Post by Declan Prescott on Jun 30, 2010 18:31:37 GMT -5
Los Angeles, California
“Three victories. Is that all it takes? For this once unstoppable creature to be demanding a worthless, feral derelict for help? Three pathetic, worthless demonstrations of nothing?”
“Why so hard on yourself, Petey? You worked hard for those victories. Can’t you just revel in the destruction even once?”
“Does a giraffe revel in its victory over the leaves it ate for lunch? A non-existent Russian, a poorly planned Terry Funk knock off in the middle of a bad break-up with an obese, child loving Asian and some Batman nerd who wasn’t even good enough to merit a Marlo appearance are hardly things to brag over. Things here are even worse than I had realised.”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself, you big baby. You gotta start small and work your way up. Some obscure nobodies today and the world tomorrow. Or maybe a week or two… But that’s not the point. Just look at me, Petey! I started off as nothing more than a microscopic seed of doubt buried in the darkest regions of your mind. The places in your head even you were afraid to see into. And now look at me. I’m your boy for life! Nothing we can’t do together! Hell, pretty soon I’ll be driving this beaten up body of yours. Cyrus The Virus!”
“My God, you’re making me wish Brandon Brown was still around.”
“Candy from a baby, Petey.”
“You’re talking about Brown, right?”
“Ehehehehehehe.”
“Besides, none of it makes sense. If I really had to build my way up, why am I so suddenly in Boss P’s pivotal match? His would-be valiant stand against his great nemesis? Because this federation has become such a joke that there’s no one else. That three victories against a bunch of nobodies is all it takes to be a somebody in this place. Because everyone here is lost and damned and broken.”
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t break ‘em just a little more. Ahaha!”
Mexico City, Mexico
“I fully expected this to happen at least once. But not quite this fast.”
“I’m just that charming.”
Bianca Rowe giggled from underneath the silk sheet, before stretching her smooth, entirely naked body across the bed and yawning carelessly. Peter Damascus seemed to pay no attention to her, as he sat naked in one of the hotel room’s chairs, his gaze burning through the window before him.
“I think you missed the subtly of my words,” she suggested, brushing her loose hair from her face.
“No, I understood,” Damascus reassured her. “But your attempts to mock me don’t change the fact that you won’t be walking right for the rest of the day.”
She giggled again, before rolling to the bedside table, where she slid her red framed spectacles over her eyes and began browsing some type of printed report.
“Actually, I was referring to the possibility of a second conference for us,” she mused, before turning her attention to the report.
“Sure thing,” Damascus replied. “Just wear more makeup next time, huh? I’ve got standards.”
She bit down quickly on her bottom lip, to avoid erupting into uncontrollable laughter. Damascus only continued staring blankly through the window. The window facing North-West.
Los Angeles, California
“Ladies and gentlemen, there is only one Undisputed Global Champion! Travis Roberts himself! The leader of the now exiled Global Impact Wrestling! In only a few minutes he’ll – ”
The reporter’s words were cut short, as an uproar of citizens drowned her out. Turning, she saw a single, sleek, black limousine heading towards herself and the crowd of rabid wrestling fans. The mob had wisely placed themselves in front of the mansion’s gates, meaning the vehicle couldn’t deliver The Blessed One to his home, without getting through them first.
“Come on, Benny!”
The reporter motioned to the cameraman, before she began climbing her way through the horde of people. Benny followed, only to be flattened and have his signal lost within moments. Not realising, the reporter continued.
“He’s returning home for the first time in months and we’re going to gain his official first words here right now! Here comes the car! MR. ROBERTS! MR. ROBERTS! PLEASE, TANYA WHITE FROM CHANNEL EIGHT! WILL YOU PLEA – ”
Her words were once again drowned by a deafening scream, as the mob erupted once more. The limo had stopped and one of the rear doors opened. It was complete mayhem as the crowd charged towards their idol. Until they stopped. Instantly. Completely.
Staring back at them was the frizzled, tattered, dirt stained figure of Peter Damascus. He scratched his scalp for several moments, before flicking some sort of insect out of his beard.
“Wha… what is that?!” White gasped at the sight of The Janglie Crushing Hobo.
“I think I pissed myself…” Damascus noted.
“IT’S A DECOY!” one of the crowd members screamed vehemently. “TRAVIS MUST BE TAKING THE BACK ENTRANCE TO GET PAST US!! COME ON, LETS GO!!!”
The mob began their charge around the premises, with Tanya White at the front, as Damascus only snickered with distain. He briefly gazed at the unconscious cameraman, before climbing back into the empty limo.
“Fucking morons. They really think Roberts has the balls to come back to the States and without an armed escort of misfits and freaks at his disposal? They’re truly disgusting and stupid.”
“Amen, bro. But, urgh, can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
“Why’d you go to all the trouble of pulling a fake Travis Roberts appearance in the States? I thought the whole point of your genius plan was to stay ‘below the radar’.”
“It’s all about assessment, Cyrus,” Damascus grunted, as he climbed into the driver’s seat and began to move away from The Headliner’s former home. “I need to know just how much people still care about GIW. For when we return, you see.”
“Return?”
“Yeah, I need to know that, should my plan work, it won’t have all been in vain. Seeing that these people as sickening as ever at least gives me hope. And besides, having a rich guy like Travis coming across the border made it real easy for all of his employees to go over with him.”
“Like a limo driver?”
Damascus winked, before gunning the acceleration.
Los Angeles, California
“You know how many opponents I have this week?”
“Three. I see all those bumps to ye noggin’ have left ya simple.”
“Eight. I have eight opponents this week. Three men standing opposite me inside that ring. Randy Boolzian, perhaps the most talented man to never hold the GIW Championship. Though that’s not saying much. If Deathman can achieve such a goal, BoolZ might as well drown himself in substance abuse and strange women until his incredibly short, empty life comes crashing to a traumatic end. Oh wait…
“Severino would be even more pathetic, but his completely depleted mental awareness means comparing him to any human being would be completely pointless. The one thing he ever accomplished in becoming Money In The Bank he threw away to some bimbo, just so he could watch her be destroyed, rather than himself. A true coward in every sense, though one that seems to be so delusional, he looks for his reflection in his bright, shining armour. If I’m lucky, he’ll be so confused he’ll mistake BoolZ for a defenceless interviewer and beat the shit out of him.
“And then there’s Moss. A guy I know nothing about, other than the clichés and ignorance he spews out with his ‘films’ that have all the style and accuracy of a homemade porno. But even if a man wins a completely useless Title and isn’t told about said Title until after he already owns it, taking out any form of actual competition, he doesn’t hold onto it against deadbeats and losers week and week out, unless he’s somewhere between being a deadbeat or loser and being something I should be concerned about this week. Just another checked box on the ever increasing list of bullshit that I have to contend with.”
“Urgh… yeah, great speech and all, but I still only count three…”
“Then either side of me I have a couple of ignorant, no-talent sluts. On my left I have Chassie Fear burying her head so far up the past’s ass she can’t tell where her bullshit federation that no one gives two fucks about anymore ends and reality begins. The day I wish to be paired with someone who considers a self-absorbed, basement dwelling pack of pretentious, mentally unstable fuckwits as anything to be concerned about is the day I strap myself to a sofa and watch crappy wrestling matches until I die. But to her credit, The Dehabilitated Rose has actually accomplished something by besting a nameless rookie after Edwards forfeited his Title after deciding it wasn’t worth the effort. Well, no, she’s accomplished nothing, but to humiliate anyone that holds her in any regard even further.
“So what does it say that Kiseragi has shown even less prowess and even less skill than Fear? He’s been Global Champion two times, the first thanks to his apparent 'daddy' and the second thanks to a sneak attack through the what one hopes is a strictly metaphorical back door, in a lame WWE rip-off that was clearly cooked up while fantasising about Adam Copeland’s long blonde locks. Though even sadder is the fact that the very instant Kiseragi stepped out into public with his bravely stolen piece of treasure, he was defeated, humiliated and back to being nothing, but a groupie obsessed chump. Even Edge got to hold his belt for three weeks…
“They’ll both be nothing, but a hindrance. Not even worth the six seconds it’ll take for them both to be eliminated.”
“You’ve got a lot of rage. Maybe we should kill someone. Help you unwind?”
“But from here it gets even worse. Mary Joanna and Boss Penguin. it truly is the blind leading the mentally void. These two opposing forces that clash at every conceivable point, completely blind to the fact that they’re exactly the fucking same. That their ridiculous, self-absorbed arrogance has torn GIW completely apart. Has had it banished from its home and turned into a travelling circus that can’t even keep itself together at the seams. They destroy what they wish to hold in their pointless battle for what was never their’s. They sicken me.”
“Then why throw yourself into the middle of their war?”
“Because this is the only way I can stop it. You know who the final enemy is? The people. The pathetic masses that have watched these two cancer clusters ripping apart each other and everything around them and have actually cheered. Praised the violence and mayhem. The unwarranted raping of what was once something to be admired and respected. They cheered as we were stricken from the air. As we were banished from our own homes. As we were forced to drag our pathetic, broken tail through every shit hole on this ridiculous planet.
“I had two choices. Sit and watch what is mine be torn apart from the inside out or stand up and fight. To be the one, single shining force that can stop the entire GIW world falling by the wayside. The one person that could see what was happening and knew better than to simply allow it to pass by unchecked, unlike every self-absorbed, blind sighted moron that’s actually taken a side in this would-be Armageddon.”
“Ooooohhhh Petey, you’re giving me goosebumps!”
“And so there’s only one question I need answered.”
“Yuh huh?”
“Can one man really stand against the entire world and win? And even if he can, am I that man? Or is he dead? Did he sacrifice, not just himself, but everything he would have fought for? Did he give up his own life, only for the world he left behind to be unable to sustain itself without him? And can that man ever return?”
“I'm pretty sure that was more than one question.”
Los Angeles, California
“We only get one, single chance at life. I believe that with every sense of my being. Mine’s already blown and I’m not even dead yet.”
“Yeah, but you will be soon, so don’t worry. And I’ll make sure to be much more proactive than you ever were. I think I’ll start by carving P’s beak right off.”
Damascus kicked the door violently opened and entered the apartment. It was just as he had left it. Clean, sleek, yet with a gentle warmth from the soft coloured blankets and thick, cushy mat in the living room, that seemed to have been made solely for the purpose of making love on the floor.
“She used to love cuddling there, right?”
“She loved cuddling everywhere.”
“And why are we back here? You gonna ‘cuddle’ yourself, while fantasising about her?”
“You wish, sicko. No, I’m here because this is the only computer in the world I can be sure won’t be tracked.”
“Huh?”
“After that whole ‘childhood enemy wants to track me down and kill me with an experimental military grade weapon’ thing, I’ve taken precautions to protect my identity. And I know every line in this apartment is secure.”
“How long have you been meaning to come back here?”
“Ever since I realised what had been staring me in the face all this time,” Damascus answered, moving into the home office of his former residence. He turned on the power to the PC and slumped in his chair. “The key Maguire gave me. It had a set of numbers engraved in it; 3 1 1 8 1. The key itself was just a metaphor. The numbers are the real key. A code.”
“To what?”
“Every dirty secret Maguire left behind.”
“3 1 1 8 1!”
“Exactly. This was his off-the-books email account with every piece of dirty laundry he ever had. Whatever he wanted me to see will be here. We’ll just download his entire inbox onto USB and be out of here before the building’s security finds us.”
“You can’t really think Maguire would have wanted you to see this to help you, though? I mean, you two weren’t exactly homeys, like us.”
“I think he knew what would happen after I killed him. Because the same thing happened to him. However this thing is gonna end, he could see it all, before I could even comprehend what was happening. He saw it and he’s sending me down a path. The power that he’s given me with this password is monumental. He wouldn’t have done it lightly. Which means, for better or worse, it’s important. And I need to know why.”
Damascus removed the USB stick and rose to his feet, as he switched the machine off. He turned to the exit and his entire body froze.
“Ehehehehehe.”
There she was. Her pasty, delicate frame, wrapped by clothes that were far too large for her tiny body. His clothes. The ones she wore because they smelled like him. Because the memories contained in them were the only things that kept her breathing.
“Declan…”
“Well it’s about time someone saw through this pathetic disguise,” Damascus replied.
Tears flooded down Cara Prescott’s cheeks, as she ran to him. Burying her head into his chest, she threw her arms with inhuman strength around him and began blubbering uncontrollably.
“I THOUGHT YOU WERE NEVER COMING BACK!” she wept.
“How did you get out of the asylum?”
Her body jolted, before she looked up at him, her large, desperate eyes bloodshot and still streaming with water.
“Woodward… he… he accessed your bank account and… well, he paid for my release… said you wouldn’t mind, because – ”
SMACK!
With a scream, she went crashing into the computer, before tumbling to the floor. She stayed there, quivering. Her tears stopped, as if she was too horrified to even weep.
“Well I take it back,” Damascus sneered, handling his already bruising knuckles. “I guess this isn’t a disguise anymore. Thanks to you I really am a bum! What a selfish thing you are.”
“Decl… don’t… please… I… I…”
“You what?! What’s wrong this time?! You can’t button your own shirt?! You can’t find a hair brush?! Would you like to me kill the neighbour and take his?! WOULD THAT MAKE YOU HAPPY!”
“DECLAN, DON’T!”
Her tears had started to flow uncontrollably once more, as she stared at him from the floor. Her face was already swelling with pain and her entire body was on the verge of convulsing.
“YOU’RE BEING HORRIBLE!" she wailed. "THIS ISN’T YOU! YOU’RE NOT A MONSTER, YOU’RE NOT!!”
“YOU MADE ME A MONSTER! YOU WATCHED ME DESTROY MYSELF, JUST SO YOU WOULDN’T HAVE TO. JUST SO YOU COULD KEEP YOUR ALREADY FILTHY HANDS CLEAN! BUT NOW IT’S TIME TO LIVE WITH WHAT YOU CREATED!”
He then paused for several, long, horrific moments, as she only cradled her panic stricken body. He then cleared his throat and addressed her one, final time.
“And if you ever lay your disgusting hands on me again...
...I’ll kill you.”
“Three victories. Is that all it takes? For this once unstoppable creature to be demanding a worthless, feral derelict for help? Three pathetic, worthless demonstrations of nothing?”
“Why so hard on yourself, Petey? You worked hard for those victories. Can’t you just revel in the destruction even once?”
“Does a giraffe revel in its victory over the leaves it ate for lunch? A non-existent Russian, a poorly planned Terry Funk knock off in the middle of a bad break-up with an obese, child loving Asian and some Batman nerd who wasn’t even good enough to merit a Marlo appearance are hardly things to brag over. Things here are even worse than I had realised.”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself, you big baby. You gotta start small and work your way up. Some obscure nobodies today and the world tomorrow. Or maybe a week or two… But that’s not the point. Just look at me, Petey! I started off as nothing more than a microscopic seed of doubt buried in the darkest regions of your mind. The places in your head even you were afraid to see into. And now look at me. I’m your boy for life! Nothing we can’t do together! Hell, pretty soon I’ll be driving this beaten up body of yours. Cyrus The Virus!”
“My God, you’re making me wish Brandon Brown was still around.”
“Candy from a baby, Petey.”
“You’re talking about Brown, right?”
“Ehehehehehehe.”
“Besides, none of it makes sense. If I really had to build my way up, why am I so suddenly in Boss P’s pivotal match? His would-be valiant stand against his great nemesis? Because this federation has become such a joke that there’s no one else. That three victories against a bunch of nobodies is all it takes to be a somebody in this place. Because everyone here is lost and damned and broken.”
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t break ‘em just a little more. Ahaha!”
* * * * *
Mexico City, Mexico
“I fully expected this to happen at least once. But not quite this fast.”
“I’m just that charming.”
Bianca Rowe giggled from underneath the silk sheet, before stretching her smooth, entirely naked body across the bed and yawning carelessly. Peter Damascus seemed to pay no attention to her, as he sat naked in one of the hotel room’s chairs, his gaze burning through the window before him.
“I think you missed the subtly of my words,” she suggested, brushing her loose hair from her face.
“No, I understood,” Damascus reassured her. “But your attempts to mock me don’t change the fact that you won’t be walking right for the rest of the day.”
She giggled again, before rolling to the bedside table, where she slid her red framed spectacles over her eyes and began browsing some type of printed report.
“Actually, I was referring to the possibility of a second conference for us,” she mused, before turning her attention to the report.
“Sure thing,” Damascus replied. “Just wear more makeup next time, huh? I’ve got standards.”
She bit down quickly on her bottom lip, to avoid erupting into uncontrollable laughter. Damascus only continued staring blankly through the window. The window facing North-West.
* * * * *
Los Angeles, California
“Ladies and gentlemen, there is only one Undisputed Global Champion! Travis Roberts himself! The leader of the now exiled Global Impact Wrestling! In only a few minutes he’ll – ”
The reporter’s words were cut short, as an uproar of citizens drowned her out. Turning, she saw a single, sleek, black limousine heading towards herself and the crowd of rabid wrestling fans. The mob had wisely placed themselves in front of the mansion’s gates, meaning the vehicle couldn’t deliver The Blessed One to his home, without getting through them first.
“Come on, Benny!”
The reporter motioned to the cameraman, before she began climbing her way through the horde of people. Benny followed, only to be flattened and have his signal lost within moments. Not realising, the reporter continued.
“He’s returning home for the first time in months and we’re going to gain his official first words here right now! Here comes the car! MR. ROBERTS! MR. ROBERTS! PLEASE, TANYA WHITE FROM CHANNEL EIGHT! WILL YOU PLEA – ”
Her words were once again drowned by a deafening scream, as the mob erupted once more. The limo had stopped and one of the rear doors opened. It was complete mayhem as the crowd charged towards their idol. Until they stopped. Instantly. Completely.
Staring back at them was the frizzled, tattered, dirt stained figure of Peter Damascus. He scratched his scalp for several moments, before flicking some sort of insect out of his beard.
“Wha… what is that?!” White gasped at the sight of The Janglie Crushing Hobo.
“I think I pissed myself…” Damascus noted.
“IT’S A DECOY!” one of the crowd members screamed vehemently. “TRAVIS MUST BE TAKING THE BACK ENTRANCE TO GET PAST US!! COME ON, LETS GO!!!”
The mob began their charge around the premises, with Tanya White at the front, as Damascus only snickered with distain. He briefly gazed at the unconscious cameraman, before climbing back into the empty limo.
“Fucking morons. They really think Roberts has the balls to come back to the States and without an armed escort of misfits and freaks at his disposal? They’re truly disgusting and stupid.”
“Amen, bro. But, urgh, can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
“Why’d you go to all the trouble of pulling a fake Travis Roberts appearance in the States? I thought the whole point of your genius plan was to stay ‘below the radar’.”
“It’s all about assessment, Cyrus,” Damascus grunted, as he climbed into the driver’s seat and began to move away from The Headliner’s former home. “I need to know just how much people still care about GIW. For when we return, you see.”
“Return?”
“Yeah, I need to know that, should my plan work, it won’t have all been in vain. Seeing that these people as sickening as ever at least gives me hope. And besides, having a rich guy like Travis coming across the border made it real easy for all of his employees to go over with him.”
“Like a limo driver?”
Damascus winked, before gunning the acceleration.
* * * * *
Los Angeles, California
“You know how many opponents I have this week?”
“Three. I see all those bumps to ye noggin’ have left ya simple.”
“Eight. I have eight opponents this week. Three men standing opposite me inside that ring. Randy Boolzian, perhaps the most talented man to never hold the GIW Championship. Though that’s not saying much. If Deathman can achieve such a goal, BoolZ might as well drown himself in substance abuse and strange women until his incredibly short, empty life comes crashing to a traumatic end. Oh wait…
“Severino would be even more pathetic, but his completely depleted mental awareness means comparing him to any human being would be completely pointless. The one thing he ever accomplished in becoming Money In The Bank he threw away to some bimbo, just so he could watch her be destroyed, rather than himself. A true coward in every sense, though one that seems to be so delusional, he looks for his reflection in his bright, shining armour. If I’m lucky, he’ll be so confused he’ll mistake BoolZ for a defenceless interviewer and beat the shit out of him.
“And then there’s Moss. A guy I know nothing about, other than the clichés and ignorance he spews out with his ‘films’ that have all the style and accuracy of a homemade porno. But even if a man wins a completely useless Title and isn’t told about said Title until after he already owns it, taking out any form of actual competition, he doesn’t hold onto it against deadbeats and losers week and week out, unless he’s somewhere between being a deadbeat or loser and being something I should be concerned about this week. Just another checked box on the ever increasing list of bullshit that I have to contend with.”
“Urgh… yeah, great speech and all, but I still only count three…”
“Then either side of me I have a couple of ignorant, no-talent sluts. On my left I have Chassie Fear burying her head so far up the past’s ass she can’t tell where her bullshit federation that no one gives two fucks about anymore ends and reality begins. The day I wish to be paired with someone who considers a self-absorbed, basement dwelling pack of pretentious, mentally unstable fuckwits as anything to be concerned about is the day I strap myself to a sofa and watch crappy wrestling matches until I die. But to her credit, The Dehabilitated Rose has actually accomplished something by besting a nameless rookie after Edwards forfeited his Title after deciding it wasn’t worth the effort. Well, no, she’s accomplished nothing, but to humiliate anyone that holds her in any regard even further.
“So what does it say that Kiseragi has shown even less prowess and even less skill than Fear? He’s been Global Champion two times, the first thanks to his apparent 'daddy' and the second thanks to a sneak attack through the what one hopes is a strictly metaphorical back door, in a lame WWE rip-off that was clearly cooked up while fantasising about Adam Copeland’s long blonde locks. Though even sadder is the fact that the very instant Kiseragi stepped out into public with his bravely stolen piece of treasure, he was defeated, humiliated and back to being nothing, but a groupie obsessed chump. Even Edge got to hold his belt for three weeks…
“They’ll both be nothing, but a hindrance. Not even worth the six seconds it’ll take for them both to be eliminated.”
“You’ve got a lot of rage. Maybe we should kill someone. Help you unwind?”
“But from here it gets even worse. Mary Joanna and Boss Penguin. it truly is the blind leading the mentally void. These two opposing forces that clash at every conceivable point, completely blind to the fact that they’re exactly the fucking same. That their ridiculous, self-absorbed arrogance has torn GIW completely apart. Has had it banished from its home and turned into a travelling circus that can’t even keep itself together at the seams. They destroy what they wish to hold in their pointless battle for what was never their’s. They sicken me.”
“Then why throw yourself into the middle of their war?”
“Because this is the only way I can stop it. You know who the final enemy is? The people. The pathetic masses that have watched these two cancer clusters ripping apart each other and everything around them and have actually cheered. Praised the violence and mayhem. The unwarranted raping of what was once something to be admired and respected. They cheered as we were stricken from the air. As we were banished from our own homes. As we were forced to drag our pathetic, broken tail through every shit hole on this ridiculous planet.
“I had two choices. Sit and watch what is mine be torn apart from the inside out or stand up and fight. To be the one, single shining force that can stop the entire GIW world falling by the wayside. The one person that could see what was happening and knew better than to simply allow it to pass by unchecked, unlike every self-absorbed, blind sighted moron that’s actually taken a side in this would-be Armageddon.”
“Ooooohhhh Petey, you’re giving me goosebumps!”
“And so there’s only one question I need answered.”
“Yuh huh?”
“Can one man really stand against the entire world and win? And even if he can, am I that man? Or is he dead? Did he sacrifice, not just himself, but everything he would have fought for? Did he give up his own life, only for the world he left behind to be unable to sustain itself without him? And can that man ever return?”
“I'm pretty sure that was more than one question.”
* * * * *
Los Angeles, California
“We only get one, single chance at life. I believe that with every sense of my being. Mine’s already blown and I’m not even dead yet.”
“Yeah, but you will be soon, so don’t worry. And I’ll make sure to be much more proactive than you ever were. I think I’ll start by carving P’s beak right off.”
Damascus kicked the door violently opened and entered the apartment. It was just as he had left it. Clean, sleek, yet with a gentle warmth from the soft coloured blankets and thick, cushy mat in the living room, that seemed to have been made solely for the purpose of making love on the floor.
“She used to love cuddling there, right?”
“She loved cuddling everywhere.”
“And why are we back here? You gonna ‘cuddle’ yourself, while fantasising about her?”
“You wish, sicko. No, I’m here because this is the only computer in the world I can be sure won’t be tracked.”
“Huh?”
“After that whole ‘childhood enemy wants to track me down and kill me with an experimental military grade weapon’ thing, I’ve taken precautions to protect my identity. And I know every line in this apartment is secure.”
“How long have you been meaning to come back here?”
“Ever since I realised what had been staring me in the face all this time,” Damascus answered, moving into the home office of his former residence. He turned on the power to the PC and slumped in his chair. “The key Maguire gave me. It had a set of numbers engraved in it; 3 1 1 8 1. The key itself was just a metaphor. The numbers are the real key. A code.”
“To what?”
“Every dirty secret Maguire left behind.”
Login: DMaguire@hoppedmail.com
Password: *****
Password: *****
“3 1 1 8 1!”
“Exactly. This was his off-the-books email account with every piece of dirty laundry he ever had. Whatever he wanted me to see will be here. We’ll just download his entire inbox onto USB and be out of here before the building’s security finds us.”
“You can’t really think Maguire would have wanted you to see this to help you, though? I mean, you two weren’t exactly homeys, like us.”
“I think he knew what would happen after I killed him. Because the same thing happened to him. However this thing is gonna end, he could see it all, before I could even comprehend what was happening. He saw it and he’s sending me down a path. The power that he’s given me with this password is monumental. He wouldn’t have done it lightly. Which means, for better or worse, it’s important. And I need to know why.”
Damascus removed the USB stick and rose to his feet, as he switched the machine off. He turned to the exit and his entire body froze.
“Ehehehehehe.”
There she was. Her pasty, delicate frame, wrapped by clothes that were far too large for her tiny body. His clothes. The ones she wore because they smelled like him. Because the memories contained in them were the only things that kept her breathing.
“Declan…”
“Well it’s about time someone saw through this pathetic disguise,” Damascus replied.
Tears flooded down Cara Prescott’s cheeks, as she ran to him. Burying her head into his chest, she threw her arms with inhuman strength around him and began blubbering uncontrollably.
“I THOUGHT YOU WERE NEVER COMING BACK!” she wept.
“How did you get out of the asylum?”
Her body jolted, before she looked up at him, her large, desperate eyes bloodshot and still streaming with water.
“Woodward… he… he accessed your bank account and… well, he paid for my release… said you wouldn’t mind, because – ”
SMACK!
With a scream, she went crashing into the computer, before tumbling to the floor. She stayed there, quivering. Her tears stopped, as if she was too horrified to even weep.
“Well I take it back,” Damascus sneered, handling his already bruising knuckles. “I guess this isn’t a disguise anymore. Thanks to you I really am a bum! What a selfish thing you are.”
“Decl… don’t… please… I… I…”
“You what?! What’s wrong this time?! You can’t button your own shirt?! You can’t find a hair brush?! Would you like to me kill the neighbour and take his?! WOULD THAT MAKE YOU HAPPY!”
“DECLAN, DON’T!”
Her tears had started to flow uncontrollably once more, as she stared at him from the floor. Her face was already swelling with pain and her entire body was on the verge of convulsing.
“YOU’RE BEING HORRIBLE!" she wailed. "THIS ISN’T YOU! YOU’RE NOT A MONSTER, YOU’RE NOT!!”
“YOU MADE ME A MONSTER! YOU WATCHED ME DESTROY MYSELF, JUST SO YOU WOULDN’T HAVE TO. JUST SO YOU COULD KEEP YOUR ALREADY FILTHY HANDS CLEAN! BUT NOW IT’S TIME TO LIVE WITH WHAT YOU CREATED!”
He then paused for several, long, horrific moments, as she only cradled her panic stricken body. He then cleared his throat and addressed her one, final time.
“And if you ever lay your disgusting hands on me again...
...I’ll kill you.”
