Post by Jet Somers on Mar 24, 2010 1:04:58 GMT -5
He wasn't sure what was happening now.
All he knew was that the crowd had erupted in a final ejaculation of their worship of one of the two competitors. It was quiet now. Someone was talking, but he couldn't make out the words over the increasing sound of his heartbeat. It was slowing, slowing, until finally it flatlined.
He wasn't dead, although he was covered in enough blood to look dead. He was sure more than half the blood belonged to various members of The Covenant, or The Resistance.
The warm glow of the arena lights began to dim through his eyelids, and finally it faded. He felt a sense of falling.
His mind's journey had begun.
Somehow, he'd ended up here on the floor of this place, in a puddle of blood, breathing sharp pains into his pained body, and exhaling all the prejudices, hate, and regret that had been building up over the past seven months. That pain suffered during his interference in the Main Event compounded with the injuries suffered earlier tonight when he and Calypso Desmona, Donovan Hasting's love, had been summarily trampled by Raenius and Fear. Somehow, his noble crusade had alienated him from his family, his friends, his associates, and pretty damn near everyone he knew.
His determined focus has shifted, no longer singling out or encompassing, but mostly focusing on Dirge. His latest attempts had been to slowly inject poison into what he now saw as the root of the evil vine, hoping to kill it slowly.
That focus had narrowed from attacking the various members and supporters of The Covenant, including the kidnapping of Chassie Fear, something he would never had thought himself capable of before Global Impact Wrestling. The result had been the removal of his affiliation with the respected organizations and activist groups he had once championed. Kidnapping women, no matter how dangerous, didn't sit well with women's rights groups, and that was only the first domino that sent him tumbling to this bloodsoaked floor.
Of course, that had been the work of Mr. Kasem, he who had headed up Chika Ryuu Ja, the MMA organization in Thailand that had offered him a lucrative career. He wasn't pleased when Jet refused to show for his obligatory bouts, simply because the dates of those bouts conflicted with matches in GIW, matches he had felt much more inclination to attend since they allowed him access to hurting The Covenant. Jet had had to let his darker motivations handle Mr. Kasem's organization, and now Mr. Kasem was dead with a hole in his forehead; Melanie Collier, his right-hand promoter, was probably turning tricks right now on some dirty street corner in Hiroshima.
He can't remember the exact moment he had decided to train his focus on Dirge primarily, but he can remember when he had decided that Raenius had been the one to target. Raenius, the chickenhawk who he had felt engineered his sole reason for being in GIW. 2009 had ended in blood, just as this night had, not only because of the history making no holds barred match that he and Raenius had thrilled the fans with, although the carnage had spilled into the streets; but also because that was the night when he had turned down membership in The Covenant and sealed both his and The Covenant's fate by assaulting Raenius unmercifully with the chair only an hour after Raenius had curb stomped him.
Why had he decided Raenius was the bullseye? Amongst many things, the most basic reason was that Raenius had been the one to pull Jezebel Saint, Jet's adopted sister, into this hellish world. Jet could never forgive him for that mistake.
Jezebel Saint. His protection of her had been his ticket through the gates of this inferno. At first, he had sought her torturer only, and back then he might have been able to still pull off the wholesome image he had spent his life building. Back then, the fans knew that placing Jet Somers in the ring with people like Alex Kiseragi and Brandon Brown was a guarantee of an ethical but highly competitive matchup. He had no problem finding allies back in those days, and trust wasn't the issue Donovan Hastings and Travis Roberts made it out to be now.
But his sister's torturer had escaped unscathed after Jet and her allies, Klaus Von Knorre, Nathan Korpi, and Salem, had braved the horrors of a bunker in the desert of Nevada to find her abused and left for dead.
Mickey Dragon, the twisted son of a bitch who had dragged Jezebel to this bunker as payback for a silly but harmless practical joke. Dragged her, tortured her, experimented on her, and finally broken her. All because she had made the mistake of impersonating his dear momma, a person he hated for the years of abuse she had heaped upon him as a child.
Mickey Dragon, the first symbol of The Covenant who had turned Jet's ire for professional wrestling into a seething contempt, a compulsion so strong he had nothing left but to enter his own personal hell and confront his demons face to face.
Where was Mickey Dragon now? Doubtless he was somewhere torturing another innocent soul who had given him some imaginary slight. Somewhere far from here, having forgotten GIW, The Covenant to which Jezebel Saint had once been aligned before the mistake, and his transgressions there. Free.
Mickey Dragon free, while the man who hates him more than any other human on earth lies amongst Dragon's former comrades, all of them bleeding their lives out for a war that began with a shot fired by a now missing counterpart who will likely be never seen again.
It's almost pointless...
All he knew was that the crowd had erupted in a final ejaculation of their worship of one of the two competitors. It was quiet now. Someone was talking, but he couldn't make out the words over the increasing sound of his heartbeat. It was slowing, slowing, until finally it flatlined.
He wasn't dead, although he was covered in enough blood to look dead. He was sure more than half the blood belonged to various members of The Covenant, or The Resistance.
The warm glow of the arena lights began to dim through his eyelids, and finally it faded. He felt a sense of falling.
His mind's journey had begun.
Somehow, he'd ended up here on the floor of this place, in a puddle of blood, breathing sharp pains into his pained body, and exhaling all the prejudices, hate, and regret that had been building up over the past seven months. That pain suffered during his interference in the Main Event compounded with the injuries suffered earlier tonight when he and Calypso Desmona, Donovan Hasting's love, had been summarily trampled by Raenius and Fear. Somehow, his noble crusade had alienated him from his family, his friends, his associates, and pretty damn near everyone he knew.
His determined focus has shifted, no longer singling out or encompassing, but mostly focusing on Dirge. His latest attempts had been to slowly inject poison into what he now saw as the root of the evil vine, hoping to kill it slowly.
That focus had narrowed from attacking the various members and supporters of The Covenant, including the kidnapping of Chassie Fear, something he would never had thought himself capable of before Global Impact Wrestling. The result had been the removal of his affiliation with the respected organizations and activist groups he had once championed. Kidnapping women, no matter how dangerous, didn't sit well with women's rights groups, and that was only the first domino that sent him tumbling to this bloodsoaked floor.
Of course, that had been the work of Mr. Kasem, he who had headed up Chika Ryuu Ja, the MMA organization in Thailand that had offered him a lucrative career. He wasn't pleased when Jet refused to show for his obligatory bouts, simply because the dates of those bouts conflicted with matches in GIW, matches he had felt much more inclination to attend since they allowed him access to hurting The Covenant. Jet had had to let his darker motivations handle Mr. Kasem's organization, and now Mr. Kasem was dead with a hole in his forehead; Melanie Collier, his right-hand promoter, was probably turning tricks right now on some dirty street corner in Hiroshima.
He can't remember the exact moment he had decided to train his focus on Dirge primarily, but he can remember when he had decided that Raenius had been the one to target. Raenius, the chickenhawk who he had felt engineered his sole reason for being in GIW. 2009 had ended in blood, just as this night had, not only because of the history making no holds barred match that he and Raenius had thrilled the fans with, although the carnage had spilled into the streets; but also because that was the night when he had turned down membership in The Covenant and sealed both his and The Covenant's fate by assaulting Raenius unmercifully with the chair only an hour after Raenius had curb stomped him.
Why had he decided Raenius was the bullseye? Amongst many things, the most basic reason was that Raenius had been the one to pull Jezebel Saint, Jet's adopted sister, into this hellish world. Jet could never forgive him for that mistake.
Jezebel Saint. His protection of her had been his ticket through the gates of this inferno. At first, he had sought her torturer only, and back then he might have been able to still pull off the wholesome image he had spent his life building. Back then, the fans knew that placing Jet Somers in the ring with people like Alex Kiseragi and Brandon Brown was a guarantee of an ethical but highly competitive matchup. He had no problem finding allies back in those days, and trust wasn't the issue Donovan Hastings and Travis Roberts made it out to be now.
But his sister's torturer had escaped unscathed after Jet and her allies, Klaus Von Knorre, Nathan Korpi, and Salem, had braved the horrors of a bunker in the desert of Nevada to find her abused and left for dead.
Mickey Dragon, the twisted son of a bitch who had dragged Jezebel to this bunker as payback for a silly but harmless practical joke. Dragged her, tortured her, experimented on her, and finally broken her. All because she had made the mistake of impersonating his dear momma, a person he hated for the years of abuse she had heaped upon him as a child.
Mickey Dragon, the first symbol of The Covenant who had turned Jet's ire for professional wrestling into a seething contempt, a compulsion so strong he had nothing left but to enter his own personal hell and confront his demons face to face.
Where was Mickey Dragon now? Doubtless he was somewhere torturing another innocent soul who had given him some imaginary slight. Somewhere far from here, having forgotten GIW, The Covenant to which Jezebel Saint had once been aligned before the mistake, and his transgressions there. Free.
Mickey Dragon free, while the man who hates him more than any other human on earth lies amongst Dragon's former comrades, all of them bleeding their lives out for a war that began with a shot fired by a now missing counterpart who will likely be never seen again.
It's almost pointless...