AF 26: Contract Battle Royal (Names of Participants Inside)

[Kermit]

In a case of nostalgia, WZCW Management will conjure up the ol' Contract Battle Royal to kick off Aftershock. All of the new applicants for the fed will have a chance to showcase their skill and WZCW Management will be watching closely to see who has what it takes.

Participants: Joey Sexton vs. Theron Daggershield vs. Doctor Coberer vs. Bobby Adams vs. Fallout vs. Anthony Corvus

Deadline is Tuesday (August 20, 2013) at 11:59 P.M. (Central Time). Extensions are allowed via request.​

 

[Dave]

Saturday July 27th, 2013
Concord, New Hampshire

In the shoddily put-together ring, two men go back and forth, trading hard shots to the jaw. With every opposing blow, the fans react vigorously; both positively and negatively. That is until the larger of the two men gets the advantage, raking the eyes of the obvious babyface. The blond face recoils in pain, rubbing at hit tear-filled eyes. Sensing his opportunity to strike, the heel moves in for the kill; grabbing the hair of the other man and hoisting him up onto his shoulders. A sudden gasp goes around the arena as the heel parades around the ring, showing off his trophy to the fans; their hero. That is until the face begins to shake his body, hoping to free himself of the grip on his arms. Finally, he comes loose, dropping to the mat and looking to press home an advantage of his own. He quickly runs off the ropes as the much larger heels turns around. The face launches himself forwards, looking for a flying forearm smash but the resilient heel has it well-scouted. The face stops suddenly, his back to his opponent. Until he is rolled up from behind, a small package the result.

1...

2...​

The face attempts to break free as he recovers from the shock of being suddenly rolled up. But his opponent has a handful of his tights.

3!​

Boos immediately begin to fly around the arena, the charismatic face has been defeated. And with such a horrible finish to the match, there is no respite against the victorious heel. Jumping to his feet, the heel throws his arms on the air, a dry and dark smile appearing on his face.

Announcer: Here is your winner... The Crusher, Chuck Collins!

The face cannot believe it, Collins has finally beat him. But with such underhanded tactics? What kind of victory was that? Quickly getting to his feet, the face feels a rush of emotion sweeping over him like an inferno; Collins had to pay for this. But before he could make his presence felt, The Crusher was out of the ring, hastily up the ramp and through the curtain.

Crowd: BO-BBY-AD-AMS! BO-BBY-AD-AMS!

The face, now revealed to be Bobby Adams, allows his head to slump to his chest, the exhilaration of the match escaping his body and immediately replaced with crushing disappointment. But the warmth of the embrace from the crowd felt good. Raising his head with a slight smile, Adams begins to clap the response of the fans. Adams goes to ringside and takes a golden belt from a table perched there. Slinging his Championship over his shoulder, Adams begins to make his way up the ramp, slapping some hands of the fans in the process. The roars of the fans and their appreciation for the contest still ringing in his ears as he passes through the curtain, where Chuck Collins is waiting for him; a towel dripping with sweat in his hand.

Chunk: What a finish! They're going nuts out there!

Bobby:What did I tell you!? They hate when a heel gets one over on the face like that. The heat out there is crazy.

Collins hands over the towel to Adams and gives him a warm smile to match.

Chunk: Next week is going to be killer. Think about it...

Collins moves in closer to his “opponent”, throwing a damp and sweaty arm around his shoulder. With his free hand, Collins writes out their names in the vacant space before their eyes.

Chunk: Chuck “The Crusher” Collins versus Bobby Adams for the New Hampshire Professional Wrestling Heavyweight Championship!

Adams does not say anything but offers Collins a smile in return as he peels his heavy arm from his shoulders.

Chunk: And when you finally put my shoulders on that mat and pin me, those fans are going to go wild for you, man. We're going to give them the best match they've seen.

Collins laughs heartily as slaps Adams on the shoulder.

Bobby: Yeah, if I get the time off of work, maybe.

Chunk: Dude, don't worry. I already talked to Harkins, he's excited about the match. It's not every day that two of your delivery drivers have a match to settle the score for the Heavyweight Championship of anything. As long as I drop him off a front-row ticket for the big show, then he's golden.

Adams smiles.

Bobby: Thanks, Chunk, I appreciate that.

Chunk: Hey! What are friends for?

For a second, the two men share in a perfect moment. That is until a booming voice comes firing down the corridor. Bobby looks down the corridor, squinting past Chunk only to reveal Jim Hooper, founder and co-ordinator of NHPW. Jim was a world-weary man, well-travelled and out-spoken. Bobby and Chunk always appreciated what he had did for them but his voice still sent a shiver down their spines when it came.

Hooper: What the Hell is this? A love-in? Standing there as if you're about to have a tender moment. Well guess what? This isn't some sleazy motel, boys! This is my wrestling federation and I don't want to see it!

Chunk finally turns towards Hooper just as his boss finally reaches the two men but quickly rolls his eyes in an indignant fashion.

Hooper: I want to see you at each other's throats! I want to see you rip each other new limbs and new assholes! You think these people want to see your kisses and cuddles? They want to see your blood, your emotions spilling over.

Bobby: Come on, Boss. You know that Chunk and I are best friends. We have been for as long as I can remember. In fact, probably longer than that.

This seems to satiate the boss somewhat as he softens his tone slightly.

Hooper: Well, think about this. Next week is the biggest show in this company's long history, NHPW Judgement Day.

Chunk: We know, Boss. How could we forget? We're going to light it up out there, let me tell you.

Hooper raises a hand to Chunk, pointing directly in his face.

Hooper: I don't wanna hear talk and idle words, Collins! I want you two to put on the best match of the night. I want blood, sweat and tears!

Bobby: I said that, that's what we're planning.

Hooper changes his attack towards Bobby, a glint of passionate anger in his eye.

Hooper: Well, plan for this, pretty boy. Next week, he's taking the title!

Hooper grabs the Championship from Bobby and pushes it into the chest of The Crusher. With his mouth slightly open, Bobby stares into the eyes of his boss. Hooper doesn't say anything else but gives the soon to be former Champion a sharp look as he leaves them, a trail of destruction in his wake.

Bobby: Wh...

Chunk turns to his friend and immediately attempts to hand the still-Champion his title back. Steadying himself, Bobby lets out a sharp sigh before looking up to his friend.

Bobby: No, you keep it, Champ. You've earned it.

Collins: You gotta know, man, I didn't know anything about that until just now.

Bobby: I know, amigo. But hey, you'll be a great Champion when the time comes. And nothing changes for next week. We're still going to to give those people a Hell of a show. They're going to be talking about it for years.

Bobby and Chunk give each other a quick handshake before heading off down the corridor.

* * *​

Saturday July 27th, 2013
Rimmon Heights, Manchester, New Hampshire

Stephanie: He did what?

Bobby: Yeah, he just gave it to Chunk.

Bobby throws his bag down by the side of the couch before throwing himself down upon the rest of it. The home of the Adams' was a dreary affair. The furniture had seen better days but the home was still full of character and life. Bobby and Steph had did what they could with it, especially with a meagre wage between the two of them but it wasn't the place for a child. Especially not one so young as Calvin.

Stephanie: Can he just do that? Surely there's something you can do?

Bobby gives her a warm look as she searches for answers in his expression.

Bobby: Of course he can, it's his promotion.

Stephanie: But to Chunk!? He can't be serious!? Who would give their finest Championship to a man who allows himself to be called Chunk?

Chunk wasn't his name, it was Chuck. But he was never a slim fellow, not least at school and kids could be cruel. But Chunk was never one to shy away from who he was, he just embraced these barbs and eventually they would just disappear. For as long as Bobby could remember he had been calling his best friend 'Chunk'. I think Chuck even liked it, perhaps thinking that it was a thinly-veiled compliment for his new found muscular physique.

Bobby: Chunk is a good guy, Steph, he deserves this.

Stephanie bring s a coffee through from the kitchen and sets it down on the table for Bobby. Setting herself to a chair across the small room, a worried look begins to cross her features.

Stephanie: I don't trust him, Bobby. And you worked so hard for that Championship. We were only just getting by on the wage you were getting from being Champion. Now what are we going to do?

Bobby sits up on his seat, reaching his hand across the wooden table that his coffee rests on and grabbing hers.

Bobby: We'll manage, Steph. We always have and we always will. I'll just look for more hours at work and see what happens.

Stephanie: More hours? You already work so hard. And you never get to see Calvin any more. How long is it going to be like this?

Bobby doesn't have an answer for his beloved wife. And when it came to their son, Bobby did always feel as though he was making allowances for time in the wrong place. But what more could he do? He had to keep a roof over his head and his son and wife fed. And what with still having to pay for his Mom's residential care, there really wasn't a lot of options open to the man.

Bobby: It'll work out. It has to.

Steph gives Bobby a reassured look and squeezes his hand.

Stephanie: I hope so.

* * *​

NHPW Judgement Day
Saturday, August 3rd, 2013
Concord, New Hampshire

There was a tension in the air as Bobby Adams arrived at the Everett Arena that night; a buzz in the air that he never experienced before. It may have been the biggest night in the history of NHPW but Bobby hadn't prepared himself for an environment like this. But there was something deeper than nervous apprehension with the boys in the back; something more exciting than that. As Bobby approached a group of wrestlers near the curtain he could hear they're excited muttering.

Bobby: What's going on?

Wrestler: Yeah, as if you don't know, Superstar.

Bobby: What?

Bobby was no stranger to cryptic messages from wrestlers; it was second nature to these men and women. Perhaps it was just their nature but Bobby had quickly grown accustomed to being looked down upon by older and more experienced ring veterans. But as the bulky and slightly overweight wrestler pushed past him, a look crossed his eyes. The look was more than just anger but of sheer resentment. Taking the opportunity to peer out into the crowd, Bobby felt a shiver run down his spine, it was as close to a full house as you could get. There must have been well over 2,000 people there he had thought to himself.

Hooper: Adams!

Feeling that same shiver run down his spine a second time, Adams immediately recognised the voice of his promoter Jim Hooper. Jim already looked looked displeased and that meant bad things for the current Heavyweight Champion.

Hooper: My office. Now!

With that, Hooper had disappeared down the corridor, his pace quickened somewhat. Taking one last look at the crowd, Adams felt his heart sink. Here it was, the biggest match of his entire wrestling career and he would be losing to his fierce rival. But if anyone should be given the chance to run with the Championship, it should be Chunk. He has worked just as hard as Bobby, if not harder at times. He deserved this opportunity. But it still didn't take away the sting of having to lose the Championship in front of all those fans.

Moving around the corner and into a small office, Adams found Hooper sitting neatly behind a wooden desk, a glass of scotch in his hand and a half-drawn cigarette in the other; routinely alternating between the two.

Hooper: Close the door, Bobby. Not everyone is going to want to hear this. Hell, some of them already have.

A look of confusion suddenly appeared on the features of Bobby Adams, he could feel it. His brow had furled and his mouth was slightly ajar. But he couldn't stop himself. Closing the door, Adams turns back towards Jim, waiting for the news to break.

Hooper: You see all of that? All of that fan fair, all of that excitement? That's all for you, son.

Bobby: Huh?

Hooper: Those boys in the back, they know what's going on; they've seen it a hundred times before.

Bobby: Boss, I don't know what the Hell is going on here.

Jim lets out a small chuckle before drawing back on his cigarette once more.

Hooper: A couple of weeks ago, WrestleZone Championship Wrestling got in touch with me. Jim, they said, we're looking to pad out numbers a little after Kingdom Come five. Turns out they had been expecting a lot of natural turnover in terms of staff after the big show. And what's more, they were looking for some kids to fill up their roster.

At that, Bobby sprung to life, tossing his bag onto the floor and moving towards Jim, a look of excitement now replacing his shock.

Bobby: You're kidding!? I gotta tell Steph. And Chunk. And everyone!

Hooper: You're a good kid, Bobby. You always have been. You work hard, you do some good work out there. But those guys in the back, they've been waiting their whole lives for an opportunity like this. To them, you're just the little asshole that got in their way. So that frosty reception you got when you walked through the back, get used to that. This business, it takes so much from you, kid. And the more you put in, the more people think you're trying to outdo them.

Hooper stops suddenly, his voice catching in his throat.

Hooper: Last week I gave WZCW the all-clear to come and have a look at you tonight. They want to see what you can do out there and if you're lucky, they're going to put you in a match at Aftershock 26 against some other guys in your shoes.

Bobby: I can't belie...

With that almost speechless remark, Jim gets out of his chair and sets his drink on the table. Moving around the table, Hooper never takes his eyes off of the current Heavyweight Champion that stands before him. As he reaches his target, Hooper puts one hand on Bobby's shoulder.

Hooper: Listen, son. You worked hard for this moment. But just because you're happy, it doesn't mean that everyone is going to happy for you. Those boys out there would give everything in a heartbeat to get as close to this moment as you are. And it's up to you to make sure that you don't give them a reason to. You need to give everything out there tonight. And when you get to WZCW, you give it everything you have until you can't give any more. This is it, son.

Hooper slaps the shoulder of his Heavyweight Champion.

Hooper: This is it.

Bobby: Thank you...

Hooper gives Adams a smile, an act that Bobby had never really seen before and might not see again. In that moment, clarity. This was his golden opportunity and he had to make it count. With that, Adams turns on his heels and heads out into the hall. There, he scans the faces until he finds Chunk hidden at the back. Bobby can barely contain his smile any more but the same cannot be said of Chunk. Standing towards the back, his back to wall, Chunk sends a scowl towards his long-time friend that says more than words ever could. After a moment of staring, Chunk shakes his head and disappears from view.

* * *​

Later that night
NHPW Heavyweight Championship Match
NHPW Judgement Day

Adams lies on the mat, waiting for the final blow to his Championship reign. Above him, Chunk stands in full wrestling gear. Chunk signals to the crowd that this match is over and gets a volley of abuse back as the fans rally against him. But he is not to be disturbed. Climbing to the top rope, Chunk stands for a moment, soaking in the anticipation and crowd reaction before launching himself from his elevated position and plunging his elbow deep into the sternum of his supposed best friend. Adams lets out a yell of agony as the move connects and the crowd comes to an immediate silence. The pace of the match had been frantic until this point and both men, who knew each other so well, had the fans eating out of their hands. But Chunk had been overly aggressive with his move set and Adams was hurt.

Chunk laid on the canvas, calming himself in the eerie silence of the arena before stirring somewhat. Adams chest was screaming with pain as Chunk slowly crawled over the champion. The crowd takes a collective intake of breath as the referee counts the fall. Adams couldn't possibly go down like this, surely? He couldn't allow it. Chunk should have been happy for him but a resentment was immediately growing in Chunk in jealousy. Why should Adams let him take something from him? And especially something so precious as his Championship belt?

1...​

He wouldn't let someone so petty have it!

2...​

He couldn't.

…

…

3!​

The crowd immediately jumps to it's feet; they simply cannot believe what has happened. Their hero, the man of the people Bobby Adams, has been defeated. The Championship would go to Chuck Collins; a man who would use his power to keep them in line and those beneath him bent at the knee in his presence. But not Bobby Adams; he would not need to relent to the new Champion. His sacrifice of the NHPW Heavyweight Championship for just one shot at living his dream inside a WZCW ring was an easy sacrifice to make, even if he didn't agree with the decision or the tactics of his former friend.

Announcer: Here is your winner and new Heavyweight Champion.... Chuck “The Crusher” Collins!

Chunk rises to his feet before grabbing the Championship from the hands of the referee. Perhaps to his credit, Adams cannot tell where The Crusher ends and Chunk, his best friends, begins. It is clear to Bobby that something has snapped within his friend. Under a flurry of boos, Chuck leaves the ring, parading his Championship as Adams gets to his feet.

Crowd: BO-BBY-AD-AMS! BO-BBY-AD-AMS!

Slowly but surely, Adams rises to his feet as the fans sound their appreciation for his time and effort as NHPW Champion. But this would be the last time he would stand before them and it was as a loser. He hoped that he would miss this but new pastures beckoned him and it was exciting. For the first time in his life, he had something to look forward to; to realise a dream. At Aftershock 26, he would look his new life in the eye and he would not back down. This was his one shot, his one opportunity and he would not waste it.

 

[Dan Severn's Moustache]

ENTER THE BATTLEFIELD​

“The tension.” proclaimed Fallout clearly to himself. “It’s...palpitating.”

In a dilapidated alleyway nearby the motel that he stayed in over-night, Fallout leant against the solid, concrete wall of a run-down cottage. The puddles from the storm during the early hours still remained present, although the morning sun had begun to vanquish the water. Flickers of sunlight reflected from the goggles of Fallout’s mask and beamed down to the puddle that he was staring at, beginning to evaporate the puddle and creating an omnipotent image.

Fallout himself was locked in a motion of slowly opening and closing his hands without pause, like a predator crunching on its prey. He knew that soon the wait would finally end, and finally his thirst for suffering would be quenched, finally he could end his fast, finally...

“BEEEP BEEEP!” The sound of a car stirred Fallout from his sadistic thoughts. Disgruntled, Fallout began to tremble with rage, priming himself to detonate. It seemed as if Fallout would be receiving target practice on this hapless driver as he strolled to the location of the sound.

But Fallout hesitated. He’d been doing well so far. He’d not wounded, he’d not maimed, and he hadn't even attacked since arriving at America. He was not throwing that away. Not after yesterday where he almost jeopardized the contingency plan.

*fade to white*

Emerging from a corner in the busy street, donning a large, black trench coat and with his head held down, Fallout hurried through the crowds in order to avoid being noticed.

Fallout was not used to calm and order ever since the Spetsnaz days. He was finding it difficult to adjust to the new lifestyle that he had planned for himself, and his being ached to cause some calamity, some panic, some chaos, anything to exhilarate him slightly. But he knew he couldn't.

He slipped and slithered through the masses. In a matter of moments, Fallout’s perceptive mind noticed that there was something wrong. The masses were avoiding him. The masses were trying to give him a wide berth. They were fleeing.

Fallout needed to see more to take it in. Fallout would never be satisfied with one piece of evidence. He lifted his head slightly to analyse the civilians, and that’s when he came face to face with the little girl.

The girl and Fallout both stopped dead in their tracks and stared at each other, dumbfounded, using their minds of far different calibres and speeds to calculate what was facing them.

To Fallout, the little girl was the seed of humanity. The thing he despised. The thing he had brought himself to resent. Fallout saw the frozen face of the girl and tilted his head to the side, puzzled as to how she had reacted to him.

To the girl, Fallout represented the true personification of fear, staring coldly at her with a lack of emotion, whilst the sound of raspy and heavy breathing made her feel a cold chill down the back of her neck. Then it hit her.

The girl screamed with absolute terror before beginning to cry loudly. Fallout did not react, restraining himself from doing anything stupid. Very quickly, a large group of bystanders crowded around as the girl’s father began to approach Fallout. Scared beyond all recognition, the girl hid her face inside her father’s leg, but her loud sobs could still be heard very clearly and loudly, attracting people like moths to a lamp to the scene.

The father continued to approach Fallout, who was still gazing at the floor and trying to take in exactly what happened. The father approached with a degree of caution, taking note of the physical size advantage that Fallout possessed over him and being aware of the strange noises coming from Fallout. He would do anything to defend his daughter.

“Hey!” he shouted at Fallout before taking a deep breath. “Don’t you dare scare my daughter like that again or there’s going to be hell to pay you son of a...”

Suddenly, Fallout’s head shot up to face the father in the face. Fallout instantly recognised the face. It was the face that most of the cowardly humans made to act tough, to act as if they were superior or in control. Fallout loathed this confidence from humanity with a burning passion. It was the face that many would-be white knights would make before unsuccessfully trying to bring down Fallout.

Then, the father broke out into laughter.

“HAHAHA! LOOK AT THIS GUY. HE SOUNDS JUST LIKE DARTH VADER”. he guffaws in Fallout’s face. The entire crowd of at least 50 people all laughed along with him. Even the daughter looked up and began laughing and pointing at Fallout. Fallout looked around quickly and in every single one he saw the same thing: Sheep.

“Hey, I just want to let you know.” the father continued, still chuckling slightly. “World War 2’s been finished for a while now, you can take your gas mask off now!” More laughter and more pointing as the father then spat on Fallout’s trench coat.

Fallout began to tremble. He could imagine it in his head. The sudden boot to the skull. The application of the Cold Fusion. The bleeding from the mouth. Just like old times. Back when he was footloose.

About 100 people were now crowded around, and all were pointing and laughing at Fallout as he struggled immensely to keep his rage in. He quivered, he shook.

It overwhelmed him.

Fallout stormed through the crowd and through a nearby series of alleys, with the crowd continuing to laugh and point at him all the while. Fallout turned around momentarily and saw the father smiling smugly in his general direction with new-found confidence.

Every being of Fallout yearned to put an end to the wretched scum.

Turning around, Fallout fled from the scene.

***​

Fallout eventually escaped the embarrassment after walking through the alleys for a while. In a quiet location, away from all else apart from an empty road, an old cottage and a worn-down motel in the distance, Fallout finally had the opportunity to create conflict.

With the only target in range: Himself.

“I WILL END THEM ALL! ALL OF THEM! ALL OF THEM! BASTARDS!” he yelled loudly, whilst repeatedly punching the wall of the cottage.

And then, an intervention. From himself.

“The guidelines.” he said calmly to himself. “The code of conduct. I've got to follow them to survive”.

For a moment, Fallout stopped punching the wall. Thoughts raced through his perverted mind, before his anger resumed.

“SCREW THEM ALL!” he screamed yet again. “SCREW EVERYTHING! HUMANITY IS DOOMED; I’LL BE DOING A FAVOUR TO THE WORLD!"

Fallout then collapsed to his knees in his state of mind and puts his hands over his mask in despair. Slowly but surely, the hands slipped from the mask and eventually fell to the floor. There was then a short pause in that the only thing that could be heard is Fallout’s raspy, yet rapid breathing. Fallout then gave himself some encouraging words, trying to spur himself on.

“I've survived a nuclear explosion. I've survived a huge intake of radiation. I've survived many dangerous operations and missions. Surely the great Fallout cannot be bested by human disposition towards him?”

Fallout rose to one leg with his confidence regained slightly.

“I'm being ridiculed and laughed at by the common thugs, children are crying at the sight of my face, I'm being avoided by the commoners, and it’s just...” Fallout’s tone changes into a more sinister and menacing one. “What I always wanted! What have I become!? Crying over the things I enjoy!?”

Fallout, with his confidence fully replenished, stood up and leant against the wall casually.

“To spread fear and to create chaos. That’s my ambition for god’s sake. That’s my goal! If I can do that without violence, then I know that I'm succeeding! The thugs only laugh at me because they know I can’t hit back, they’re cowards! By god, they fear me. All of them.”

Fallout’s 2 sides continued their debate with one another.

“Humanity’s thoughts are to be taken with a pinch of salt. They are scum, they are nothing to me.”

Fallout expressed some doubt from this statement.

“But all of them resent me, ALL OF THEM! I’M OUTNUMBERED!”

Fallout was primed to re-assume his aggressive persona, as he began clenching his fists.

“Exactly.” he told himself sternly. “Channel your aggression into your match at WZCW tomorrow. You won’t get in trouble there as you’ll be able to inflict all the pain you want on the poor bastard you draw.”

All of Fallout’s doubt disappeared. He knew that the wait wouldn't last long now and soon, he’d be in the ring, ready to unleash his contained onslaught on his unsuspecting foe.

“Pain.” he said softly.

“PAIN!” he bellowed.

“P-A-I-N!” he spelt it out, taking in every single letter and relishing each and every one.

“Glorious.” he stated quietly.

“HEY! FALLOUT!” came a voice from a limousine pulling up in front of Fallout, bringing Fallout to his senses.

“COME ON NOW!” the chauffeur yelled. “DON’T WANT TO BE LATE FOR YOUR FIRST WZCW MATCH, DO YOU!?”

Fallout realised he was right. There was no way that he was missing out on inflicting pain legally tonight. Fallout paced quickly to the clean, slick limousine and entered in a swift motion. The limousine engine starts with a grunt before the vehicle draws away from the alley and continues along the vacant path to the WZCW arena.

“Welcome Fallout.” the chauffeur said. “I’m sure you’re excited to see who you've drawn for your first match.”

“Of course.” Fallout replied professionally. The atmosphere was as if a bounty hunter was receiving his next assignment.

The chauffeur took a piece of paper out of his coat pocket and said “Here you are” before passing it on to Fallout. Fallout took it firmly and took a good, long look at the card in silence.

After a while, the chauffeur saw a chance to generate some conversation.

“What do you think?” he smiled. “Not what you were expecting at all, is it? You nervous?”

Fallout felt undermined by the fool.

“Do I look like the kind of person to be nervous?” he stated coldly to the chauffeur. Fallout was intent on creating an impression straight away.

The chauffeur driver looked at his rear mirror. Through it, he could see Fallout, staring coldly at him. He couldn't quite make out his intentions, but the stare said it all: This was not a man that could be intimidated. This was not a man that would back down from a fight normally. This was a particularly brutal individual that wouldn't allow himself to be stopped, or even slowed down.

Fallout had his answer from the cautious look on the chauffeur’s face.

“It would be wise taking it in when we’re in less danger. As you know better than I, dangerous driving...”

A piercingly loud horn could be heard which brought the chauffeur to his senses. He was on the wrong side of the road! He struggled to get the limousine back on his side of the road. He was just in time. No sooner had he adjusted the vehicle on the correct side of the road, a truck roared past the limousine.

“Can end a lot of lives.” finished Fallout, enjoying the chauffeur’s expression of terror on his face.

The chauffeur was shaken after the whole ordeal as the entirety of the journey was silent. Both Fallout and the chauffeur completely ignored one another and set their minds to their respective tasks.

When the limousine pulled up into the WZCW private parking lot, Fallout exited the vehicle and slowly strolled to his waypoint. The chauffeur took his time to monitor Fallout, staring at the strange man in awe for a few moments, before talking to himself.

“Shit. I’m stuck with that psychopath now, aren't I?” He then shook his head slowly before driving away.

Fallout himself was greeted by WZCW’s own Becky Serra. Becky had been warned about the psychotic nature of Fallout prior to meeting him. She knew what she was dealing with here. She knew to tread carefully, but she needed to get the answers in order to get the job done.

“Welcome Fallout to WZCW! I'm Becky Serra, and I'm here to interview you before your big match!" she said happily with a forced smile on her lips.

Fallout was not amused.

“When do I get to fight?” he demanded.

“Easy there Fallout.” Becky replied carefully, but cheerily. “We’ve got to interview you first. Standard procedure!”

“If that’s the way you want it, then so be it.” Fallout stated. “As long as I get into the arena sooner rather than later.”

“Come right this way!”

Becky entered the backstage area and Fallout followed. Throughout his path, people stopped what they were doing and stared in awe at this new figure. Fallout prided from this attention. He knew he was creating fear from the get-go. With his incredibly perceptive mind, he quickly made out who was who, from the experienced veterans, to the nervous newcomers to those simply part of the production crew. He had taken a pencil he found on the floor of the limousine and he struck a cross through a name every time he identified them. He could tell by posture, by expression and by knowledge their intentions, their strategies and their mind-set. He had a battle plan established for each and every one of them.

Once both Becky and Fallout arrived at the brightly-lit interviewing area, Fallout understood what was going to happen. He was going to be broadcast across the world. Cameras were set up everywhere in order to capture the interview from every angle. Fallout was ready to steal the show. He cleared his throat and stood in front of the cameras alongside Becky.

“Joining me at this time is somebody that will be competing in the Contract Battle Royale tonight!” said Becky with a toothy grin on her face. “Ladies and gentlemen, Fallout.”

Fallout stood blankly. He wanted everybody to take in his appearance. After a pause, Becky was confused as to why Fallout was so quiet and decided to give Fallout his first question.

“Fallout, you didn't find out who your opponents were or how many they were until you were told earlier. Can you give us your thoughts on the match stipulation tonight?”

Fallout replied presumptuously “The only thing I love more than creating sorrow and inflicting pain is creating sorrow and inflicting pain on multiple people. I think I'm going to love this match tonight Miss Serra, because from whatever perspective that you look at it, there is going to be carnage tonight.”

Becky was thinking about how that this was going better than she expected. She decided to push the second question.

“What are your thoughts on your opponents tonight?” she asked.

Fallout wasted no time answering “Sexton has to be the most pathetic human being that I've ever seen. He acts like an absolute clown and he’s particularly desperate. Daggershield should simply go back to being a basement dweller; he’s not fit for this. Coberer is a man I can admire for his personality; it’s a shame that he has to resort to dirty tactics for the victory. Adams is just your cookie-cutter, generic hero and Corvus is a particularly cute individual who thinks that he can change the world works, when you simply cannot. I can’t say I'm frightened by the oddball competition tonight.”

Becky forcefully laughed with Fallout when he insulted his competitors, but she was secretly pleased on how well the interview was going. Time for question number #3.

“You’ve dealt with difficult situations before. You were originally known as Viktor Petrov...”

Fallout snatched a nearby mug lying on the table and threw it to the ground with pure ferocity. The mug fragmented into many pieces. Fallout shook in anger.

“VIKTOR PETROV IS DEAD! VIKTOR PETROV IS DEAD!” he screamed, before flipping the table and knocking over half of the cameras assembled around him. Becky Serra flinched with fear.

Fallout began hyperventilating loudly in the face of Becky Serra. Time for question number #1.

“And do you know, Miss Serra...WHY...Viktor Petrov is dead?” he inquired. Becky could not answer.

“Hmm? No answer?” queried Fallout. Becky continued to be frozen in fear.

“I’ll tell you Miss Serra.” the psychopath continued. He then clenched his fists and yelled at the top of his lungs “BECAUSE OF THE FUCKING MASK!”

He then swung his fist back, ready to hit Becky Serra with a horrific strike. But he paused. He saw the look of sheer dread in her face. He didn't want to waste his energy here. He lowered his fist and maintained a neutral composure.

“Are you a perceptive woman, Miss Serra?” he asked mildly.

Becky began to realise that the situation had been resolved, although it didn't change the fact that she was terrified after the whole ordeal.

“I suppose I am.” she stuttered.

Fallout looked into her eyes.

“You’re lying.” he declared. “I can tell. I'm a perceptive man myself. You have no clue on how to judge me. But I know how to judge you.”

Fallout continued to stare deeply at Becky before continuing his rant.

“You enjoy working here. You enjoy your work regardless of the risks that one opposes on oneself. Think about it. If a psychotic madman were to snap right here, right now, you couldn't handle the punishment. You would be crippled, you would be mutilated, and you would be destroyed.”

Becky stammered "I’d...I’d call for security."

Fallout found this amusing.

“Security? SECURITY!? Don’t make me laugh. I am sure that no mere security force can stop the man in question. Aside from the fact that said madman could end you with a single blow before security could even arrive; the strength of the insane could easily prevail over any simple security force. You’re playing with fire here, Miss Serra. Think about it carefully. This said man could break you like the mug that lies before my feet.”

“It...it would be wise to end out interview here Fallout.” she stuttered.

“Yes, it would be wise to end our discussion here, Miss Serra. But keep in mind what I just told you. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the fire. Before the fire here in the WZCW consumes you.”

Fallout then walked away and prepared himself for the combat that awaited him. Becky Serra was a nervous wreck. She had been absorbed of all energy she had. She stumbled away, dumbfounded, yet horrified by the whole ordeal.

"Pain." Fallout mutters one more time. It was time to enter the battlefield.

 

[Sexcellence of Sexecution]

August 15th, 2013

He undresses women with his eyes. Literally.

The Old Spice Man wants to smell like him.

He is the biological father of the Royal Baby.

He is...the Sexiest Man in the World.

A man is seated at a table in a bar, flanked by two beautiful women. The man is sporting a leopard print vest, handlebar moustache and crocodile tooth necklace. His hair resembles that of Dog the Bounty Hunter or Michael P.S. Hayes, depending on which reference you prefer. He stares intensely into the camera and licks his lips as the sweat drips down his chest, highlighting his mediocre physique. The women on either side of him look as though they do not want to be here. This is Joey Sexton, the Sexcellence of Sexecution.

Joey Sexton: ...Stay sexy my friends.

JOEY SEXTON, COMING SOON TO WZCW.

SEX.
SELLS.

Director: Well, what do you think?

Sexton: It's perfect. Especially the part about the Royal Baby.

Director: I knew you'd like that.

Sexton: Yeah man...that Kate Middleton...I'd go Downton on her Abbey if you know what I mean.

Director: Ha. British references.

Suddenly, Joey Sexton's agent, “Slick” Vick McCallum, comes storming into the screening room. He seems quite upset.

Vick McCallum: NO, NO, NO! Biological father of the Royal Baby? Are you kidding me?

Sexton: What? Steve thought it was funny.

Director: Yeah and so did I.

McCallum: Wait, you're not Steve?

Director: What?

McCallum: Never mind. The point is that this vignette is too sleazy. I have it on good authority that WZCW doesn't just want sleaze for the sake of sleaze. Do you want to be Thrash and Angel's new punching bag?

Sexton (whispering): Who the hell are Thrash and Angel?

McCallum: And where did you find these women in the video? Did you just pick up two hookers and toss them 10 bucks each?

Director: Actually we paid them 20.

Before he can offer a retort, McCallum's phone begins to ring. He exits the room in order to take the call, slamming the door behind him.

Sexton: Vick just doesn't get it. It's not about being sleazy, it's about being sexy. WZCW needs Joey Sexton as the next World Heavyweight Champion. They need Joey Sexton to bring sexy back to WZCW. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if I get put in the Gold Rush Tournament for my debut.

McCallum hangs up the phone and comes back into the room.

McCallum: That was WZCW management that just called me. Your vignettes are being cancelled. Instead you are going to have to compete for a contract in a 6-man battle royal.

Sexton: A 6-man battle royal?!? Against who?

McCallum: Some pretty tough competition actually. Theron Daggershield, Doctor Corberer, Bobby Adams, Fallout and Anthony Corvus.

Sexton: I thought you said WZCW wanted to give me a huge push as soon as I made my debut, now I have to fight for a contract?!? I was supposed to be in the World Title hunt! What am I supposed to do with all the promos I wrote about Showtime David Cougar?!?

McCallum: I'm sorry Joey, but it looks like you're going to have to start from the bottom...

Sexton: Start from the bottom? Do I look like Drake to you?!?

Director: Drake Callahan? Because from the right angle--

Sexton: NO, NOT DRAKE F***ING CALLAHAN!

Director: Then who--

Sexton: THE RAPPER! DRAKE THE RAPPER! HE'S FROM TORONTO, HE HAS A SONG CALLED “STARTED FROM THE BOTTOM”!

McCallum: Listen Joey--

Sexton: No, you listen Vick. I don't need you. I can represent myself. Get out of here, you're fired.

And with that, Joey Sexton walks away, incredibly frustrated by this tragic turn of events. He heads to his dressing room to pack up his things, but as he is doing so he catches a glimpse of himself in the dressing room mirror. Distracted by his own vanity, he begins to pose. As he continues gazing into the mirror, his reflection begins to change. He sees a cleanly shaven man with short brown hair looking back at him.

Sexton: No...this can't be real...

He slowly moves closer to the mirror, proceeding very cautiously.

Sexton: This is not who you are...Skip Rogers is dead...

He takes another step closer to the mirror.

Sexton: You are Joey Sexton...you are the Sexcellence of Sexecution...

He reaches out with hands and touches the reflection.

Sexton: You are going to beat Theron Daggershield, Doctor Corberer, Bobby Adams, Fallout and Anthony Corvus! You are going to win that battle royal and win that contract!

His face is now almost touching the mirror.

Sexton: You are going to become World Heavyweight Champion because you are Joey Sexton, and you are THAT...DAMN...SEX-AY!

He smashes the mirror to pieces.

----------------

August 17th, 2013

Today, Joey Sexton is in the studio at WZCW headquarters, preparing to shoot his first promo for WZCW.com. The subject of this promo: the contract battle royal. The Sexcellent One is sporting his signature zebra print pants and aviator sunglasses, along with his new piece of merchandise, a bright pink T-shirt that reads “SEX SELLS” (available now, supplies limited).

Becky Serra: Please welcome my guest, one of the top up-and-coming stars in the wrestling business today, “The Sexcellence of Sexecution” Joey Sexton...

Sexton stands awkwardly close to Becky, breathing heavily onto her neck. Becky continues, attempting to remain professional.

Becky: ...so Joey, on Aftershock you will be competing against Theron Daggershield, Doctor Corberer, Fallout, Anothy Corvus and Bobby Adams in a contract battle royal. What's your game plan heading into this match?

He slowly turns his head towards the camera, and takes the microphone from Becky.

Sexton: You know Becky, I've trained all around the world. I've been to Japan and Iran. I've been to Siberia and Latveria. I've been to Romania, Scandinavia and Transylvania. And now I'm finally here in WZCW. The fact of the matter is that sex sells, read the T-shirt, it's just a fact. And that's why WZCW needs Joey Sexton. I'm here to bring sexy back to WZCW, I'm here to take this company to a new level of sexcess.

Now let's have a look at those opponents you named Becky. You've got Theron Daggershield, who really is living in a fantasy world if he thinks he can measure up to Joey Sexton. Then you've got Doctor Corberer, who knows all about the human anatomy, but still can't manage to bring a woman to the point of orgasm. What about Fallout and Anthony Corvus? A radioactive freak and a dude in make-up. Oh and then there's Bobby Adams, whose sister I hear is still single. Maybe after I beat him in the battle royal I'll go pay her a visit. Or maybe I'll pay a visit to his little high school sweetheart Stephanie, and show he what it's like to be with a real man!

You want to know my game plan Becky? My game plan is simple: I'm going to go out there and be Joey Sexton. I'm going to win this battle royal, because that's what needs to happen. I am the Sexcellence of Sexecution, I am Mr. Every Night, I am the Cerebral Ass-assin, and I am the future of WZCW.

He drops the mic, kisses Becky and walks away, leaving her with a look of utter shock on her face. As he rounds a corner, he runs into a mysterious man in a suit, who appears to have been waiting for him...

Sexton: Who the hell are you?

Mysterious Man: It doesn't matter who I am. All that matters is who you are. And I know who you are, Skip Rogers.

 

[Beastmode 24]

Seattle, Washington. The Emerald City. Home of grunge rock, Starbucks, Microsoft, and countless other revolutionaries of pop culture. It's funny that most people know seattle for the fact that it rains on average 150 days out of the year.

I know it as home.

I've lived in or around Seattle my whole life. My dad was stationed on Joint Base Lewis McChord, formerly known as Fort Lewis. He was a hero, an amazing father, and one of the bravest people I know. He was taken from me not by the bullet of an enemy combatant, but by the carelessness and stupidity of someone who had too much to drink and decided that he could drive anyway. My mom also died in that crash, and I almost did.

Fate decided that death would be too good for me, and in the great cosmic joke, here I am, 5 years later.

I was only 17 when it happened, and to my absolute shock and horror the man that did this to my family just got out of prison last week. The American Justice System struck again, and he was able to deal his way out of a 25 year sentence.

Justice, gimme a fuckin' break.

Justice would have been the great state of Washington deciding that they had enough of this lowlife son of a bitch, and sentencing him to spend the rest of his life in a dark cell, with nothing but the memory of my parent's faces haunting him.

What he got was a free pass to do it again. The punishment didn't fit the crime. That's why I'm here. I'm going to make sure he gets the punishment he deserves.

Not tonight, though. No, I'm going to follow his every move, watch him like a hawk. When it's the perfect time to strike, I will. For now though, he can wait.

Tonight I'm in my apartment, packing for my first trip as a professional wrestler. I make my debut for WZCW on Aftershock 26 in a contract battle royal. I've never really been a fan of wrestling. My dad wouldn't let me watch it growing up. He said that it was nonsense, a bunch of overgrown, muscle bound meat heads fighting for a shiny piece of tin. He didn't see it the way I've come to see it over the past couple of years.

Ever since I've been watching, I've been disgusted with what I see. I respect the competition, but the way that some of these men portray themselves, the sickening things some of these men do is horrible. I've seen a man handcuff someone to the post and beat him with brass knuckles to the point that everyone thought he was dead. Where was his punishment?

There was none. He became World Champion.

I've seen a man portray himself as "Savior" of WZCW, all while cheating and committing brutal sneak attacks to gain an advantage.

Again, no punishment. Only success.

I'm going to WZCW not to be a hero or a savior, but to inflict punishment and justice upon those who deserve it. For too long upper management has sat idly by and allowed the vultures to run around and do whatever they want.

That stops now.

Two days later

Here I am backstage at Aftershock 26. In a few hours I make my debut for this company, but for now I'm scheduled for an interview with Leon Kensworth. As I sit in my locker room staring in the mirror, I'm beginning to realize how big this moment is. The paint I choose to wear on my face is symbolic, a mask that I will learn to wear with pride.

A ghost of punishment, a purveyor of justice.

A knocking on my door lets me know that Kensworth has arrived, and I open the door in greeting, allowing him to step into the dim room. He shakes my hand, but his eyes give away his apprehension for this interview. He asks me if I am ready, and when I nod in the affirmative, I see the red light of the camera go on.

Kensworth: Ladies and gentlemen, my guest at this time, Anthony Corvus.

I step into frame, and the cameraman focuses the camera onto my painted face. My eyes are cold. I am calm.

Leon: Mr. Corvus, you are scheduled to debut in WZCW tonight in a contract battle royal. Now, while most everyone that impresses tonight will get a contract with the company, with the injury suffered by Sam Smith, the winner of the match will also get a chance to compete in the Gold Rush tournament, the winner of which will receive a shot at the World Championship, currently held by Showtime Cougar. What are your thoughts on this new twist?

The question throws me off guard a little. Already a shot at the championship? While not my immediate goal, the funds that I could receive as champion would help with my endeavor.

Corvus: A chance to become WZCW World Champion is something that every person that competes in this business aspires to achieve. But you see, I'm a little different than most people, Leon. I don't know if you couldn't tell from the way I look, but I'm not exactly championship material. You see, my goal goes beyond becoming World Champion. I want to help WZCW.

Leon looks a little confused by my answer. Undoubtedly, he's thinking of the easiest way to get the hell out of here.

Leon: Help WZCW? Care to elaborate a little further?

Let me ask you a question, Mr. Kensworth. Remember when Steven Holmes handcuffed Big Dave to the ropes and beat him half to death with brass knuckles? Or how about the times that The New Church or The Sacrificial Altar or whatever they call themselves attacked someone and ended their careers? Or how about how Chris KO goes around claiming that he's the "Savior" of WZCW, but goes around sneak attacking and cheating to win?

Leon: I remember all of these things. What's your point?

Corvus: My point is this; did any of those men get punished for their crimes? Or have they continued to run roughshod over this company? I'll answer that for you. Steven Holmes is a man that became World Champion, Chris KO is the Eurasian Champion, and The Sacrificial Altar has grown stronger. Nothing, not a damn thing has been done by management to stop them. Yeah, when Holmes did the same thing to the Angel that he did to Big Dave he was fired...for about 2 shows. But there's no accountability for anything that goes on.

That's where I come in.

I'm not a savior, I'm not a hero and I'm damn sure not a white knight. I'm Corvus, and I'm here to make sure that people who do wrong are punished for their actions. Everyone in WZCW, from Steven Holmes to Isabel Stone take note:

I will be watching.

 

[Dagger Dias]

Theron's Merry Band of Misfits




RED = Theron, Male Fire Genasi Warblade

BLUE = Davivel, Male Drow Cleric

OLIVE = Sheshmish, Male Orc Swashbuckler

GREEN = Kayrentia, Female Half Elf Druid

DARK RED = Keifasar, Male Tiefling Necromancer

~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~

The sounds of owls could be heard in the distant trees surrounding the campsite, but it was far too dark to see them. Theron had volunteered to take the 2nd watch shift that evening. He kept replaying the event again and again in his mind. His merry band of misfits once had 9 members, roughly a dozen if Keifasar's undead pets counted. Now only 5 remained, disregarding the undead underlings of the Necromancer. The fire had begun to dwindle. It was not quite time for the 3rd watch to relieve him.




Theron: Fire's already dying down. Luckily I have the ability to conjure fire.




Theron snaps his fingers and the campfire once again crackles as it burns brightly, providing him with a little more light to see the surrounding area.




Theron: And they told me conjure fire was a useless ability. Ha!




He looks around to see what his remaining companions are doing. Everyone in the merry band of misfits other than Theron himself appear to be asleep. Davivel the Drow Cleric is sleeping with his back up against a tree a few feet left of the campfire. No bedroll, no tent. Not even a pillow. Davivel makes a small whistling noises as he exhales, he is fast asleep. Sheshmish the Orc Swashbuckler is asleep in his bedroll using part of a tree stump to rest his head on. He is snoring loudly making noises resembling that of a buzz saw. The noise did not bother Theron, he finds it highly amusing. Although asleep, Sheshmish is mumbling in his sleep every few minutes about his boat. Kayrentia the Half Elf Druid had gone to sleep inside her tent. She was now the only remaining female in the party. Not even a sound can be heard from her tent, Theron assumes she is fast asleep.




Neep: Neep!




Theron turns around to see that one of Keifasar's undead pets, Neep, a floating skull, had come out of his master's tent.




Theron: You startled me there, Neep! What are you doing up?


Neep: Neep!


Theron: Oh yeah, I forgot. That's all you can say, isn't it. Go back into Keifasar's tent. You're going to wake the others up otherwise.


Neep: Neep!


Theron: Shhhh!!!!


Neep: Neep!




Neep floats back over to Keifasar's tent and goes inside. Theron watches him and stares at Keifasar's tent for a moment. Keifasar peeks his head out of the tent.




Keifasar: What did you do to Neep?


Theron: I didn't do anything. I merely told him to return to your tent quietly so he does not wake everyone up.


Keifasar: The poor little guy is terrified! You should apologize! He is all alone in the world ever since you and Sheshmish killed his brothers.


Theron: Dude, Neep is probably the only one of your pets that I actually LIKE. He's funny. Now that you're up, I did have a question for you.




Keifasar walks over to the campfire and stands to the right of Theron.




Keifasar: What is it?


Theron: Where are the others?


Keifasar: Well, let's see.... Henry's sleeping soundly inside his cage.... Tricksy Rivers is in his sarcophagus, seemed to be having a nightmare, but no worries. He is fine. Neep's dozing off in his box as we speak now that I calmed him down after you upset him. And me, well, I'll be back in bed in a moment.


Theron: I didn't mean your zoo of undead beings, I meant our allies.


Keifasar: Oh! Why didn't you say so! Davivel's right there by the tree, Sheshmish is in his bedroll over there, and I believe Kayrentia is sleeping in her tent.


Theron: I meant our OTHER allies. You know, the ones who vanished right in front of us?


Keifasar: Ah. I have no idea, Theron. Your guess is as good as mine. If you're done wasting my time then I am going back to bed.


Theron: Go on ahead.




Keifasar enters his tent. Neep can be heard saying his name a couple of times, before the tent becomes as silent as Kayrentia's. Theron stares at Keifasar's tent for a moment.




Theron: (whispering to himself) I know you're behind it somehow, Keifasar.... How did you do it? What are you plotting in there? Will we ever see our other friends again?




Theron looks back at the others, making sure that the conversation did not wake anybody. Davivel is still fast asleep, whistling on each exhale. Sheshmish is no longer mumbling in his sleep, but he is still snoring as loud as a buzz saw. Kayrentia's tent remains silent.




Theron: Is there anything I could have done different? Could I have saved them?




Theron replays the event once more in his mind. It was not even 24 hours ago that it happened. They had made it to the ruins they were hired by Redbeard, a wealthy politician with a white beard from the town of Wheloon, to explore. The path leading into the ruins from the town was met with little to no major monster encounters. The ruins themselves were oddly quiet. Each of the 9 warriors were trying their best to spot anything suspicious and move silently as to not trigger any attention from anything that lurked within.




Theron: Everyone stay in formation and try to not make too much noise. There could literally be anything in here.




Kirilah the female Aasimar Paladin of Mystra was at the front of the Merry band of misfits' marching formation with the heavily armored Shreevi at her side. Behind them from left to right in a line was Davivel the male Drow Cleric, Marazarra a female Halfling Rogue, and Jesseron the male Human Monk. In the middle, keeping an eye on his companions was Theron the male Fire Genasi Warblade. Behind Theron was Kayrentia the female Half Elf Druid and Sheshmish the male Orc Swashbuckler. Behind them were the undead underlings of Keifasar. They included a monstrous undead scorpion Keifasar had named Henry, a mummy named Tricksy Rivers, and Neep the floating skull. In the very back was the male Tiefling Necromancer, Keifasar. They kept walking and eventually found themselves in a larger chamber.



Kayrentia: It's so quiet, I fear there may be some type of trap in here.




Marazarra the halfling rogue, within seconds of hearing the word "traps" wandered off from the rest of the group. Presumably to search for said traps. Jesseron the human monk followed her. As the halfling rogue and human monk left the formation to run ahead to search for traps at the northern edge of the chamber, it made Theron and some of the other members of the merry band of misfits feel uneasy.




Theron: Guys! Get back here! We need to stay together as a group!


Kayrentia: They are fine, Theron. I can still see them ahead.


Davivel: Wait, what's that up there by the wall Marazarra and Jesseron wandered up toward? I see some type of hooded figure up ahead in the doorway.


Theron: Kirilah, take Shreevi and get up there quickly. The rest of us will stay behind in case there is a trap, we'll follow at a slower pace.




The paladin of mystra and her armored ally ran to catch up to the halfling rogue and human monk at the northern wall of the large chamber. They ran past the halfling rogue, who was still searching for traps, and straight to the doorway. An open door could be seen at the end of the wall with a strange hooded figure who was standing in the doorway. Theron and the others carefully approached the northern wall at a slower pace. They could now see the hooded figure, it appeared to be trying to communicate with the paladin and Shreevi. Marazarra and Jesseron joined in on the conversation, however Theron and the others were too far away to hear anything anyone said. The figure revealed its face, it was a kobold sorceror! Shreevi wasted no time in jumping into battle with the kobold, unsheathing his sword and leaping at the sorceror. Theron, now realizing a battle had begun, began running.




Theron: Hurry! We do not know what he may be capable of, our friends need our help!




Theron, Sheshmish, Kayrentia, Davivel, Keifasar and the undeads rushed up to the battle scene as quickly as they could, remaining mostly in the same formation.




Neep: Neep!




No sooner did they make it to the scene of the battle and Neep make his little outburst, they all vanished right in front of everyone's eyes. The paladin, the armored warrior, the monk, the rogue, and the kobold sorceror were all gone. Having heard Neep, the remaining party members turned around toward Keifasar.




Keifasar: (in a somewhat frustrated tone) WHAT?


Sheshmish: Where are they?


Davivel: Did Neep do that, or did you?


Keifasar: Oh, sure. Something goes wrong, gotta blame the Necromancer. That's not prejudiced or stereotypical at ALL!


Theron: Then where ARE they Keifasar? We all just saw half our team and a monster all VANISH! You're the only one who would be able to cast that type of spell.


Kayrentia: Maybe it wasn't Keifasar. Could the kobold have cast some type of spell to transport them all away?


Keifasar: Yeah, what makes you think the kobold couldn't have done it?


Theron: The kobold's gone too. I knew I shouldn't have re-recruited you!


Sheshmish: Bring them all back, Keifasar! How am I supposed to get my boat repaired with half of the crew missing?


Theron: You and your stupid boat. He's right though. Bring the others back NOW!


Keifasar: I CAN'T! I don't know where they ARE!


Theron: YES, you DO!


Kayrentia: Stop fighting! This won't solve anything.


Davivel: We should probably find somewhere to set up camp. There's no reason why we can't search for them in the morning.


Theron: (sigh) Davivel's right. We'll find a spot to set up camp at. We haven't rested and I'm sure everyone is tired. I've got my eye on you though, Keifasar.




Keifasar rolls his eyes. The 5 make their way to a wooded area outside the ruins. Davivel gathers wood for a fire, while Theron sets up everyone's tents. Sheshmish and Kayrentia keep an eye out for monsters. Keifasar stood at a distance from the others, with his undeads. No one was able to hear what he was saying to them. Theron ignited the campfire and called his allies over to the fire.




Theron: This is quite a significant loss, guys. I'll need to know that I can count on each of you to temporarily fill the roles each missing ally brought to the table. Most of them were close combat fighters. Sheshmish and I can handle the brunt of the fighting, Davivel you might need to assist at times in that area. We lost our resident expert on Mystra in the paladin. Has anyone done any research on her teachings?


Davivel: I can handle that. I have researched the teachings of Mystra since long before the paladin was born. I'm not a follower, but I know enough that I could assist if we run into a situation when that knowledge could be of use.


Theron: Luckily we did not lose either of our casters. Kayrentia, we'll try our best to make sure the monsters do not attack you as you try to cast. Keifasar, while I don't trust you, I'm sure you'll still come in handy as well.


Kayrentia: Do not worry about me, I will be fine.




Keifasar does not verbally respond, but makes an obnoxious smile and gives a thumbs up gesture to Theron.




Theron: Now, we did, however, lose our rogue. Do any of you know anything about finding/disarming traps?


Sheshmish: Leave that to me! During my travels on the sea I had my fair share of roguish activity.


Davivel: Marazarra was VERY good at it though. She was also extremely stealthy.


Kayrentia: You're also the biggest one in the group. Can you be as stealthy as our smallest member was?


Shesmish: Just you wait and see! I'll have that department under control.


Theron: That will have to suffice until we find the others. Sheshmish is the closest we have to a rogue. As for Shreevi, it's hard to say if we can replace him. To be quite honest, I have no clue what his character class and race even are. I have never seen him without his helmet and armor on.


Kayrentia: He once told me his race is the same as Kirilah, an Aasimar.


Keifasar: He's used a breath attack before, my guess would be he is a Dragon Shaman.


Theron: A male Aasimar Dragon Shaman then perhaps. If and when we find them again, I will make him tell us what he is. The fact that he traveled with us for such a long time and never told us is a bit ridiculous. Anyways, it is getting very late. Sheshmish, you have first watch. I'll take second. Davivel, you'll have third. Let's get some rest.




Scene fades out and shifts back to the present. Theron is still sitting by the campfire. He seed that the sun will soon rise. He walks over to Davivel to wake him for the final watch of the night.




Theron: Time to get up. You're watch shift is starting.




Davivel gets up, stretches, yawns, and looks over at Theron. He noticed the concern his leader is feeling.




Davivel: Is everything alright, friend?


Theron: I have been concerned with the whereabouts of the others since the moment it happened. Other than that, yeah, I am fine.


Davivel: Go get inside your tent and get some rest. You must sleep so you won't be tired when we begin searching for them tomorrow. We also still need to finish investigating the ruins.


Theron: You're right. Wake me when the others are up. I look forward to your breakfast, as usual. Good night.




Theron goes into his tent. Davivel sits down by the campfire, looks up into the sky, and begins to meditate. Scene fades out.




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Two weeks later in the real world, Theron Daggershield (real name Shawn Daggers) was on his way home to his apartment from class. He had been anticipating playing another exciting session of Dungeons and Dragons. However, he would not be able to make it this week. It was time for his upcoming pro wrestling debut in WZCW. Hoping his friends would attend, he had purchased tickets the night before for every member of their Dungeons & Dragons group. He opened the door, thinking he would have the place to himself for a brief moment.




Ian: Theron, good, you're here. Now we can begin. I had something to tell all of you.




Theron looked around his den. He could see each of his three roommates were home and one of the girls next door, Layla, was visiting. Theron's roommates (Ian, Jason, and Austin) play Davivel, Sheshmish, and Keifasar respectively. Layla plays Kayrentia. Ian, who also plays Davivel, is the Dungeon Master.




Theron: I thought you guys all had class right now?


Jason: Do I ever go to class?


Theron: Fair enough, but what about the rest of you?


Austin: Mine got cancelled.


Layla: Ian asked me to come over.


Theron: Is it regarding our d&d campaign?


Ian: Maybe.




Theron takes his lawn chair from the porch inside and sits down in it. Ian had rolled out his computer chair into the den and is siting in it against the wall. Layla is on the couch in between Jason and Austin.




Theron: What I want to know is why exactly DID half the group vanish? We haven't played in two weeks.


Ian: You'll find out!


Jason: Seriously, Ian!? I thought I was the troll around here.


Austin: Are we playing this week?


Ian: I had planned to. Here's the thing.... Tiffany, Nadia, Steve, and Carl are all burnt out. The in-game reason will remain untold for now, but it's just going to be us 5 for a while. Can everyone make it?


Theron: I can't, actually.


Ian: Why, what's going on?


Theron: I've got a wrestling match. It's my big debut!


Layla: That's awesome!


Ian: Well, the rest of us should still be able to play.


Theron: Nope. You're all coming to watch me win!




Theron takes 8 WZCW tickets out of his pocket.




Theron: There's enough for everybody. I want to have my friends there to support me. I'll give Carl his in class tomorrow. Layla, can you make sure the other girls get theirs?


Austin: I will not be attending. I've never liked wrestling.


Layla: Austin! Come on. This is Theron's big moment!


Theron: Wait....




Theron takes out his crimson d20 and walks over to Austin.




Theron: If I roll higher than you, you're coming.




Theron rolls the crimson d20, it lands on a 15.




Austin: This is stupid. I'm not going to do a roll-off to see if I'm going to your match. I don't even like wrestling!


Jason: What's wrong, afraid you'll roll lower?


Austin: (faces Ian) Do I have to?


Ian: This is real, I'm not your DM at the moment.


Theron: Just roll. If you make a higher roll than me you do not have to come.


Austin: Fine.




Austin takes out his black speckled d20 and rolls. It lands on a 13.




Austin: Ugh....


Theron: Great! So you'll be joining us. I'm really excited guys, this is a huge opportunity for me. It's just like when we attended that event last year, only now I might get a contract! It means a lot to me, so please show your support.


Ian: Wouldn't miss it.


Layla: Good luck!


Austin: Yeah, I'll be there.


Jason: You better win!




Theron sits back down in his lawn chair.




Theron: What if we play our campaign the following evening?


Ian: That could work, I'll let you all know.


Jason: Who are you facing, anyway?


Theron: You'll find out!


Ian: That's MY line!




They all laugh, scene fades out.




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[Remix]

The Ouroborus Chronicles: Chapter 1 - The debut


Serpentine Voice: Six green rookies set to have a brawl.
Six green rookies set to have a brawl.
But if one green rookie should turn out to be me...
There's going to be five green rookies sitting on the shelf.

Once more the time has come for me to introduce myself. My name, for now is Doctor Coberer you will not soon forget it. My history in this business is short, but wherever I have been I have left my mark in those who stood in my way, and yet before now I have been restrained by my need to obtain data from my opponents. But I have long since obtained what I require, and now I may proceed without limitations. This battle shall serve as a demonstration of what I am truly capable of. Five men... five victims... five unfortunates.

Fallout, survivor of the greatest act of human incompetence in its history. Scarred by the heat and gamma rays, a testament to what Homo sapiens can endure. You walk today because of mere luck. Luck that an extraction team was nearby and luck that the radiation did no lethal damage to your chromosome. You see, genetic damage from radiation is frustratingly random. The damage I will do is anything but. My talons have a carefully formulated coating of venom. What I will do to you shall be carefully controlled cellular destruction. Fallout, you will be remembered as the first of the Unfortunates.

Joey Sexton, you and I have something in common. We are both snakes in human form. However, where you are a milk snake I am a cobra. For though your markings hint that you are a predator, they are a lie. You think your false confidence, like red on black stripes hides your impotence, when it serves to highlight it to me. Next to Coberer your mimicry will be brought into the light. Like a growing snake I sense you are uncomfortable in your own skin. Perhaps I shall do you a service by removing it.

Theron Daggershield, Antony Corvus you are two sides of the same coin. Both of you are heroes in an imaginary fight against injustice, suffering delusions that you actually matter. Theron, the monsters you've fought in your mother's basement is no preparation for me. You can roll a natural 20 on all of the saving throws you will inevitably need, but it will not stop my neurotoxins action. Your die has lead you to me. You should not have followed.

Corvus, do you honestly think your one man crusade matters, or that you are better than those you pursue? This is not Gotham City, wearing black and covering your face does not make you a hero. It makes you a lunatic dressed like a clown. I would dissect your aims and show you their futility, but I think your vivisection will be more informative. I will leave you with this. Those who fight monsters inevitably become them.

And finally we have Bobby Adams. This is what I have to say about you... [Silence, Coberer has nothing to say]

Answer me this. Why are you here? The last smiling athlete to come here was Connor Reese. Unless you too are a pawn, his reasoning does not apply to you. I do not like enigmas, Adams and I will do whatever it takes to find out exactly why you thought to join WZCW. Put your son to bed early, and advise your wife not to watch because I intend to save you for last, and viewing may become uncomfortable for them.

The decision makers of this company have made a mistake in signing this match. Like a snake I see deeper than my peers. I see the game they are playing. The outcome is not important; it never has been in these matches. The goal is to make an impression, to impress the fans and those with power. I shall leave a deep impression on those who I have been given to play with. Once I am done with these Unfortunates I shall move onto targets less soft. I have goals to achieve within this company which I cannot allow myself to deviate from. This shall be small demonstration of what I am capable of. Should I be shoehorned into more sideshows, the results shall be worse. This is your first and only warning, and I always stand by my words. The consequences of not heeding them are yours to bear. Trust me, I am a doctor.