only happen in the land of the free… to be stupid. I don’t know if you guys understand but guns kill.

Cooper feels the need to pause so that his American audience may have the chance to understand what he is saying. The thick headed rednecks are not the smartest bunch and Cooper, having dealt with them before, knows how to conduct himself.

Cooper: Let me say it again for those of you who are either deaf or just rather stupid. When you shoot a firearm and it hits a person, they usually die. Somehow this has escape the common thought of the American people. You guys have lost all sense of humanity and I’m feeling the sickness growing. That’s not good and I will not let it happen to my nation.

Onto the scene walks Iris holding the Australian flag on a large pole. He does his best to wave the flag but the pole is oversized and causes Iris to stumble over down to the ground. Cooper shoots him a look of disappointment before kicking him in the shin.

Cooper: For whatever reason we Australia gravitate toward America. The blind leading the blind. In what world is America a leader of nations? Not in this one. Nope. I will not let my people we dragged through mud by a nation who cannot control guns. The simplest of problems can’t be solved by America? Yet they expect us to follow them into battle? It’s time to move on. Australia I stand here today as your leader and as your future.

Iris has dragged a large poster into our view. It clearly says “Vote Cooper for PRIME MINISTER” and has a picture of Cooper with his arms crossed and a cheeky grin.

Cooper: Welcome to the future ladies and gentlemen. I am Justin Cooper and I will soon be the Prime Minister of the greatest country in the world. I have put forth my name to rule Australia and bring it forward into a new day. I will be the man to break all alliances with America and its dirty little sister Britain. The world knows of Justin Cooper the fighter but soon they will know of me as the leader and the protector of a nation.

Cooper takes a step over to the Australia flag that is now stuck in the ground.

Cooper: This flag stands in America as a sign of rebellion against the evils that try and hold us down. It’s kind of like my situation with professional wrestling. I stand against the pigheaded thought process of the sheep that will follow anything that a bunch of so called creative people tell them. I will never agree with them. I’ve stood against the top guys and I’ve called them all out. Not one of those cowards has ever taken me up on my challenge. I expect this week I will not even get an opponent. They’ll back out like Reynolds does or like Kurtesy does. I’ve called all the top guys for years and not one of them has ever spoken my name.

With the Australian flag in his hand Cooper holds it high in the air. The flag is taken by the strong breeze and Cooper looks like a national hero standing in enemy territory.

Cooper: They may talk bad about me but they will never ever call me out. I’ve talked trash about Ricky Runn and that idiot has never once asked to fight me. I’ve called out Showtime and he has never taken me on. The fact is I’m the most feared guy in this company because I speak out. Just like I speak out against the horrors of this country. I will protect my own and with that I will guide to greatness.

A few moments pass as Cooper stands tall with the Australian flag. His mind clear and his intentions made known. Cooper takes one more look at the camera.

Cooper: Who needs an empire when you have a nation.

 

[Viola Moonlight]

I am extending the deadline by 1 hour - after that, I'm closing the thread. If you would like to post your RP once this thread is closed and you have yet to do so, please do so in the Random RP Thread.

Thank you.

 

[The Doctor]

Signal Panic, Inc. presents
Action Saxton & Saboteur
in
"Japan It!"​

“And welcome back to Randy… ‘Do I make you RANDY baby? Yeah!’ and Ralph… ‘DUDE! I’m gonna ralph! *Puking noise*', the number one morning talk radio show host in Las Vegas among high school dropouts and hung over community college students. I am your host Rockin’ Randy along side Ralph the Mouph, and we are joined here today by two of the hottest competitors in WZCW, Saxton and Saboteur and boy, are we excited to talk to you guys.”

“Pleasure’s all ours, suckas.” Saxton replies to Randy.

“Now Ralph, I understand you’re a big wrestling fan, so big that you actually have tickets to see Saxton and Saboteur live this weekend at the Roulette events. Why don’t you explain to our listeners how the Roulette round works.”

“Well Randy, most of the time the wrestlers know exactly who they’ll be fighting weeks in advance, but during the Roulette round all matches are determined live by roulette wheels. Literally anything can happen this week! Saxton could be challenging former rival Alex Bowen in a mayhem match, Saboteur could be challenging Rush for the EurAsian title, or Saxton and Saboteur could see themselves in a Kingdom Come rematch!”

“Wow, so these are truly unpredictable times for the former tag team champs, as well as the rest of WZCW. Tell me guys, what would be your ideal match this week?”

Saboteur leans towards his microphone and starts to yell into it, “Well Randy, I think Saxton and I can agree on…”

Randy and Ralph grab their headsets with cringes on their face as their ears are blasted by Saboteur’s voice.
“Whoa there Saboteur, you’re not in front of an arena full of screaming fans, you don’t have to yell!”

Saboteur seems unrepentant, but humors Randy by lowering his voice, “Well what I was about to say before I was so rudely interrupted was that Saxton and I are in agreement that the best match possible would be a rematch for the WZCW Tag Team Champions which were awarded to Le Gentleman Masqué and The Beard after they illegally pinned me at last week’s pay per view.”

“And Saxton, you agree with Saboteur?”

“Hell yes sucka! My boy Saboteur and I look better in gold then either of those jive turkeys, and we’ll prove it once we get those titles back around our waists!”

“Interesting, interesting, so now to more pressing questions, what’s the groupie situation like backstage? Inquiring minds want to know!”

Saboteur and Saxton give the radio hosts an unamused glare.

“I mean, come on, you must have ladies lining up just to get 5 minutes with you.”

“All I need is 2 and a half, Randy.”

Ralph hits a button which plays a short clips of crude sex noises followed by a farting noise.

“Ohhhh no! Our guests jut got Ralphed all over! Sorry boys, we’ll make sure you get Randy and Ralph commemorative towels on the way out to dry yourselves off.”

“Look sucka, I did not drag my perfectly chiseled ass out of bed at 5 AM to answer questions about backstage groupies. What Saxton does with the ladies is between him, the fine young thing, and one time Krypto when I didn’t realize he was hiding under the couch, and that’s it! Now get to the real questions before I karate chop your soundboard of fart noises in half!”

Randy and Ralph both take a deep gulp, intimidated by the 270 pound black Adonis. Randy nervously tosses the wrestling duo another question.

“Well, er… in the spirit of randomized competition, we were hoping that maybe you guys had some random stories about your adventures that you would like to tell us. But only if you want to! No pressure or anything! No need to karate chop our faces off or anything Mr. Saxton and Saboteur sir!”

The two heroes think over the request for a few moments. The duo has seen more than their fair share of adventure over the course of their tag team partnership, but which one of their stories is truly the most random?

Saboteur breaks the silence, “I have a random story for you, but it’s so spectacularly random that it can only be told through the art of flashback!”

Saboteur's mask glazes over and his head tilts back. There is a long uncomfortable silence in which the three other men in the room stare awkwardly at each other. Ralph clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck.

Action Saxton reaches out waves a hand in front of Saboteur's face. His masked companion fails to respond.

"Dammit, sucka!" Saxton sighs, shaking his head. "What the hell have I told you about narrating your flashbacks?"

Saboteur still says nothing. Randy leans towards his microphone.

"Well, hey, how about we hear from you, big man?" he says.

Action Saxton straightens up, flexing subtly. "About damn time you asked me direct!" he says. "You can ask any sucka in that locker room, from Alhazred to whoever the hell that new guy who claims to be 'down with the clown' is. Ask anyone I sit next to on a plane, a train, or an automobile. From near to far, from star to star, Action Saxton has the tales to make the women wail, the yarns to burn barns, the stories that get on Maury, can you dig it?"

"We certainly can 'dig it'!"

"Hell yeah, suckas, now sit back and relax and enjoy this funky-ass ride."

-----

Once upon a time, not too long ago, in a far away land that ain't actually that far away thanks to modern technology including my official Action Saxton Moon Boots that you can buy at WZCWshop.com, me (That is, the handsome sucka telling this story, Action Saxton) and my spandex-clad brotha Saboteur were in Japan. You want to know why we were in Japan? WZCW All-Stars, sucka! We got to call the best damn matches y'all ever did see! Dancing aliens! Buddy cops who used kung fu! Robot girls! Some dude who could sing! Sucka, it was the most fun I had ever had in WZCW, except for the time I pounded Alex Bowen's face in, and the time I won the tag team championships, and the time I got to beat up on Saboteur for two hours.

Anyway, me and my boy Saboteur were in Japan, and we thought we'd get ourselves a taste of the culture while we were there. Sucka, I've been to Japan before. Of course I have, how the hell do you think I learned all my forbidden kung-fu techniques from Master Chop Onion? So I really didn't need a taste of the culture. I needed a taste of something else, and it wasn't culture, it wasn't ramen, and it was probably some fine-ass Japanese mommas. I'd ask if you ever had a taste of Japan poontang, but you suckas make fart jokes for a living. Anyway, I'm takin' my boy Saboteur to this restaurant, the best damn noodle stand in Japan. I remember, suckas, I laid out my order and so did my boy, and we got our bowls of the hottest and finest.

"So what are these swirly things inside my bowl of processed brains?" Saboteur asked me.

"Those, sucka," I replied, "are ancient poisonous Japanese ninja stars, and they shamelessly ripped off my design for my patented Action Saxton Throwing Stars and never gave me credit. They put them in every bowl of ramen now in order to silence me, but it never works."

Actually, suckas, they're fish cakes and they're goddamn delicious. I wanted a reason to eat his. Don't tell him that once he wakes up. He still thinks I got a spell cast on me by an ancient wizard that makes me immune to poison. The real reason I'm immune to poison is because of my intense physical training. But I digress.

You see, as I was eating my twenty-fourth bowl of noodles, some big pale sucka sat down next to me. Now, I'm used to people being paler than me, but that ain't the issue here. The issue here is that I was tryin' to eat my goddamn noodles and this sucka wouldn't take his eyes off me! I'm used to being stared at as well, but sucka, when I am eating, you better back the hell up before you get smacked the hell up.

"Ooh hellooo," the creepy-ass sucka breathed in my general direction. You ever see my hit movie Action Saxton Battles The Hunchback Of Notre Dame? Imagine the hunchback. This guy was short, hunched, and his voice was breathy as hell, unlike my rich dulcet tones.

"What do you want, sucka?" I asked, showing incredible constraint considering my noodles were getting cold. I don't think at this point Saboteur even noticed what was going on, as he was still tryin' to work his way through his first bowl.

"I heard that you boys wanted to learn a bit about cul~ture~," said the fat guy, wiggling his caterpillar eyebrows.

"I don't think it's a good idea to trust guys who look like you," Saboteur said. "You can tell how evil is based on how pretty they are, and you're pretty ugly."

The weird-looking fool grinned even wider.

"What if I told you about the possibility of one~million~dollars~??"

Saboteur perked up. I had a bad feeling about this, but before I could say anything that fool had already leaped out of his seat and was shaking the fat sucka's hand.

"We'll do it!" he was saying. "We'll do whatever it is we have to do! So what do we have to do?"

I groaned as soon as I heard what that lard-ass fool had to say.

"You will have to play a game~!"

Now listen, I've been in plenty of games. Basketball games, baseball games, video games, games of thrones, games of death, buryin' games, big game hunting, foot ball games, batsu games, and game overs. But sucka, this was more than just any old game. This sucka took us all around the damn country just to get to his goofy-ass secret lair, and when we reached it, I saw something that would make my red black blood run cold.

Television cameras.

This sucka was going to make us go through some crazy-ass game show to get our cash! Now, if it was a quiz show, we'd be millionaires in no time, as if there is anything Action Saxton knows, it's general knowledge. Did you know that the capital of England is London? You do now, sucka, and if it wasn't for my impeccable knowledge of geography, you'd still be sittin' there thinking to yourself "What the hell is an England?".

But this was not a quiz show. No, it was not. This, sucka, was a game of human bowling. I could tell because of the giant-ass sign hanging from the ceiling that said "Human Bowling" on it. There was a huge crowd around this crazy place, too, all surrounding this giant bowling alley with about a hundred pins lined up. I remember I looked up and saw these two suckas with headsets looking down on us calling the whole thing. And let me tell you, they didn't do half a good a job as we did later that same week! I know because I could hear them using my perfect hearing!

"Oh my word, we're in for a treat!" one of those fools said.

"I think you mean to say that we're in for a beat!" said the other. "it's funny because that rhymes and almost sounds like 'beating'. The joke is that these guys are getting pins to the head!"

And dammit, if we wanted to survive, I knew that one of us was going to get some pins to the head. That fat dude stood in front of us and yelled some crazy-ass Japanese syllables into his mic. Luckily I learned enough from Master Chop Onion to understand what he was saying.

"Bite the wax tadpole!" that sucka said. "Has anyone really been far even as decided to use even go want to do look more like?"

The crowd were all chanting "Potato", and that's when I knew we were in deep trouble. Unfortunately, Saboteur did not seem in any shape to compete in this sadistic game of bowling. That sucka was curled into a ball at my feet.

"Saboteur!" I cried. "What the hell happened to you, my brother?"

"Saxton..." he groaned. "I accidentally ate one of those poisonous spiral things..."

"Damn!" I yelled. "If only I wasn't so foolish as to trick you into thinking that the spiral things were poisonous, perhaps you could have fought with me another day! Forgive me, my man!"

But no amount of fist-shaking at the ceiling was going to help. That sucka was curled so tight you could have called him an armadillo. I knew it was going to be up to me to get us out of this bowling fiend's sadistic scheme, and the only way to do that would be to get a strike.

Now, you may not know this, but I am a damn good bowler. So when I say I'm going to get a strike, I'm going to get a strike.

"I'm going to get a strike!" I said to my brotha. He groaned in response, so I used my rippling muscles and strength to pick that sucka up and toss him down the lane with all of my might.

You ever seen a sucka in spandex go hurtling down a bowling lane at 88 miles per hour? You ever see him catch fire with how fast he was rolling? You ever see him sprout spikes he was rolling that fast? Saboteur's balled-up body slammed into those pins so hard it knocked all nine-hundred of them down. Some of them smashed through the ceiling. Others flew into space. Some of those cheap-ass pins exploded. And several of them hit me where it hurt - my afro.

I was about to emit my classic catchphrase, "Aw hell no!", which is useful for many situations, but now was not the time for catchy catchphrases. You see, as I was too busy worrying about my luxurious 'fro, the entire crowd had stood up and unmasked to reveal their ninja masks.

That's right, suckas. This was all a setup. The fat guy suddenly turned skinny and pulled off his fake head to reveal his real head. Who I saw made my blood run cold.

"No!" I cried.

But yes. It was him. It was my archnemesis. It was El Habanero.

That sucka didn't even stay and fight me! He ordered his ninjas to take us out and escaped using some goofy-ass ninja techniques with a rope. That just goes to show what kind of cowardly suckas ninjas can be. You want to know why I spend my life fighting crime? It's because the difference between being a brother and a ninja is just a small line, and I sure as hell never want to be no ninja!

Those ninjas in the crowd were closing in quick, though, so I readied my head, aimed, and pushed all the bowling pins stuck in my afro out of my afro, hitting twenty of those suckas at once. They fell like dominos, and not like the pizza place with the adorable blue-haired mascot. I mean like the game - And that's another game I've once been part of. I do hold the world record in "Largest Domino Structure Built To Look Like A Famous Action Movie Hero", and if you don't know who that action movie hero is I'll give you a hint: It's me.

However, not all of them fell, and I was clearly outnumbered. Luckily by this time, Saboteur had recovered from not being poisoned and helping me knock down a bunch of pins, so we stood back-to-back, ready to take out the ninjas. And dammit, we fought those suckas and kicked their asses, because when it comes to being a team, ain't none better tha Action Saxton & Saboteur! Even those who beat us ain't better, they just talented and lucky. No one, suckas! You hear that?

So after we kicked a whole horde of ninja ass and put a bunch of 'em on the moon, I punched a hole in a wall and we walked back to our hotel room using my supreme sense of direction, and prepared for the next day. And for breakfast I ate pancakes.

-----

Action Saxton folds his arms impressively as he finishes his story. Randy and Ralph stare at the Badass Brother in wonder. Randy moves closer to his microphone.

"Well, that was certainly an interesting st-"

"Hold up, suckas, I ain't done yet." Action Saxton holds up a hand. "Every story of mine has a moral, and this time there are many. First off, don't go accepting weird offers from strange dudes in ramen shops. Two, train in the art of the hair cannon every day. And three, you never know when something unexpected is going to happen, so if you ain't ready to get out there and do whatever the hell it takes to make it to the next day, even if everything you've been plannin' goes wrong, you ain't worth being in my ring!

Can you dig it?"

Ralph goes to press a button on the soundboard, but Randy stops him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, that was Action Saxton, and, uh..."

He stops and stares at Saboteur, who is still glazed over. His mask drools.

"Don't worry about him, suckas," Action Saxton says. "He gets like this. He'll snap out of it."

"Right!" Randy says. "So stay tuned for more of today's hot hits, as well as everyone's favorite New Age Extravaganza, Riding The Waves With Beach Bum Bob!"

The DJs turn their equipment off and Action Saxton stands up. The three of them shake hands in various combinations, the DJs still glancing at Saboteur. Shrugging, they leave and turn the lights off, the only illumination in the room coming from the lights of the automation system.

Saboteur's head rolls to the left slightly.

 

[Viola Moonlight]

Thread closed.

If you wish to submit an RP and you have yet to do so, please post it in the Random RP Thread.