Post by Lord Hastings on Dec 7, 2010 20:09:44 GMT -5
[eD strides into Travis' apartment, and flaps his arms wildly in dismay]
eD – 'You've cancelled your media appointments, the week before a PPV? Don't you want to make the likes of Jet look stupid?'
[Travis looks up from the book he is reading and raises his eyebrows]
Travis – 'You can't have seen the Piercing Truth this week. Besides, 'The Blessed One' has some reading to catch up on before he hits the gym.'
eD – 'Well at least your training...'
Travis – ''The Blessed One' does it just to get affirmation from yourself, now scram, reading.'
[With that Travis turns back to his book, which is entitled; 'Battleground Z : Short Stories from the End of the World', and eD reluctantly leaves the apartment.]
Story 23
The Planet Earth.
If you were a Space Lord sitting high upon his thrown in the outer reaches of the galaxy, looking down upon this spinning orb, you would see little out of place. The oceans remain blue, the landmass remains intact, and it continues to orbit consistently around the sun that gives it life. An idyllic nirvana in the void of the galaxy, a place where life thrives and cultures are born with each passing millennia. But if you decided to visit this beautiful lump of rock, and broke through it's atmosphere to the actual surface, this illusion would be shattered.
For the place that was once the playground of civilisation, containing wonders that never ceased to amaze, and tales of optimism, hope and millions of personal victories and achievements is no more. In it's place sit thousands upon thousands of bloody battlegrounds, hope and optimism are rare and futile resource, replaced with cynicism, mistrust and brutality. Civilisation has broken down, society exists in all but name in small pockets across the globe, but these shallow reminders of what once was are steadily diminishing.
The world has literally torn itself apart, and it's remaining inhabitants live each day avoiding the very same fate. Gone are dreams, replaced with night terrors, laughter is outnumbered by screams of anguish and pain, neither religion nor science can offer answers or salvation. Those that survive have nothing to live for but this miserable existence, yet some continue to fight, they do not cease to cling to their mortality with every breath in their bodies, despite the inevitable, unavoidable fate that will greet them all. If you were a Space Lord you would no doubt wonder, why?
Major Trent Rengreen is one of these people, and he honestly has no answer why he does it. If you asked him he'd probably say 'What option do I have?', but deep down, every day he thinks about ending it all, right there and then, and although he never does it, he couldn't tell you why.
He glanced across the oil-lamp lit room at what had become his purpose each and every day, five men who were the closest thing to family he had, these men fate had deemed he would spend what would probably be his final days on this ethereal plain with, his last memories of this world. When faced with such horror as this Major Rengreen astounds even himself with his ability to resist those suicidal tendencies.
These were the ones that made it, these men, logic would suggest, are the very best of human civilisation. Surely this was a damning indictment of the evolution of the species Trent had once been proud of being a part of, but was that an argument to say he should abandon all hope, and become like those outside these four sturdy walls, relieve himself of the pain and mental anguish those he is condemned to suffer place upon him?
This was not how he should be thinking, not now anyway, it's of no use to him, one thing Major Trent Rengreen does not do, is quit. There has to be hope somewhere, these men cannot be the only survivors, the only ones who made it, surely out there, beyond this self imposed prison, are people like him, with advanced cognitive abilities and capable of stimulating company. Of course it was possible he was deluding himself, but he's as good as dead if he succumbs to reality.
The Major's train of thought is broken by the stiff and 100% regulation salute that Captain Joseph Sublime snaps off inches from his face. Whilst the rest of the unit, the Major included, had wilfully let much of the pompous and ridiculously authoritarian rituals fall by the wayside, Captain Sublime had stuck rigidly to them. This was not strange, everyone clung to something to remind them of what was, but Trent considered Sublime must be deeply damaged if that was what he chose to hold dear. People this uptight had always worried Trent.
“General, I suspect the enemy may have breached our perimeter, sir!” Joseph barked whilst stood bolt upright, staring just to the right of Trent's face, Captain Sublime would dare not look a senior officer in the eyes, but Rengreen was convinced he would stab one in the back, after a long drawn out plot involving far too many co-conspirators.
“What makes you think that, Captain?”
Without shifting position, or emotion Sublime responds; “Major, I first became a keen observer of wildlife when I was a young boy, these skills I acquired at this early age served me well during recon missions during my early years in the forces, but before I enrolled it also...”.
Trent rolled his eyes, Captain Sublime had a tendency to overcomplicate the simplest of things, Rengreen was certain he could turn even the most simple instructions into some kind of Machiavellian ruse with his own interpretation and explanation of them. Over time the Major had come to the conclusion that the best course of action was to swiftly derail the train before it picked up speed.
“In simple terms Captain, before the enemy actually break in here and use the Privates face as a chew toy and a sexual aid...”
The youngest member of the unit, Private Milo turns round and just looks meekly towards his superiors. Trent was at odds regarding this young man, he was clearly in way over his head, and he'd had deep reservations when the unit had decided to take him in and train him up. But he had decided, ultimately, that it gave them something else to focus on other than the horrors that they have lived through. It also meant they bothered Trent far less.
“Erm, I'm pretty sure they don't have sex boss” Came a reply from across the room, it was the other Captain in the unit, Anthony Kiyoshi, a second generation Japanese American, who was always quick to point out flaws.
“They may well make an exception for young Milo, now lets get back to the impending breach shall we?”
“I got a visual on a number of digits from the left metacarpus of an enemy fragmenting the rear blockaded aperture, Sir!”
Trent had got masterful as translating that which spewed from his Captain's mouth, much to his own dismay; “They've got a hand through the boarded up window out back.”
“That's affirmative, Sir!”
Trent had noticed that Milo has got more and more agitated as the conversation has progressed, this was exactly what he had feared when they took him in, that he would be fine whilst they were in a relatively safe position, but once the pressure reached tipping point, he would be of no use to anyone. His voice croaked out a question, which was surprisingly decent in content, despite the quivering nature of the delivery.
“H-h-how m-m-many?”
“I only saw the one metacarpus...”
Rengreen doesn't even need to say anything at this point, a brief glance in the Captains direction is enough.
“Sorry Sir, I only saw one hand, but my hearing, which I honed during night time hikes with a group of blind hunters making it far better than that of the average man, suggests there are numerous potential intruders”
It is at this point that the promising, by the standards of those around him, Corporal Trevor Point decides to move his focus from polishing his own rifle, an activity that takes up much of his time, to the actual conversation.
“So you're telling us multiple hostiles are feverishly trying to gain access through our rear? I don't know about you guys, but that definitely sounds like a job for Captain Kiyoshi doesn't it? Backdoor invaders are a particular speciality of his.”
Kiyoshi just shakes his head, he has become used to this kind of ribbing from those beneath him, Milo continues to look cautiously to the back of the darkened room, Captain Sublime won't allow himself to be lowered to the level of understanding the joke, and the so far silent Corporal Manabu Daiki just snorts his approval, whilst not taking his eyes of Kiyoshi.
“This isn't the time for that kind of thing Corporal, we need to get ready to defend ourselves, we all knew it was only a matter of time before they caught our scent.” Major Rengreen asserts with authority.
“The smell of dishonour is more pungent than death itself.” Came the voice of Corporal Daiki, he almost spits the words as he speaks and still does not take his eyes off of his fellow countryman. Trent wasn't surprised it had come to this, both Anthony and Manabu had initially started out as strong comrades, with common backgrounds from which they could share nostalgia and relief, but the battleground these men find themselves on tears friendships apart quicker than the enemy can tear your arm off.
Even without the backdrop of futility and hopelessness Major Rengreen suspects this friendship was always doomed to failure, there was never a way the fiercely proud Manabu could peacefully coexist in the same social circles as your self righteous Captain Kiyoshi. Anthony had quickly risen through the ranks, before everything went to hell in a hand basket, but once he had reached the position of Captain his progression had slowed, yet his own inflated self worth had not. Daiki's own misplaced pride was always going to clash fiercely with such an outlook, end of the world or not.
And then the sound that has been inevitable from the moment all six men barricaded themselves into this ramshackle building, causes them all to reach for their weapons. The slow creaking and then sudden explosion of splinters and wood cascading to the floor engulfs the room and echoes around the walls, and is then replaced by the blood curdling wailing. Through the rear window not one, but many bodies attempt to burst through, their arms struggling against one another, attempting to pull themselves through towards their targets. Luckily for the unit the enemy has no concept of cooperation or waiting ones turn, and their high numbers, at this point at least, give these six men the advantage. And each of them stare momentarily at the horrifying scene which resembles a decaying group of boy band groupies.
“Is that Darius Presley?” enquires Corporal Trevor Point.
Darius Presley, that's a name Trent hadn't heard, outside the restrictions of his own mind, for quite some time. General Presley, Rengreen's superior officer, the man who god knows how long ago left Trent, alone, with no munitions, knee deep in the enemy, and fled to preserve his own health. Rengreen has relived that moment many times, and knew all too well what he would do if he ever saw the General again But he knew that was no more than wishful thinking.
“That's not Presley?” The Major replies with a hint of disappointment.
“Then who is it, and why do I recognise him?”
“If you are talking about the enemy at the front of the pack, then that is because it is Oswald Blanchard, the farmer we found Milo with, who refused your offers of safe passage because he was too busy beating one out over his mutilated cattle”
Just as The Major ceases his reply, the aforementioned Private Milo runs towards the window, tossing his gun aside and pulling out a knife, the rest of the unit look on in amazement as he barrels head first at the farmer, flailing the knife and screaming, before rapidly jabbing the serrated knife into the eye sockets of the decaying Oswald until he has literally slices the top of his head off like you would a coconut if you were a blind sufferer of Attention Deficit Disorder. He turns back towards the group, his face covered in blood and lumps of brain.
“It wasn't...just...the cattle.” he explains between taking huge lungfuls of air.
Major Rengreen could not help but think they were pretty original last words, as one of the enemy breaks past the corpse of the farmer and manages to grab the Private by the scruff of his neck and drag him backwards through the window, and in under a minute Milo becomes no more than a blood splattered motif across the walls, and the floor.
Trent knew this was an important moment, no-one was particularly shocked at this turn of events, in fact if a pool had been set up to predict the first of the unit to meet their end, the smart money would have been on Private Milo. But the significance of this very moment was about more than the death of someone who was always going to struggle in this environment. Major Rengreen could see Captain Sublime straighten up and survey the rest of the guys, and he knew exactly what he was thinking, what they'd all been thinking. Trent wasn't up to this, he wasn't the man they had all known many months ago, they didn't believe in his ability to lead.
No-one felt this more than Joseph Sublime, Trent could tell. Underneath the layers of regulation perfection he displayed, Sublime was a seething mass of jealousy and confusion who could not contemplate how it was Rengreen had kept these men's loyalty despite his obvious lack of leadership skills. Sublime would no doubt concede Trent was once a great leader, but his star had well and truly fallen, the lack of discipline the unit showed each and every day was testament to that. Captain Sublime desperately wanted the respect Rengreen had earned in the past for himself, and Trent could sense he was going to use this moment to try and gain it.
Trent however, was more than aware that the respect of these men was not what he needed anymore, we had gone far beyond the usual limitations of war and battle, all he needed from these men was to stay alive for as long as possible, he couldn't care less what they thought of him. Sublime, as was often his main flaw, was too focused on his own personal progression and worries, that he could not see the big picture, whilst he wanted respect and a position of power, all Rengreen wanted to do was survive.
What Captain Sublime didn't contemplate was that in the scenario they all found themselves in, the will to survive was the only skill anyone needed. It didn't matter if you were the perfect soldier way back when, before all this had started, what was truly important was that you and your men were still breathing ten minutes, an hour, a day and a week from now. All Captain Sublime considered was the immediate present, and ensuring he looked good during it. And Trent knew very well, that in this moment, Joseph would be more focused on how he was perceived, than the survival of the unit. And just as he assumed, Joseph was quick to open his mouth.
“Soldiers, take aim, and clear that window. Once we have dispersed of the initial wave, we will then continue to the second step of my plan, in which I will dress up in female clothing to act as a decoy to draw the enemy into a separate section of the woods, and then the rest of you can sneak up behind them and clear them out with a surprise ambush. I know this presents plenty of risks for myself, but I am willing to do that just for you guys.”
As the other three begin to raise their weapons and follow these instructions, it occurred to the Major that it might well be easier to let them follow this insane course of action, and unburden himself from the responsibility of their safety. After all, if they were naïve enough to follow the insane plans of this man, who had spent most of his career attempting to break from the rank of Captain, but failing in the most extravagant and convoluted ways possible, then did they really deserve to be saved?
“Let me get this clear Captain, currently we are taking great benefit from the fact the enemy have bottlenecked themselves into a small opening. Your suggestion is that we clear the way for them, and make it easier for the hostiles to gain entry to the one safe haven we have?”
“You're forgetting about the part where I draw them away in a dress.”
“Not overlooking, choosing to ignore it for your own well being. If your superior chose to acknowledge such a mindless plan, he would have no choice but to deem you unfit for service and confine you to the broom cupboard until we were in a position where you couldn't endanger yourself and others.”
“No, no...you are missing the point of the plan, let me explain....”
“We don't have an hour for you to go over the detailed and twisting back story to your latest unfathomable course of thinking, we need to act smart, not be turned into jibbering fools out of sheer confusion”
At this point Corproal Daiki chimes in; “It is a stupid plan, and a dishonourable one too. The idea of facing the enemy as a transvestite would bring great shame upon our unit”
“I don't see any other option, personally I understand and follow the plan.” Replies Captain Kiyoshi.
“Of course you do Captain, you're just hoping to find a mini skirt and some high heels so that you can join in on the frivolities.”Chuckled Trevor Point.
The divides in the unit were beginning to widen, which could only be expected under such pressure, but during this brief exchange these divisions could have cost the men dearly, as another enemy, dressed in full military uniform, falls through the window and into their space, and slowly gets to it's feet.
“See, if we'd have followed my plan we wouldn't be stuck with one of them inside” Captain Somers ascertains with a note of glee and satisfaction in his voice.
“Don't panic, it's only Micaleff Gormless, he was only ever a threat to himself before the incident, he won't pose us any problems.” States the Major calmly.
“He is an enemy, and he has breached our perimeter, and you will be held directly responsible for any consequences of your incompetence in command. “ States Joseph emphatically.
The enemy identified as Micaleff Gormless stares at the unit for a moment, and Trent raises his hand as a sign not to shoot, as both his captains glare at him with confusion and in one case contempt. The lumbering obstacle in front of them begins taking slow, uneasy steps towards the unit. But these men knew not to be fooled by the painstakingly dragged out speed of the enemy, they knew too well that they would continue to follow them as they had caught their scent. It may take days or even weeks, but the moment always came when it was inevitably kill, or be killed.
Major Trent Rengreen's confidence in the face of this individual was baffling to most of his unit, but with a few steps his calmness is justified as Micaleff Gormless stops abruptly and turns his head, with his eyes widening. His entire body then lurches away from the remaining five men and stumbles to the side of the room, his mouth drooling and his whole body quivering with what could be mistaken for excitement if the enemy could feel actual emotions. His target? The reason these five men have not had to make a single evasive manoeuvre? A tall, sturdy, oak wardrobe, which Micaleff grasps with both hands and begins to simultaneously ferociously bite and rapidly hump. Splinters shatter in his mouth, his mid section is thrusting with such speed and power that he blood can be seen spreading through his clothes.
The unit look on in confusion, as Trent merely chuckles at how events have unfolded exactly as he had expected, which was not a rare occurrence. However Captain Joseph Sublime is a picture of horror and humiliation, his face reddens and he reaches for his service revolver and without hesitation fires off two rounds into the head of Micaleff, who then falls to the floor in a bloodied heap.
The other four men slowly turn their heads to look at the Captain with a shared expression of confusion and shock.
“What? That's where I keep the dress!”
“The way he was going he'd have killed himself within a few minutes anyway, why waste the ammo? Or is blowing your load early a psychological problem?” enquires Corporal Trevor Point.
“The Captain was clearly protecting the only plan we have.” Responds Captain Kiyoshi sharply, shooting a stern glance in the direction of the Major whilst defending his fellow Captain.
At this point Corporal Daiki's pent up hatred for Kiyoshi explodes into full view. “It is purely shameful the way you continue to verbally suck Joseph's cock in plain view despite his clear deficiencies. His plan is bullshit and...”
Unfortunately Major Trent Rengreen had foreseen the following moments many, many times before. He'd always knew how the end of the unit would begin, it was always going to come from just one place. And as Joseph Sublime raised his side arm once more, and placed one single shell into the skull of Corporal Daiki his suspicions were confirmed. Trent could do nothing but frown, Corporal Point on the other hand quickly raises his own firearm...
“What the fuck did you just do that for? My god, you've completely lost the plot, you have no idea what is important anymore!” The Corporal screams.
Trent was unsure whether Sublime was ever aware of what was important, whether he was aware of anything other than his own needs and lusts. The rigid, by the book character had always been a mask, the true Joseph Sublime had been revealed in one stark act of brutality.
“What I am aware of Corporal is the significance of our ranks, and the fact we are at war, son! Daiki was clearly a mutineer, and without the luxury of a Court Martial the action was imperative for the greater good.” Barked Captain Sublime, his eyes wide and pupils dialated, as if on an incredible high.
“You're not the Superior officer here, you have no right to make that call, only the Major has that authority...” Corporal Point retorts, his hand shaking whilst he keeps his pistol aimed at Sublime.
“Him? In control? Are you insane, he's done nothing but drink himself into a stupor most nights. When was the last time he did anything that justified his position? I have clearly been our leader, our strength our only sense of focus and logic for god knows how long now. For Christ's sake he is the reason we are in this barn rather than with my second cousin once removed's, flatmate who owns a bunker in the desert. It was simple, all we needed to do was navigate the city to meet with my contact with the border control, who may or may not want to kill me, and that would have lead us to another three or four important meetings before we finally arrived at our goal. Instead we are in a Barn! If it wasn't forhim Milo and Daiki would not be dead”
Captain Kiyoshi has kept quiet throughout this confrontation, but as Joseph finishes his baffling condemnation of the Major, and inexplicable view of how things should be, he quietly steps between both men and lowers their guns with each hand. Clearly not wanting to get on the wrong side of Jospeh, something Kiyoshi had done well to do for many months now, he tries to play peacemaker.
“Now is the time for action, and I am afraid the Major has not offered a viable alternative, we have no other options than to follow the Captains plan. Corporal Daiki's death is unfortunate, but it was sadly necessary, we cannot waste anymore time!”
Trent was beginning to tire of his expectations being met. He'd always suspected Anthony had a unfathomable respect for Joseph Sublime, one that bordered on near hero worship, and that if he could have chosen, Captain Sublime would have been his superior. This was now exposed for all to see, as Kiyoshi is hurtling headlong into a suicide mission, purely so he doesn't cross his idol.
“You know this will be a huge waste of ammunition” Trent finally decides to advise.
“He's stalling, Captain Kiyoshi, open fire and clear the breach. I'm getting my dress!” Captain Sublime orders, as he stomps over to the wardrobe and kicks Gormless' body out of the way before opening the door.
“You know, fighting and dying isn't the only option.”The Major asserts just as Kiyoshi opens fire. Anthony Kiyoshi proves to be a crack shot under pressure, and he repeatedly hits head shots for a few moments, and then, suddenly the groaning stops, and the window is clear.
“What was that you were saying about dying, Major? You see Point? The Major has no idea, he is useless to us now. Now go and check the perimeter, and plot me a course for the distraction” Sublime smugly states as he slips the dress off its hanger and begins stripping down.
Point turns and walks towards the window, his knife brandished by his side, as he approaches the opening he replies; “Hey, I never said we should listen to him! Hell no! I am well aware of how insignificant Rengreen has become, all I thought was you should consult with myself before you chose to execute another officer...It all looks clear.”
The very moment Point turns back to the remaining members of the unit his lack of observational skills are clearly put on display, as the silence is broken by the moans and screams of the enemy, and multiple sets of arms plunge in from the darkness, and pull him clean through the window and into the dark forest beyond.
Joseph's face turns white as he observes this just as he finishes strapping his floral dress on, and places the sun hat over his head, but the Captain quickly recovers.
“Kiyoshi, get out their and clear a path, I'll be right behind you to create a distraction...”
Captain Kiyoshi obediently runs to the window and leaps out, all that can be heard is the sound of gunfire as he perches beyond the wall and fights for survival.
Major Trent Rengreen begins to calmly pack a bag full of weapons and suplies, showing no sign of rushing. Captain Sublime looks at him and shakes his head.
“If you want me to save your ass, you better hurry up.” Says the Captain as he begins running towards the window, a machete brandished in his right hand.
“Nah, the other option is more enticing...”
“There is no alternative other than death!”
“Well, while you all got lost your focus about the breach at the back...”
But before the Major can finish his sentence The Captains left foot gets caught up in his dress and he tumbles to the floor, and impales himself on his own machete with a maniacal scream. As he lies there dead, face first to the wooden planks, with blood literally squirting across the floor, the Major finishes his sentence.
“Did anyone think of checking...the front?”
Suddenly the gunfire stops outside, and Captain Anthony Kiyoshi's head appears in the window.
“What?”
As he sounds his surprise at the Major's revelation he looks down and is shocked to be greeted by the sight of his idol, fallen and bloody. His surprise at this is short lived however as he is swiftly grabbed from the side and an enemy plants it's jaws on his neck, before dragging him off out of view.
And then there was one, thought Trent. He picked up his bag and strode to the front doors of the barn, and looks through a slot, and just as he suspected the path is relatively clear. He looks back at the bodies that litter the floor, and the breached window as it slowly fills with more of the enemy.
The Major couldn't help but consider that despite the fact he knew the flaws and imperfections of his men, he still could not keep them alive, despite it being the only thing that kept him going. Was this what he had wanted, to be free of the burden of being responsible for their damaged and worthless lives? Because if that was true, that surely indicated a greater sense of suicidal tendencies than Trent had ever acknowledged before? What other purpose did he have now, except to die alone.
Just as this realisation hits him, the old service radio that sat silently upon the oak table in the middle of the room since they arrived suddenly springs to life, and a crackling voice can be heard. A voice Major Trent Rengreen hears most nights.
”To all survivors...there is a safe haven...the coordinates are 51° 28' 38" N...This is..general Darius Presley...wishing you luck and elongated life...”
Major Trent Rengreen still has a purpose, he always did. The unit were merely a distraction he knew that now, something to keep him alive, something to fill the days until this moment, this one perfect moment. Darius Presley had survived, and he had sent a message to Trent.
He swung open the doors to the barn, and surveyed the wooden landscape before him, and he heard the unmistakable sound of someone getting to their feet, pulling a machete from their chest and groaning. But Trent Rengreen did not care if what was left of Joseph Sublime attempted to pursue him, because as he strode out of the doors into the dark he knew his destiny was only a matter of weeks on the Horizon.
Post by Lord Hastings on Dec 7, 2010 20:10:29 GMT -5
He made his way down the hallway, a subtle slump in his step, as he arrived at his destination. He pressed one hand to the doorknob, while swiping his security card with the other. A small green light displayed on the lock and he entered the apartment. Stepping through the threshold, he found himself in the main living room of his home. Of Declan Prescott's former apartment. A familiar sight greeted him. And with a flash it was gone.
“Travis?”
“Travis Roberts?” the man spoke, holding the door open with one hand and extending his other. “I’m very pleased you could make it.”
“So you must be Declan Prescott?” The Headliner spoke, ignoring the offer of a handshake his slick, gelled hair acquaintance had put forth.
“That I am,” he replied with a wry smile. “Please, won’t you come in and take a se – ”
“The Blessed One thinks he might sit down,” Roberts spoke, staring around the room as he made his way inside. “This is a nice, humble little place you have.” He took a seat directly in the centre of the largest leather couch in the room.
“Wait, ‘The Blessed One’?” Declan raised an eyebrow, as he closed the door and sat in a single sized couch to Roberts’ right.
“Don’t tell Travis Roberts you invited him to your home, without even knowing who he is? What kind of impression do you hope to make on The Most Influential Icon In Sports Entertainment This Millennia? And why is The TWiSTeD High Commander in your living room? He’s used to five star dining, when potential employers come begging for his talents.”
Declan only stared blankly for several moments, as Roberts removed a delicacy from his jacket pocket, lit it and took a long drag. When The Significant Player finally chose to speak, his voice contained the obvious presence of purpose for the first time.
“You’re right,” he began. “You’re here, in my home, to show that I don’t want you to work for me – I want you to work with me. And I wouldn’t make that kind offer if I hadn’t done my homework.” He leaned forward in his seat. “I know Travis Roberts is a hungry man. I know Travis Roberts wants his talents recognised… no, I know Travis Roberts wants an environment where his talents can’t be denied. Where the people around him are smart enough to realise they’re in the presence of a true revolutionary. Am I right?”
“Travis Roberts is appalled that you have to ask. Though your brain is obviously less damaged than the majority of fed heads that have approached The Blessed One, in dire need of the success and ratings that will inevitably accompany Travis Roberts’ return to the squared circle. So The Headliner, in his infinite wisdom, will allow you to make a case to why he should Bless Global Impact Wrestling with his presence, when he could main event any federation he desires.”
“Need,” Prescott responded flatly, now leaning back. “I have a wrestling promotion. I’ve tried to make it work, but I find myself surrounded by self-absorbed simpletons at every turn. Take our latest show, for example, Horizons. Its most notable feature was me destroying one of my employees. Some crackhead named Andy Savana. Even though I did it cleanly, fairly and definitively, it's not exactly an image that's going to sell mainstream.
"Yet despite having a complete black hole of top tier talent, my keen ability and sharp wits have managed to keep my company afloat. That, in of itself, is a feat worthy of Travis Roberts’ attention.
“Alone, The Headliner Travis Roberts is the finest competitor in our business. Alone, The Significant Player has the sharpest mind in our industry. Both great, no doubt. But together… together… well, that would be a revolution.”
“Travis?” eD repeated. “Are you okay? You seem kind of dazed.”
Travis only stood motionless, for several moments.
"Travis! Are you okay?"
“Huh?” Roberts grumbled, wondering what was in his latest delicacy. “The Blessed One is far from fine and he is appalled that you even need to ask that question.”
“What’s wrong this time?” eD replied, more a sigh than a question.
“As his agent, you should be on top of these things,” The Headliner groaned. “Your client has been booked in a match against Fernandez and Red Fusion and you aren’t calling the national guard? This travesty of logical thought is an insult to the common intelligence of all humanity. Even by window licker standards, the notion that The Consortium would believe having Travis Roberts come into bodily contact with those two mongoloids is a frightening concept.”
“So you haven’t heard?” eD spoke, filled with dread at the oncoming conversation. “St. Jimmy used his purse to book this week’s card.”
“This is no time for jokes, little dude,” Travis replied irritably. “Besides, even if Declan’s rapist hyena was given the opportunity to book the show, it would certainly do a better job than the piece of pond life that put this next show together.”
eD only sighed and turned his attention back to the television. A gruff looking police lieutenant was speaking to the press, with the headline YOUNG POLICE DETECTIVE MURDERED running across his wrinkled head.
“Detective Archer had only transferred into our precinct a few week ago,” the grizzled veteran spoke. “He was a fine young man, who was hungry for justice. We will find who did this to him. Anytime a police officer is the victim of a violent crime – ”
“Travis Roberts need some air…”
He made his way across the room and slid the glass door open, leading to the large balcony. He stepped through the threshold and took a seat at the large metal and glass table.
“So tell The Headliner exactly what you have to offer The Revolution?” Roberts spoke, carefully examining the man who sat opposite him at the table.
“Mother fucker, you know who you talking to? I’m Eddie Murphy! You seriously asking what Eddie Mother Fuckin’ Murphy can offer you? Damn, boy, yo momma must a slapped you upside the head and put a donkey’s face in yo asshole!”
“This interview is over,” Roberts shook his head. “You can collect your free cookie from Cara in the kitchen.”
“Mother fucker I saw those cookies! They were store bought! And you don’t tell Eddie Murphy when his interview is over! He tells you when it’s over!”
“With the amount of damage to Eddie Murphy’s brain,” Roberts sighed. “The Headliner would likely be sitting here for the next six months, as Dr. Dolittle processed the last sentence he had heard.”
“Mother fucker, Eddie Murphy ain’t a one-routine man! He don’t just to slapstick comedy! You ever seen Norbit! It’s a gritty take on the hardships of life and the unreasonable demands of our society! What about Meet Dave?! It’s an existential tale of discovery, woe and grief! EDDIE MURPHY IS REAL, DAMMIT! EDDIE MURPHY IS RAW!”
The Currently Not So Blessed One only turned to the apartment interior no colour left in his gaunt face, the grim sight of despair planted across him. “SECURITY!”
The 135 pound Professor Bling, accompanied by a horde of muscular, robot resembling goons charged the balcony. They grabbed Murphy and dragged him away, as he kicked, clawed and even bit with his oversized teeth.
“YOU AIN’T SEEN THE LAST OF ME!” he bellowed, as he was carried away into the apartment and out of sight. “YOU GON’ BE HEARING FROM MY AGENT! HE MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A WEAK ASS NIGGA! YOU GONNA GET IT REAL BAD! HE’S A BAD ASS MOTHER FUCKER! A FUCKING BAD ASS MOTHER FUCKER!! YOU’LL BE SORRY! ARGH HAR HAR HAAAAAAARRRRRR!!!!”
“Bring in the next one then…” Roberts sighed, simultaneously lighting and dragging on two cigarettes.
With a wry smile, Nicolas Cage planted himself opposite The Blessed One. Roberts only sighed again.
“Nic, you can’t keep doing this…”
“Doing what?” Cage asked, his smile growing even broader and creepier. “I’m just interested in joining your crew.”
“It’s not a crew,” Roberts shook his head, with the bitter taste of defeat. “It’s a Revolution. The Revolution does not search for treasure, is not a fan of Elvis and avoids Brandon Brown as much as humanly possible. Nicolas Cage has no place here. Besides, the Revolution is seeking a minority as its newest member.”
“That’s discrimination!” Cage barked.
“The Headliner agrees. But Declan Prescott has been bombarded by complaints, from mongoloids who apparently find The Revolution’s only ‘minority’ member offensive to the black community. Travis Roberts isn’t inclined to care if the majority of viewers are too busy licking the nearest window, than to see that Brandon McSkinny is no less brain damaged than any white member of the roster, including such ‘fan favourites’ as Randy Boolzian and Chris Austin. But The Significant Player made the call and The Headliner, as his trusted associate, respects his decision.”
“What?” Cage blinked. “I was talking about your Elvis discriminaton. That’s man’s a god!”
“NEXT!” Roberts bellowed.
“You haven’t seen the last of me!” Cage spat, before charging toward the railing, leaping over and releasing a parachute from his jacket, sailing to the roadway below and laughing manically.
Within moments, a new arrival had taken position in the interview seat. Paul Cockatoo sat in the chair, scratching his crotch and then getting distracted by a cloud that loosely resembled an oval shape.
“NEXT!”
“Not going too well, huh?” Declan Prescott inquired, entering the balcony area.
“Travis Roberts doesn’t wish to offend The Significant Player, but these interviews are a colossal waste of time. There is no human being on the planet, regardless of ethnicity, that can match the ideals and superiority that The TWiSTeD High Commander and The Heart And Soul Of GIW possess. Hell, the majority of them seem to have trouble meeting the intellectual levels of their own faeces.”
Declan chuckled, patting his friend on the shoulder. “Not to worry, dude. I think I’ve found someone. Someone who is a truly incorruptible beacon of level headedness and pure, undeniable talent. And he should add a few buys to Horizons, at that.”
“Sup?” Will Smith spoke, as he crossed through the doorway.
With a shake of his head, Roberts focused on his jacket and removed a small, plastic pouch from one of the pockets. Examining the deep green contents inside, he decided to himself he had enjoyed enough for one day and stuffed the packet back inside his jacket. He rose to his feet and made his way back inside, moving toward the hallway.
“What are you doing?” eD asked, still watching the news report, that was now showing a zipped body bag.
“The Headliner thought he’d take a nap,” Roberts returned. “Is that alright with you?”
“You’re not still depressed about Jet are you?”
“Is the Pope a Catholic? Does a bear shit in the woods? Did Declan Prescott suffer debilitating brain damage during his absence?”
“What’s got you so bothered, really?”
“Honestly, little man, you obviously paid no attention the first time Travis Roberts tried communicating with your demented brain, why would he try a second time?”
“Really?” eD inquired, turning his attention entirely away from the television for the first time. “Fusion and Fernandez have you that bothered? Why can’t you just beat them like you do every other time a situation like this arises?”
“Obviously Travis Roberts will deliver a crippling blow to LWF’s answers to Killswitch and Dredd, but what is the point, little dude? No matter how many jobbers and simpletons, The Blessed One defeats, there will always be more to replace them. How is a man of The Headliner’s ability supposed to measure himself against mongoloids, who respect Jet Somers as a cunning and worthy opponent?”
“And Declan?”
“Yes.
"Now his appearance on The Piercing Truth has left The Most Influential Icon In Sports Entertainment This Millennia bordering on depression, so he’s going to go recuperate his motor functions, if that’s alright with eD cASe.”
“–”
Before the yellow agent could respond, Roberts turned on the spot and entered the bathroom, to his left. Splashing some cold water on his face, he caught a glimpse of the bathtub in the mirror.
“ARGH!”
Cara Prescott, the cut on her forehead she had suffered from Douglas Maguire’s assault still freshly red, had been in the process of drying her naked, thin, delicate, milky coloured body with a towel, when Travis Roberts entered the room. With a scream she went tumbling backwards into the still emptying tub. Roberts immediately made his toward her, only to have her begin screaming once more, from her tangled position within the bath. He was struck in awe for a moment, at the scars riddling her thighs and back. He shook his head and grabbed Cara’s arm, only to be met by the most hysterical scream yet and a sharp kick in the face.
“GET OUT!” she roared.
The Not Blessed At All One nodded in compliance and hurriedly stumbled from the room, crashing into the opposite hallway wall. He clambered toward the kitchen and leaned against the bench, staring out the window. An eternity seemed to pass, before…
“Travis,” the usually timid and soft voice of Cara came.
Roberts turned on the spot to see her wrapped in the same towel, her exposed face, arms and legs, still showing signs of dampness. Her eyes were wide and red with what had inevitably been tears.
“Cara…” he spoke. “I didn’t mean to…”
“Well most people knock!” she protested, her brow furrowing in annoyance.
“I'm sorry. I haven’t been myself lately. And… and I was only trying to help you up! I wasn't… you know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” she grumbled, turning her attention to the tiles beneath her tiny feet. “Don’t tell Declan, okay?”
“Why?” Travis spoke. “He wouldn’t be mad at you?”
“Declan would never do anything to hurt me,” she pouted defiantly. “It’s just… my scars… he knows how I am about my body. I don’t like people looking at me like that.” Her eyes now met The Headliner’s for the first time. “If he knew, he’d think he had failed me. And probably resent you, even if he didn’t mean to.”
“Shit,” Travis spoke. “I really didn’t mean to. I haven’t been at my best lately.”
“Because of Mary Joanna?”
“Of course not!” Roberts protested. “The Blessed One couldn’t care less about that succubus and her lice infested boy toy – ” he was silenced by Cara wrapping her arms around his chest and resting her cheek on his shoulder.
“My mother was a heroin addict,” she spoke gently swaying her, and by extension his, body. “She was arrested when I was little. The only kind thing my father ever did for me was take me to see her in prison. I wanted to talk to her so badly. She used to hold me some nights, in her bruised arms, and tell me that even though all these bad things were happening to us, it wouldn’t last forever. That one day we’d be happy and safe.
“I loved her so much. She was the only person in the world who had ever treated me like a person.”
“Cara…” Travis spoke, gently wiping a tear from her eye with a single thumb.
“Then when we arrived and I was so excited to see her,” Cara choked on the words. “She spat at me and told me that it was all my fault. That I had destroyed her life and chained her to my dad. She screamed that she wanted me to die, as the guards dragged her away and beat her with sticks. When we got home, daddy did the same to me…
“But the point is,” she continued, struggling more and more to form each passing word. “I thought she loved me. I thought she would be there for me forever. But she didn’t love me. And now my body is covered in marks and scars from all the people who hurt me, because she didn't care about me.
“But even though I’ll have those scars forever, I can live with them. Because I found someone who does love me, with all his heart. And now I’m safe and I’m loved. And he’s on the other side of the country, doing something he spent his whole life saying he would never do, instead of preparing for the biggest moment of his life at Horizons, just for me. That’s how important I am to him.
“And he left you to look after me. That’s how much he trusts you. We’ve been friends for a long time now, Travis. But, if you wanted, we could be your family.
“I love you.”
She pressed her still moist lips to his cheek and gently kissed him, before he found himself staring at the back of eD cASe’s yellow cranium.
“What the…?” The Headliner mumbled to himself. “Did St. Jimmy piss in my stash?”
“Huh?” eD now noticed Travis standing in the kitchen, the bathroom tap still running. He shouted to his friend, though still devoting the majority of his focus to the television, which was now showing a replay of Synergy. Travis Roberts’ image could be seen, hurling a ring bell into a hyena’s face. “Look, I had an idea. About Fusion and Fernandez. Maybe you could use your own purse to – ”
“I need to sleep,” Roberts snapped irritably, storming from the kitchen.
“‘I’?”
The Blessed One stormed into the master bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him. He stared out the side wall, which was made entirely of glass.
“It’s a nice view isn’t it?” Declan spoke, sitting cross legged in front of the glass and staring out at the people, roads, lights, buildings, rooftops and sky beyond.
“It certainly is,” The Headliner replied, sitting beside his friend, still brandishing fresh bandages from his Horizons victory.
“When we first moved in,” The Significant Player began, still staring out at the city beyond. “Cara hated this wall. Said she didn’t like heights. I didn’t realise it at the time, but that was her way of asking me to sleep on this side of the bed. No, you know what I said back to her? ‘You can look down at the people below you. I’ll catch you if you fall, but if I fall too those people down there will break our landing and we’ll be okay’. That’s what I said.”
“Astute as ever, The Blessed One would say,” Travis shrugged.
“But what if I didn’t catch her?” Declan asked. “What if I didn’t catch her because I pushed her?”
“Declan!” Roberts gasped. “What the hell?!”
“I’m not sure I can protect her,” Declan spoke, and Travis wondered for the first time if The Significant Player even knew The Blessed One was there. “I’m not sure I want to. I’m not sure she’s worth it to me.”
“How hard did Brown kick you before you smacked him down?!” Travis barked. “Declan, you’re talking like an Austin or a Jensen. Cara means more to you than anything.”
“She did,” Declan returned, turning his head to his associate for the first time. “She did.”
Roberts made his way solemnly across the room and opened his bedside drawer. He removed a framed photograph and held it in his hands. The angle of the picture was crooked, no doubt thanks to McSkinny’s bumbling hands, as he operated the camera. The image was still centred, bright and vibrant nonetheless. It was cloudy in London that day. Their spirits were as high as ever. Travis and Declan stood tall and beaming side-by-side, arms around each others’ shoulders. In the centre was Cara, her white teeth flashing in a broad smile and one arm wrapped around each man’s midsection. The bottom of the frame, in gold letters, read The Revolution’s Last Stop To Horizons.
“What happened, Declan?” Roberts spoke. “You had it all. Then you lost it all.”
He carelessly tossed the picture back into the draw and slammed it shut. With a determined roll of his shoulders, The Blessed One marched back into the living room and pulled the plug from the television.
“Hey!” eD barked. “I was watching that! The triple threat cooperative match had just finished. I didn’t sit through that abortion for nothing, Travis! I want to see the main event!”
“You can see Pierce lose again at the next show,” Roberts commanded. “Right now you’ve got work to do.”
“I do?”
“You do. You’re going to call a press conference, little dude. And make sure a representative from the UN is there! The world has to know how badly Travis Roberts' human rights are being violated! Honestly, Red Fusion and Alan Fernandez?!”
Post by Lord Hastings on Dec 7, 2010 20:11:11 GMT -5
July 5
The path to the endgame lies before me. Tonight I face Pierce, and the winner qualifies for a special vote to face the World Heavyweight Champion. I have little doubt of success, having been elected as a challenger in a similar situation in the past. As for Pierce, his mind has proven in the past to be as fragile as his ego. I recorded a video, the style of which he should find familiar, and released it upon the internet. Once I have finished with him tonight, the focus on Hastings begins. Tonight I will make that point clear to our illustrious champion. [glow=red,2,100]How’d that work out for you?[/glow] Hastings remains as champion because I have allowed it. His freedom continues at my pleasure. His fifteen minutes are nearly up, and soon the world will see the reality of Donovan Hastings, the truth that lies buried deep below the mask. [glow=red,2,100]Not.[/glow]
[glow=brown,2,100]July 6
Today I am left with no choice but to declare my eternal allegiance to the Immortal Lord. I was a fool to think I could vanquish him. He is in every way my superior and I owe Him and His my most deepest of apologies. [/glow]
[glow=purple,2,100]July 8
I called Arcadia today, but she blew me off like the pathetic sad sack that I am. It would seem that the fire that was our star has burnt out. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure why she ever gave me the time of day to begin with. She needs a real man, but sadly the Lord is already spoken for.[/glow]
[glow=blue,2,100]July 9
Today I broke wind in the cafeteria. The one they call BitchTits vomited upon himself and a small child cried. It was a proud day for me and my family.[/glow]
[glow=green,2,100]A Long Time Ago in a Galaxy Far, Far, Away
All your base are belong to us.[/glow]
[glow=red,2,100]Whatever
I’ll be disappointed, Fear, if you don’t take this back. Art is meant to be appreciated.[/glow]
Post by Lord Hastings on Dec 7, 2010 20:11:45 GMT -5
eD cASe, the down on his luck muppet agent of Travis Roberts, steps out of the elevator in his apartment building. He takes a deep breath and rounds the corner, approaching his apartment door, but stops when he sees a large red tag on the door.
eD - What is this?
Donovan comes out of nowhere, slapping the surprised eD on the back.
Hastings: That is from the building department.
eD - The building department?
Hastings: Looks like they shut you down.
eD - Shut me down?
Hastings: I don’t know what you expected, having construction done without a permit.
eD - Work without a permit?
Hastings: You should have had them pulled before anything even got started.
eD - YOU are the person having it all done!
Hastings: Why would I apply for permits for work in an apartment that isn’t mine?
eD - How are you even having construction done at all in an apartment? I rent.
Hastings: Yeah, your landlord is probably going to be pissed. You should have thought about all this earlier.
eD - Me?
Hastings: Good luck with that.
Donovan slaps eD on the back and walks off, rounding the corner and nearly plowing right over Owen Peterson.
Peterson: Aag!
Hastings: Whoa, Niglet! What are you doing?
Peterson: Waiting to get blamed for this one!
Hastings: Why would you get blamed for it?
Peterson: eD gets mad at me for everything, granted you didn’t tell me to file any paperwork or anything, but I was probably supposed to figure that out or something. I just can’t take him today, I’m still bruised from the last time…
Donovan glances back around the corner, where eD is waving his arm and screaming into his cell phone.
Hastings: I wouldn’t worry about it.
Peterson: Don’t worry about it?
Hastings: Nah. C’mon.
Donovan pushes the call button for the elevator.
Hastings: We need to focus instead on Synergy. You need to make sure Travis advances to Battleground.
Peterson: I don’t have that match.
Hastings: No?
Peterson: No, Chartreuse does.
Hastings: Seriously? Fuck, Owen, raise your hand quicker next time or something.
Peterson: That’s not how it’s done.
The elevator opens and they enter.
Hastings: Listen, if you’re not officiating my match or Travis’ match, then really all this referring gig is a side job for you.
Peterson: I’m sorry, are you giving me a raise?
Hastings: I don’t pay you.
Peterson: Exactly.
The elevator door reopens, exactly on the floor they were just on.
Hastings: Push the button for the first floor.
Peterson: It’s by you.
Hastings: PUSH THE BUTTON NIGLET.
Peterson: Sheesh, alright.
Owen leans past Donovan and pushes the button.
Peterson: What about Deimos?
Hastings: I have a plan for Fear, one that guarantees he won’t be victorious this time. Then we have some bigger fish to fry.
The door opens and they step out of the elevator.
Peterson: We’re going to Red Lobster?
Hastings: Don’t be ridiculous. Travis wants Applebee’s.
Peterson: Uh, can I wait in the car?
Hastings: No, but you can go get it now.
The exit the building and Owen goes to get the car, as Donovan walks up to Calypso and Travis, the latter closing his cell phone and putting it back in his pocket.
Roberts - The building department shut you down?
Hastings: Huh?
Roberts - eD said the building department shut you down.
Hastings: Oh, right. Tell him Owen put that sticker on the door just to mess with him.
Roberts - Why didn’t you tell him that when you were up there just now?
Hastings: Have to keep a promise.
Calypso: Donovan!
Roberts - Ah.
Travis uses his phone to send a text message as Owen pulls up in the car. Travis opens the door and stands alongside it, looking at Calypso.
Roberts - M’lady.
Calypso glares at Donovan for a moment, but enters the car, when suddenly the driver’s door tears open, and eD yanks Owen out of it.
Peterson: AUGH!!!
Donovan looks at Travis, who shrugs his shoulders.
Roberts - You said to tell him.
Hastings: Yeah, I’m good with that. C’mon.
Roberts - Where are we going?
Calypso has left the car and is trying to break up the fight.
Hastings: To go get the sticker so I can put it back where I found it.
Post by Lord Hastings on Dec 7, 2010 20:12:30 GMT -5
“Thanks guys. I owe you one.” Alex says as he gets up. The group returns from their positions and regroup near the middle of the set. “Good job everyone. That was awesome.”
“He’s not going to believe it.” Marek adds.
“Shouldn’t we be getting out of here?” Paul asks.
“Yeah let’s roll.” Alex replies. “Katie.”
“It’s clear.” she calls back.
“Get the lights. Let’s go.”
The lights go out and the members of Team Hero file out, leaving the studio as if they’ve never been there.
Melanie watches as the members of the recently completed Team Hero congratulate one another on their prank. Finally she focuses on her prize. She can see that it tears at him knowing what he's going to eventually have to do to them to finish his mission. These were good men. Marek he was only recently getting to know, but already his style and nature had won Jet over. If anyone from the former team of War & Peace could help carry Team Hero to the final gate, Phrixus Deimos, it's the Human Missile, the one who can do his in ring feats of athleticism without the aid of special effects. This guy has decided to trust Jet, knowing almost nothing about him, to hold together what should be the most respected and wholesome team at Outlast. Paul Cockatoo, or really all the Aussie Rebels, are people anyone could count on in a pinch. These aren't the type of guys to abandon someone, screw them over, or break up alliances without a damn good reason. Not to mention, JK, the most well known member, is counting on Jet's testimony to basically save his freedom. What is going to happen when he stomps the all around good guy flat on his way to capturing Fear? And Alex Kiseragi... wow. Jet and Alex have only been working together a little under a year, but everyone knows their respect for one another runs deep. She is a little surprised that Kiseragi has chosen Jet. His recent run of insanity has been exactly what she expected... she knows this is what it takes for The Wild Card to achieve the unbelievable heights The Covenant had tried to push him to. But everyone's reaction to it, that Deimos has pushed him over the competitive edge? It seems that only she and Kiseragi see past this common rumor. She, because she knows he wants her blood as much as she wants his. Kiseragi, who knew? Could it be that Kiseragi is so past the facades and character gimmicks that define this business that he knows Jet is dealing with something real, and he believes Jet's essential goodness and ability will eventually shine through?
If Kiseragi is that honest, he could be a problem. The whole point of this is for Jet to torpedo in a rage against Deimos, crushing his short reign in such an uncontrollable avalanche that his spectacular legacy is sealed in UGWC--hell in wrestling--history forever. Moments before she snatches it away from him. Without all the flair and spectacle, without the pure distilled victory, he won't experience the fall as soul crushingly as she craves for him to feel it. If Kiseragi is such a clear voice of reason, could his voice sooth the waking beast that is stirring in Jet? Could he soothe it enough to snatch Jet's victory, and worse, cause Jet to respect and accept Kiseragi as the reigning monarch in this company, reducing his craving for the prize to a cool simmer? That won't do, but how much effect could she have on The Dragon? Jet has already decided that Kiseragi and The Rebels are in danger from her, and likely his protection now extends to this Ishikawa native. How then to distract Kiseragi?
Her eyes roam past Katie Piper, the obvious target, and settle on the building which houses the studio where The Piercing Truth is filmed. That's when those eyes light up. Kiseragi's most recent mishap, his defeat at the hands of Travis Pierce, came when his emotions were at their boiling point. Time was short, though. How could she get his anger cooking? She casts her mind over the history of Jet's most often cited ally, and it finally comes to her. She flips open a laptop and performs a quick scan while mentally tallying the amount of cash she still has available. Would it be enough? From one whore to another, as she wrote on the bathroom wall of Jet's dead trainer, she assured herself it would be.
----------
The Prius looks like shit. There's no better what to say it. You can tell Jet has been living in it for the last week. It reeks of the sweat smell that pulled the vermin from the water to infest the Dragon's Cave. The driver's side window isn't the only one that has suffered damage this time. Apparantly, when he crawled into the backseat, he slammed the passenger side rear door too hard, sending a starburst across it's surface like a brilliant supernova of light. If you were omniscient you'd know the truth, that he'd left The Piercing Truth studio early Tuesday morning and started across country, barely stopping for food, and even less for sleep. It is unclear whether he has been sleeping in the car, but the sun isn't even up yet, and the light of dawn behind him only illuminates enough for us to know he is breathing. And smiling. Now, dressed in a sleeveless hoodie that covers his eyes and only reveals the unshaven jaw of the lower half of his face, he broods quietly in the backseat of his trusty hybrid, meditating on the event before him.
"It comes to this," a scratchy, exhausted voice issues from the depths of the hoodie. The lips barely move, so the perception is that the voice isn't Jet's.
"In six hours, twenty four men and women will approach their destiny, heedless of the cruel twist of fate that will bring them all to their knees before me," he rasps out this decree with full confidence. "The tournament is called Outlast, and that's exactly what the other twenty three competitors cannot do. Team Underdog, lead by the new Chaos Champion, is comprised primarily of red shirt upstarts, and will more than likely be sadly trampled underfoot by the thugs that are Riot and Tacker and The Brick City Boys. Brick City, whereever the hell that is, probably sent up a mighty cheer at the return of their heroes, a cheer that will reverb as a cry of horror should they and their team end up at the opposite side of the ring from my team."
"How did glorious returns end up the theme of this contest? Ezekiel Pax, there's a name from the sealed vaults no one ever thought they'd hear again. One thing I thought UGWC represented was progressive programming, but here's a step back in the FX department. His entire match is about returns, from the return of the Royal 1st Battalion to active duty, to the return of the only staff member pathetic enough to be fired by the new company. Where to begin with that group, honestly? Should I point out that the Brits are the very parody of bad gimmicks, and that they buy into it enough to embarass themselves more than their multiple defeats at my hands alone could ever embarass them? What is the Twisted Camp playing at accepting them? If I had to put a name to it, I'd say Hastings and Roberts' plan is simply to prove The Lord Chief can reclaim the championship no matter his circumstances. I wouldn't mind bragging that I achieved something that huge despite having the worst joke on the roster backing me. It fits their, ahem, Twisted theme."
The throat clearing turns into a dry chuckle that resembles a cough more than laughter.
"But then again, if my opponents were The Saints of Los Angeles, I might not mind who was on my team either. I can't even pretend to understand what they've got going on. Andy Savana is worse than Tim Kingsley when it comes to insanity. And they call me crazy. But together, apparantly they are formidable, and there's enough bad blood between those teams to make it personal, and that could spell distraction. A distracted mind isn't going to beat Deimos, and not a single person in the pre-main event is as focused as those of us who haven't been hovering around the top prize for the last year anyway. This is our chance, and not a single one of us is going in with anything weighing more heavily on us than the eventual hurdle that is Fear."
"Well, no one except Travis Pierce."
"Alex's joke was hilarious, and a great follow up to my infiltration of Pierce's ridiculous syndicated soapbox. For Alex, though, that's all it was. I've seen that man teased, insulted, and beaten. His subtle grace means to me that when it comes time to Outlast his biggest rival, he'll approach it with the calm nature he is known for, predisposed to move past the silly sandbox scuffle and on to the real fight. Pierce, on the other hand, has spent the entire past month... and really the past year... reflecting on Alex Kiseragi and Alex Kiseragi alone. Any match he has, any interview he does, he finds a way to reflect it upon his favorite obsession, just as he can twist any news article to fit current events in UGWC. It's a sweet gimmick that can never get old as long as news keeps happening, but it's primary focus of Kiseragi is wearing thin, and more than a little telling. I won't say more, for fear of Pierce taking a page from his target's book and Daniel Hansoning me. But The Piercing Truth is clear... Outlast isn't about the UGWC Championship for Pierce, it's about yet another battle with The Dragon."
The first rays of morning finally break the horizon, and the inside of the Prius is bathed in a surreal golden glow. The dark blue blot of the hoodie over the six-day-shadowed face is almost lost in the haze created by the effect of the light through the filmy rear windshield. Jet's form is almost ethereal, his soliloquy now taking a new turn.
"Pierce's team is a mystery. Medos' short run here before his disappearance was up and down, and while he beat Deimos in one match, he lost a few easy ones before that. He's as much of an opportunist as anyone else in the contest, and I'm as wary of him as I am of Bauer and especially Alan Fernandez."
"Fernandez is the only true worry. From the little I've heard of him, and that is mostly rumor and hearsay, watercooler talk, he is a force to be reckoned with. I have a sneaking suspicion his past with Deimos may somehow come into play. If it does, he's no better than the rest of the shit in this cesspool. It sickens me to know an event which has taken such a serious and meaningful turn for me is still just a game to the majority of the players."
He negates this emotion so slightly it's as if he didn't move at all.
"I can't allow myself to be shaken by the emotions created by my disgust with ninety percent of the people employed by this company. None of their actions, words, or motivations will matter eventually."
Jet purses his lips and blows out a sigh, letting out some stress. Dust motes dance wildly in the increasing haze of light.
"Finally, the last hurdle, Deimos himself. If I had been the one to steal his journal, I wonder how many times I'd read my own name? Not very often is my guess. The simple truth of the matter is that I haven't sat on my haunches and waited until tonight to get at him. I've spent the last four weeks constantly waging psychological warfare against Fear. And while in the past we've pretty much evened out on our bouts, this time around I'm afraid he isn't ready for me. Like nearly everyone else, he is distracted. The return of his past has got him fearing for a repeat of past events, and a fear of the unknown for what's in store. His past has carried his thoughts away from the clear and present danger I've never stopped trying to remind him of, while my past is what is motivating me to punch through him to get at it. He has brought nothing to our war but an immature fear of an STD when I first sank my teeth into him, but although he thinks he's shaken me off with a negative test result, I've only clamped on tighter and tighter, tearing at him and worrying at him like a dog with a chew toy. Tonight will end with some twist, some shock involving Firestar. Joining with Fear? Attacking Fear? I don't know or care. But it will also end with an ending that everyone but me will find as shocking, and that's the crowning of a new UGWC Champion, the man who Outlasted every other competitor on the roster, carried an already promising team to the final showdown, and put the legend Lock down for good."
He reaches for the car door handle.
"And after that? I raise the bait above my head, listen as my fans cheer my victory, and wait for the hunter to take her shot. That's when I really throw it all away. The UGWC ratings will shoot through the roof or collapse under the weight of censors, either way I don't care, as the entire exciting broadcast of the fourth Pay Per View in UGWC history starts to resemble a snuff film ciruclated on only the most secure servers. Tonight I throw away Jet Somers and all that he used to stand for. Tonight I throw away the prestige and honor that comes with representing a team of Heroes, and winning a prize that represents the top competitors in our business. Tonight I throw away two lives and damn myself, joining the other trash in this place, which is just like the last place before it. Hell."
Jet gets out of the backseat and stuffs his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders against the somewhat cooler temperature of this New England city, and makes his way in to scout the Prudential Center.
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She can't believe how cheap she got off. Apparantly for a chance to get at Alex Kiseragi, this slut would do almost any vile thing Melanie could come up with. She could come to respect that.
She snickers as she leaves Team Hero's locker room.
