Unscripted 2014 - Fallout (c) vs. Matt Tastic - Elite X Championship
- Thread starter Harthan
- Start date
- Status
This match has been given a 24 hour extension, as requested by Backstage Fallout.
Every morning we stand in front of a mirror. Every morning we look at ourselves and see our reflection. Not everyone can stand the sight of their own reflection. They can't look at themselves directly. Is it failure? Is it lack of courage? Or is it anger? Frustration at how life is? Disgust in how your role in life treated? Lots of people would love to break that reflection. Very little actually do.
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Matt Tastic was able to defeat the joke of a robot known as SHIT again. His skill, cunning and determination place him once again as the challenger to the Elite X Champion. Fallout. The man who got a lucky break and managed to take title. Matt has now put his issues with SHIT behind him having proven he's superior. Matt's confidence is at an all-time high. But at the same time, his mentality his not in the right place. There's no denying that he has his sights set on Fallout, but at the same time he see's a far bigger picture. Troubles, politics, old issues rear up all at once as Matt faces someone who.... Can only be best described as a “holocaust survivor”.
Unscripted will be the night I show the world why they were wrong to shun me.
Matt stands in front of a mirror in the locker room area. Gear on and set to go. He looks at his reflection with an angry scowl over his face. Nothing but rage and frustration can be felt escaping his expression. The mirror only doubles that. The tense atmosphere of the locker room he's in is only strengthened by the dim lighting, covering the multiple time champion in shadows while his reflection bounces the same image with different shades.
Fallout thinks he knows what pain and suffering is. He thinks he has a reason to hate people. He doesn't even know the meaning of the word “hate”. He doesn't know the true emotion behind it. He's never suffered the public ridicule that makes you dispense that emotion. “Hate”. It's not to dislike. It's not to feel indifferent. It is to be angered and disgusted and wish the end of whatever it is you feel that way towards. And I certainly feel that way towards this company and the people that invest in it.
Matt's words echo across the shadowed room. His body's expression showcases great anguish. But his reflexion on the mirror, shadowed in a different manner, he looks distraught. The shadows of the reflexion cover his face in a way that makes him look much sadder than what his loud, raunchy voice would let you know.
Fallout doesn't know what it's like to work yourself to the bone. Day in and day out. All for people you don't know. And then after all the sacrifice, they ignore you. They toss you aside. I had my back broken. MY SPINE broken. Because I had the twisted vision that I should do my best to make THEM. Totally random, self-serving, lousy strangers... Happy. And look how I ended up. Alone. Hurt. Depressed. Failed. Down on my knees. Defeated on international television. No one gave a damn.
Matt's words take long pauses between one another. A sense of despair in his words echo through. His tone of voice lowers. The intensity diminishes and the anger turns to depression. His eyes used to have a sharp shape showing the anger. That sharpness drops. His pupils close up a little and Matt's head approaches the mirror and his reflexion. Both looking equal now.
I was in the brink of despair..... Looking for some justification for my existence. Some meaning behind my cause. I kept trying, blindly, to gain the people's approval. But no. They chose Krypto instead. They chose SHIT. They chose Barbosa. They chose these... things.... Things that just do not represent what a wrestler, the very thing these people tune to watch, is supposed to be. It was such a conundrum..... What did these misfits have that I didn't.........?
Matt's anguish continues to pour out of his words. But the sharpness in his eyes returns. His words become more composed and less depressed. His facial expression takes on more form. He's more composed. And in his hand.... There it is. The mask. Baez.
It took me so long to see it. So, so long. So much time wasted. Almost 4 years, but in my desperation..... The answer came to me. The fire was lit. It wasn't a matter of what these sideshow wannabe's had that I didn't. It was the opposite. I had something they didn't. I had a tool they didn't have. The reason the people ignored me.... They hate my guts. They hate that I'm so normal. So simple. But at the same time so above everyone else. I'm average to them. Like any normal person. But out of millions of people, I'm the one here. I'm the one making a name for myself. They hate that. That they can't be me. People come and people go. But the more things change, the more they stay the same. Because at the end of the day, no matter what happens or chances, I'M STILL HERE!!!
Matt, with the mask in hand, screams his revelation at the top of his lungs. All signs of any anguish, any depression, any misery, are long since gone. He clenches his fist and with his fury, he punches the reflexion. Shattering it to a million pieces. His inside mirroring his outside. The cloud of doubt is gone. Matt looks at his fist. Covered by the mask, he's not really injured.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! No matter what, no matter who. I'm still here. I have the mind needed to stand out from the Fallouts. From the Therons. From the SHIT's. And oh wow, is there a lot of those. It was because of my mind that I put that stupid robot behind me. I fooled him with this mask. I pulled the wool from everyone's eyes. I made them see who was the real wrestler and who was the one in a costume. Because I'm the only one with the mind that can purify WZCW. I have the power to remove these weeds. These impurities. Fallout is next. And like SHIT, he will burn. I'll walk through their ashes just like I have over everyone else I've outlasted in this company. Holmes, Kurtesy, Dave, Burna, Vengeance, Everest, all gone. But I'm timeless. I'm the past. The present. And the inescapable future of this company. And whether people like it or not, I will take what I want. One way.... Or another.......
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It can best be described as meditating, but Matt's bout with the mirror has him mentally prepared for his PPV rematch with Fallout. To many, it seems like a simple title rematch. He's earned gold many times. But to him, this means so much more. He's a timeless act no doubt. But people like Drake Callahan, Showtime and Titus still have similar longevity but they all have that accolade Matt's never even come close to. The World Heavyweight Championship. The accolade that defines anyone as one of the all-time greats. A prize Matt has never been given the chance to go for. It eludes him and the Elite X title is his best bet to secure that major prize. With no more distractions, he looks to make the 7 Defense challenge his goal now....
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Everything's set and the day is here. Matt arrives to the building. Sacramento, California. He's met by the beautiful but sharp tongued Stacey Madison. As one can expect, she's ready to interview the former Champ. Matt's off his vehicle, a Suzuki Samurai, with his bag in hand as Stacey holds up the mic. He simply walks on like nothing, but the persistent and stubborn reporter goes on anyway.
Matt Tastic. A word for WZCW.com, please. Tonight you're facing Fallout for the Elite X Championship.
Matt just keeps on walking. Brushing off the abrasive but beautiful blonde. She doesn't let up though.
Matt, do you have a gameplan for him this time, seeing as last time you lost to him?
That stops Matt in his tracks. Perfectly still, the tension builds for his answer as Stacey awaits.
I..... Lost to Fallout?
Well technically, you were screwed over by SHIT, but-
Matt cuts the intrepid reporter off with his retort in a loud voice, startling her.
I didn't lose to Fallout, Becky I-
I'm Stacey.
Matt's stopped in his tracks and is dumbfounded by the statement. He turns Stacey over by grabbing her hips and looks at her.... lower back.
Oh. Indeed you are.
Stacey looks at her backside with an appalled look in her face as Matt continues his tirade.
As I was saying... Stacey. I didn't lose to Fallout. I simply prolonged my victory for another day. I had to put SHIT away once and for all to finally prove to him that his silly programming is no match for the mind of a brilliant strategist like myself. Now I can move on and also collect my sixth overall championship in WZCW. Of course, en route to the grand prize. The World Heavyweight Championship.
You did beat SHIT. But by grabbing the ropes.
Staceys words strike a cord in Matt's mind as he thinks of how to respond. He knows what to say, but he first needs to calm himself. As the silly statement just gets in his nerves. He closes up to Stacey with his angry eyes and asks away.
Stacey...... Who won the match?
You did.
Who did?
I just said it. You!
No, no, no. Say the name, Becky. WHO WON THE FREAKIN' MATCH?!
Matt Tastic!
That's freakin' right! I won! Me!! Who gives a damn how I did it? I'm the one in the PPV. Not SHIT. Do you think those silly facts matter? What matters is that I won. And now I have Fallout. This is a man who hates people, apparently. Why? Let me ask him something. Does he know how it feels to have his hard work ignored? Does he know how it feels to be seen as inferior when you're clearly superior? Has he been dumped because he wanted to chase his dream? Did he break his back chasing that dream? The fuck he did not! He's done nothing worth a damn around here.
Well, he is the Elite X Champion.
Matt goes from being in the zone, moving himself around and expressing himself to flat out stopping. The atmosphere goes flat with Stacey's words.
OK. That's true. He is the Elite X Champion. But let's be truthful here. He's champion. Only, and I mean ONLY, because I let him have the title. I did an act of grace towards someone that does not deserve it. Now I want that favor returned. And I want it in the form of him handing that title right back to me. As he should.
I honestly doubt a special units soldier who survived a nuclear bomb would just hand you the title even if you just gave it to him, Matt.
If he got nuked and hates people because he feels discriminated, then here's a crazy thought. Don't take a job that airs on international television! That just shows how stupid the man is. Not to mention how damn stupid things get around here. I wore a mask, a luchador mask mind you, because I wanted to trick someone. I did it. The mask is gone. He wears it to hide his scars. But then he just does not shut up about them. What's there for us to imagine when he's just painting a beautiful picture about his disgusting face with his constant pitiful babbling? He feels he's hated because he's some sort of super soldier. Gimme a fucking break.
He's a Spetsnaz from what I understand.
You're kidding me, right? You see? You see it, right? Why this company is so ass-backwards, right? Why in the rowdy blue hell do we have a Russian Special Forces soldier running around a wrestling ring? Shouldn't he be in Sochi guarding the Olympics? Or in Ukraine dealing with the protests? Seriously Becky, why the hell is he here?!?
Stop calling me Becky! You've known me for 4 ye-
SHUT UP! I'll call you whatever the hell I want to, got it? I'm a 5 time champion and there's still plenty more gold for me to win. I'm this company's true star, got that?! If I wanna call you a fat whale or a Christmas cake, by God I will freakin' call you as such. So feel lucky I'm just confusing you with some other pretty lady. Is that OK?
…........
I said... “Is that OK”?
...yes...
Good. Now back to our runaway soldier, I don't give a damn if you're a super soldier, a super navy or a super freak. You have something I lent to you and I want it back. I'll be taking it back at Unscripted now, thank you.
Why would you lend a champio-
SHUT THE HELL UP ALREADY, BECKY! How the hell could you even understand it? All you do around here is hold your dumb mic. But meanwhile I have a dream to be a great wrestler and I will do anything it takes. ANYTHING. To be one of the greats. Got that? I was just sidetracked by a cardboard robot. Now I gotta take back whats mine from a wrestling military soldier who had his face blown in and apparently still works for the military. God, this place blows my head sometimes.
Matt scratches his head in confusion of all the silliness he's just mentioned.
Right now there's just one final piece to the puzzle holding me back. And I've been denied a chance for that piece for 4 years. 4 long, painful, miserable freakin' years. That Elite X title is my leverage. And I'll be damned if I let some ugly, radioactive son of a bitch keep me from my dreams. Showtime and Titus may be in the main event. But those two can't hold a candle to me. Vega, Runn, Saboteur & Barbosa may be fighting for the World title. But none of them show what wrestling is all about. They're just another comical cavalcade of characters. They're sick chickens, just like Fallout.
“Sick chickens”? What does that mean?
Well, here's a story. It's a pretty graphic one from what I remember. See my grandpa had a chicken farm. I think I've mentioned it before. Anyway, one day he had a chicken tied by the legs and beak and he told me: “hey kid, dig a hole 'fer me”. So I dug the hole. He filled it with twigs and gasoline and put the chicken there. Then he lit it on fire. The chicken burned alive and I screamed at the top of my lung! “Why!? Why would you do that?” It was a sick chicken. That's why. It would spread to the rest otherwise.
Oh my God, you burnt a chicken alive?! HOW COULD YOU DO THAT?!
It was sick! It would've spreaded all over the farm. To the chickens. And to us! And the same thing is going around here! People see these silly guys on TV and they decide to imitate them. Did you hear? Did you hear who's the new guy running around for a contract? A magician. Stacey, a wrestling magician. Soon enough we'll have a wrestling ballroom dancer too! We'll a wrestling spaceman! This stupidity just needs to stop. For God's sake, the marquee reads "Wrestling". Can't we just leave it at that? I got to SHIT. Now I'm going for Fallout. Stacey, I'm gonna finish what that nuke started and I'll pluck the Elite X Championship from the ashes. While I bury Fallout's remains. I'm gonna dig the hole, toss in the gas, light it up and toss the nuclear, gas mask wearing chicken in. And let it burn.
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Matt pushes the mic away from Stacey who shows a very disturbed face given Matt's story. The scene fades and the last words are spoken. All that remains is the match. Matt is willing to do anything to win the Elite X title back. The question now is... What exactly will “anything” mean?
Dan Severn's Moustache
Patent Pending
THE GEARS OF WAR:
Theron Daggershield had been obliterated.
At long last, Fallout's vigorous crusade had brought an end to Theron's innocent and oblivious demeanour. No longer was the child any conceivable threat to Fallout's streak that had begun to assemble, and no longer was the child unaware of the true horror that peregrinated the real world. Through tenacious fortitude and endurance, Theron Daggershield would be remembered as an important statistical figure: He would be the second of many who attempted to subvert the omnipotent gladiator's ascension.
But for all they that that take up the sword shall perish with the sword, a fact that had become increasingly conspicuous to Fallout after his triumph. His respiratory apparatus had sustained critical impairment after his skirmish with Theron Daggershield, causing him consequential distress as he bunglingly retreated from the battlefield he had crafted.
By the time Fallout had descended to the covert Spetsnaz bunker, his condition had reached catastrophic levels. He hunched his spinal column into an arc as he slouched through the security terminals, contesting against the physical anguish obstinately. Pressing his right palm against the compact concrete wall as reinforcement, an uncommon sensation flowed through Fallout: Crippling weakness. He understood that a force even he could not defeat was ubiquitous and was formulating an unsurpassable assault should he not undergo prompt medical attention, for death was creeping up on him at an alarming rate.
As Fallout stumbled wildly through a nearby doorway, his vision began to become gratingly blurred as his consciousness began to deteriorate. He stumbled onto an adjacent surgical tray, causing the tray to launch Fallout forward violently into the tranquil medical facility. The accelerating tray came to a halt as it crashed into a large, turquoise glass tank, causing the tank to fragment turbulently, as an aqueous substance discharged to the floor. Fallout frantically fell to the sodden floor, his true face completely bare as the final remnants of the mask laid scattered around his writhing body.
As an attentive doctor arrived to quell the rampage, they found a petrifying sight before them. Fallout was sprawled on the frigid, solidified tiles with one hand raised perpendicularly from his ribcage, clutching at thin air, denying the calignosity to collect its toll, but resistance was futile. As he faded from reality, Fallout croaked out deliriously Save me doctor. Save me.
***
Oleg Yeltsin feverishly awaited disclosure on the condition of his ultimate weapon. 72 arduous, protracted hours had passed, and little word had been relayed to him on Fallouts health. His faith in Fallout had diminished rapidly over this course of time, despite the destruction of Theron Daggershield prior. It was discernible that Fallout was not fully inclined to undertake his mission at any point; let alone defend his Elite X Championship at Unscripted.
Yeltsin sighed heavily at this prospect and began to feel a heavy repentance for his selection of Fallout for his mission. Dmitri Zaytsev was evidentially disgruntled with his exclusion, and even factoring the lack of SPECIAL technology, Zaytsev was not only proficient, but he was far more reliable than Fallout or Viktor Petrov ever could imagine. Fallout was also pre-occupied in a combat zone of his own in WZCW; which whilst proving to be a valuable ground for preparation in the varieties of warfare to come, was also serving as interference from Fallouts goals with the Spetsnaz. The Elite X Championship was deeply cherished by the current champion, to the extent that it was detrimental to his Spetsnaz operations.
But Yeltsin also took into consideration that there were no viable alternatives to claim the prestigious championship from his warrior. The fact that Matt Tastic had been given three separate opportunities at the championship, despite proving twice already that he was insufficient in that role left a repugnant, nauseous taste in Yeltsins mouth. He was also bamboozled by the fact that despite having being dispatched by the dexterous Fallout, Tastic continued to disregard Fallout as a lethal force, displaying an unfathomable lack of perception. For Matt Tastic was far too reckless for his own good. His threats to incinerate all of those in his path encased the rambling fool in a virtual wicker man; a wicker man whos only victims would be Matt Tastic and Baez.
And after Matt Tastic, the adversaries did not enhance to a noteworthy degree. All of the men and women that waited ahead all shared a common lack of perception; the perception of their frivolousness in contrast to Fallout. Fallout was the transcendent instrument of warfare and nobody deserved the Elite X Championship if they failed to acknowledge this fact.
Oleg Yeltsins profound speculation was postponed as a doctor entered the vicinity to update his commander on Fallouts condition.
Viktor has begun to recuperate. The doctor stated quickly. We've successfully reattached a mask to the wounded facial area, and specialized liberties are being taken to disallow any disconnection from the face ever again. The SPECIAL technology is functioning normally, and he has been taken off the anaesthetic. He should be completely cognizant within the next hour."
"Splendid." Yeltsin purred, slowly lifting himself from the black steel chair he was previously seated upon. "I intend to herald my warrior for conquering the force of death as he awakens from his elongated dormancy."
"By all means, sir." the doctor replied politely, gazing as his commander marched from his nearby proximity, oblivious to the unknown that awaited him. As Yeltsin made a sharp turn towards a yawning tunnel, a voice erupted from the doctor's chest.
"The trap is set. Operation Vicegrip may commence." the voice informed. The doctor deposited his hand into the chest pocket of his lab coat and withdrew a military radio. In response to the knowledge he had been fed, the doctor whispered "He's coming."
***
When Oleg Yeltsin opened the surgery door, his very way of life was inverted. For no longer was he the predator; but he was in fact the prey.
Behind the enveloping surgery door, he saw his medical practitioners sprawled across the floor in uncomfortable positions. The hospital bed at the heart of the operating chamber had been inclined, with its previous passenger now reposing in a fetal position. Fallout breathed steadily, but he remained in a collapsed heap on the stone cold tiles, dead to the world.
Yeltsin's eyes flickered rapidly as he investigated the havoc that had previously reigned. Eliminating the numerous possibilities in his racing mind, he came to a firm conclusion as what he believed to be a loyal subject intercepted his range of view: Dmitri Zaytsev. Oleg Yeltsin then felt a number of powerful hands grasp his wrist with an astringent force, prohibiting his departure from the calamitous location.
Cackling with great malevolence, Dmitri Zaytsev approached the embargoed, struggling figure of Oleg Yeltsin, keen to mine some answers, with fear as his pickaxe.
"I'm surprised you or your self-proclaimed weapon of mass destruction could not foresee my intervention, Oleg." Zaytsev confidentially declared, gauging for a reaction from his previous overlord.
"What the hell are you doing, Zaytsev?" Yeltsin violently yelled back at him, continuing his vain attempts to wrestle out of the hands that held him back.
"I'll tell you what I'm doing." Zaytsev stated with a cold, vehement emotion resounding in his articulation. "I'm taking control, Oleg. I'm losing my inhibition. No longer will I repressed, and no longer shall I be subdued. Your expiration date has elapsed for an extended epoch now, and the Spetsnaz has been severely impaired as a result. But no longer. Tonight, we start again under my jurisdiction. Tonight, we dispel the final remnants of the antique Yeltsin regime. Tonight...we ascend."
"You're a damn fool, Zaytsev!" Yeltsin roared, throwing his entire body around ferociously in an effort to gain his physical independence, but to no avail.
"I am not the fool." Zaytsev lectured the flailing Yeltsin sternly, drawing his head back to allow him room to enact a lap around the ominous room. "It is you that is the fool here, Oleg. You place your erroneous expectations in people like Viktor Petrov and expect them to carry out your mission. You're living in the past, Oleg. Technological evolution has passed you and Viktor by. No matter how much you hopelessly try to reinforce the sentiment that the technology can update itself; or how you refer to Fallout's winning streak in WZCW as conclusive evidence, the fact of the matter is, resources have drastically improved ever since Chernobyl. You may have been ahead of the game at first, but all any of the Americans, or the British desire is a formula to create an impregnable barrage of super-soldiers to conquer the Earth. Which leads me to my fundemental objective."
Having completed his lap, Zaytsev once again drew his face towards Yeltsin's own snarling face.
"I require the formula for Project SPECIAL. And only you have the specifications and details; as you made sure to trace over your footsteps after the project had been enacted. We've derived that you have the formula somewhere in this bunker, having kept it safe should an emergency arise after we recruited Viktor to our cause. And I want it, to advance not only my own agendas, but the agendas of the entire squadron. For we wish to build a potent, formidable fighting force that may decimate all opposition. And our thirst will not be quenched, until the Spetsnaz becomes the elite combat squad of this earth."
"You must be crazy if you think you can extract this information from me." Oleg Yeltsin spat out, as his physical posture had deteriorated into a slump, exhausted of all clout after his endeavour.
"Suit yourself." Zaytsev retorted sinisterly, as he scavenged from his pocket a pair of hardened brass knuckles and slithered his fingers through them. "If you're going to resort to civil disobedience, then I'm afraid I'm going to have to resort to uncivil persecution, until you give me valid information."
"Good luck." Yeltsin growled, attempting to veil the terror enveloping his entire body.
Zaytsev gritted his teeth tightly as he pulled his fist back, savouring the moment and the expression of chronic dread on Yeltsin's face. He then struck Yeltsin across the cheekbone with a terrible, laborious swing of his fist, as Yeltsin let out a cry of extensive discomfort. As Zaytsev threw multiple furious punches at his nose as Yeltsin screamed in anguish, he continued to play inquisitor.
"Where is it?! Where is it?!" he vigorously queried, temporarily desisting his onslaught.
"Go fuck yourself." Yeltsin snarled weakly between screeches of pain, as a blood-pool formed from the crimson mask that he wore on the ground beneath him, and coated Zaytsev's knuckles.
Roaring at the top of his lungs, Zaytsev threw a desolating uppercut at Yeltsin's jaw, creating a cacophony of agonizing sounds from Yeltsin's mouth as a torrent of plasma rained from his bottom lip. Zaytsev then clasped his hands around his former commander's trachea, and continued to aggressively launch the question.
"Where is it!? Where is it!!? WHERE IS IT!!!?"
Yeltsin knew he could endure the suffering for no longer.
"In...office...locked...terminal...password...syco...rax...no spaces." Yeltsin spluttered, each word requiring strenuous effort and blood to make coherent.
Zaytsev delivered a final blow to Yeltsin's cranium, as he finally disengaged his brutality and threw his brass knuckles to the ground, satisfied with his newly captured knowledge.
"You!" he commanded powerfully, pointing at a soldier standing in the caliginous corner of the chamber. "Fetch the formula and distribute it to me!"
"Yes, sir." the soldier replied professionally, before turbulently throwing the doors of the room open and sprinting out of the room, strongly inspired by Zaytsev's uprising.
As Yeltsin slowly began to recover from his barbarous, blood-soaked beating, he silently stared sorrowfully at Fallout's still, crumpled body, and began to profusely yearn for him to rouse, rouse and destroy the nightmare that had ensued tonight.
Zaytsev watched Yeltsin like a hawk, observing his prolonged peering at Fallout, before emitting a toothy grin.
"Viktor cannot be your guardian angel to extricate you now." Zaytsev crooned, continuing to stare at the bloody Oleg Yeltsin. "When I obtain the SPECIAL formula, and profitably use it to craft an ultimate army, Fallout will be transcended permanently. And should either you or him stand in our path we will annihilate you with ease."
But Yeltsin had been captivated by Fallout's body. He noticed a slight convulsion and a change in breathing rate as Zaytsev issued his statement.
"Did you not hear me?" Zaytsev growled at the visibly distracted Yeltsin, grasping his shoulder blade.
Fallout continued to stir visibly as a grin appeared on Oleg Yeltsin's ruinous face.
"Answer me!" Zaytsev ordered, his face inches away from Yeltsin's, yet continuing to get no response as the commander continued to stare at his rising soldier. It was at this point that it hit Zaytsev that a peculiar occurrence had taken place. Swivelling his head around, he saw that Fallout's face, now once again housing the gas mask was upright and now emitting an expressionless, paralysing glare at him.
"Humans." he hissed groggily, yet with bravado. "They think they can stop the gears of war, but they only destroy themselves in the progress, no matter how hard they try."
Zaytsev's jawbone gaped to establish an accurate depiction of a basking shark. He slowly backed away from the awakening monster, intent on fleeing should the scenario decline any more. Meanwhile, Fallout stood upright, his physical endurance precipitating.
"Dmitri Zaytsev." he continued with his stability restored, pointing at the blundering operative. "Your impulsive strife shall draw to a unsatisfying conclusion, for no longer have I cheated the divine power of death, but I have subsequently conquered it. Like Matt Tastic shall once again be proven at Unscripted, no matter how reckless or chaotic you are, you shall always be on the defence from my unforgiving blitz, as you run on the gears of war, scrambling for position on the revolving cog, but one slight mistake or misjudgement, one loss of ground and warfare shall devour you; its gears grinding you into oblivion."
"Stop him!" Zaytsev shrieked hurriedly, having recovered from the brief swarm of awe that had overwhelmed him, before scurrying past Oleg Yeltsin and passing through the swinging entranceway of the operating chamber. Dropping Oleg Yeltsin to the ground carelessly, two behemoths strode forward to eliminate the pestilence that had risen. One promptly lunged to tackle Fallout to the ground, but Fallout spun his body away, causing the leviathan to thunder into the unforgiving, steel surgical tray, rendering him immobilized.
The other giant stood his ground, less spontaneous than his cohort, awaiting for Fallout to strike to parry any attack from him. Using his perception skills to derive the man's weakness, Fallout then used his agility to roll through the giant's legs, before striking him with a strong spinning heel kick, sending the beast plunging to the ground. Fallout then promptly applied a choke-hold to the exposed larynx of the man, intent in strangling the life from another who attempted to interrupt his destiny. Overpowered, the final thing the man saw before he too fell unconscious was the callous, haunting glare of Fallout's reattached mask staring acutely into his soul.
"Fallout, he's getting away!" Oleg Yeltsin coughed obstreperously, now grounded himself on the hard floor. "Bring the heretic to justice!"
Fallout released his grasp on the slain behemoth, satisfied with his damage. He then turned to the door and charged impassively out of the room that had contained him for the past 3 days to enter the corridor system of the Spetsnaz vault.
"He's probably got the SPECIAL formula by now!" Oleg Yeltsin ordered, pressing his spine against the plasterboard wall. "Intercept him Fallout, and do not worry about me!"
Fallout proceeded to passionately scour the numerous corridors in pursuit of the traitorous human that had brought great dishonour to the Spetsnaz. As he enacted his mission and whilst the adrenaline flowed zealously through his veins, he distinguished between the renegade Dmitri Zaytsev and his Unscripted adversary Matt Tastic. For both men played the same game of chess. Every move Matt Tastic showed no regard for his own safety, every miscalculation he made was as if he were a martyr. What good was a human, let alone an Elite X Champion that would self-destruct themselves before they could even forge a winning streak? And was Matt Tastic truly at war with Fallout, or was he at warfare with himself? The people he had dubbed freaks and sought to neutralize had incised his psyche, leaving multiple exposed fissures that any perceptive combatant could ventilate to enact mental, emotional and physical meltdown. Yet Matt Tastic continued to live in the past, unable to comprehend the fact that not only wrestling had evolved, but technology as well. With the advent of Fallout, human error no longer plagued the wrestling world. And those who were guilty of those errors like Matt Tastic would be exterminated like the vermin they truly were.
Matt Tastic had made his weaknesses obvious and exploitable without even knowing it, whilst in contrast, Fallout was axiomatic of his facial weakness, and with the mask securely and sturdily annexed to his face, he had eliminated his sole weakness and he could finally unleash devastation on those who attempted to quell his reign of terror.
As Fallout rushed through another corridor, he caught sight of Zaytsev and another soldier accelerating towards the elevator to the top of the cavernous bunker. Giving chase, Fallout darted towards the rising elevator, throwing his body through the security checks that stood in his path to extinguish Zaytsev's uprising.
As the elevator left his view, Fallout latched himself onto the baseplate of the elevator like a leech on its hostage, and rose up through the crystal mines to the early sunrise that awaited him outside. Zaytsev panicked, frightened of the eminent possibility of failure as the gladiator continued to hunt him down with no mercy or remorse. He saw a gloved hand emerge on the side of the lift and attempted to stamp on it, but to no avail. Then a second hand.
The elevator reached its peak as Fallout leapt over the protective wall and knocked out Zaytsev's attentive guard with a ruthless, remorseless uppercut. Zaytsev ran for his life into the wasteland, the monstrous Fallout in tow.
Outside, a green, rising helicopter awaited Dmitri Zaytsev to extract him from the war-zone as the pilot saw Fallout threatening his commander's life. Zaytsev leapt into the escalating vehicle as Fallout attempted to continue the chase. But the vehicle has risen to enough of a degree that it was outside Fallout's grip radius. With a glacial stare, Fallout accepted defeat as the first sun rays of the day reflected from his lenses.
"Mark my words, Zaytsev." Fallout thundered coldly. "I will track you down, and I will finish you once and for all. Consider yourself lucky that I have Matt Tastic to deal with before I deal with you."
"Matt Tastic. Your vociferous nature is of use to me. Once I bend you to my will, you will become the Ancient Mariner, learning to respect the powerful and living only to transmit a message of utmost importance. And that message is:"
Fallout relished these final words.
"Fear Fallout."
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