Post by nbk on Apr 28, 2011 9:49:24 GMT -5
During your life to date, you could take pride in only a few things, but one of them had been your impeccable punctuality and attendance. You'd never been late, or absent at any time you could recall. You had perfect attendance throughout all levels of education, and had never missed a day's work in your life. Unfortunately this all came to an end last week. Between bouts of vomiting, spells of dizziness, unfathomably powerful migraines, a digestive tract that seemed to have it's own ideas about how to deal with food, and an incredible sensitivity towards light, there was no way on earth you would have been able to hoist a UGWC ShoulderKiller2000 Camera up and complete your assignments. Of course you were disappointed that your proud record had come to an end, but after the week you had endured it was a small price to pay for what seemed to be good health.
Unfortunately this was not a view shared by your peers, when you returned to work you were astutely aware of the looks of judgement coming your way, even Harvey was reluctant to welcome you back. When he eventually did he explained that most of the 'boys' didn't believe you were actually ill and were just flaking on your assignments. Obviously they were disappointed that they had had to pick up some of the slack, which had annoyed them, but more seriously the Natural Born Killer had not had a segment filmed last week. Immediately you had wondered why no-one else had bothered to take on that particular hunt, but felt now was not the time to ask, it could be construed as obnoxious.
Harvey had assured you that was all in the past now, and that everyone would move on from the incident, but you had a hard time believing him, mainly due to the situation you found yourself in immediately afterwards.
This week was an important week for UGWC, it was PPV week, and we were going to San Antonio, Texas. Now whilst the Entertainment Professionals and some of the equipment made their way to the second largest state via air, it was deemed too expensive to send the off-camera crew in such a way, instead a convoy of Rental cars and trucks would be crossing the country, setting off early at the start of the week. You had been paired in a truck with a man named Sean, and this could only be construed as a punishment for your absence last week.
Over the many hours of travel, Sean described, in depth, the many times he had been looked over for a promotion during his career, and why this was a huge injustice. Sean worked with lighting crew, and had for years wanted to lead his own small crew, instead of being led. He was consistently put forward for the position but without fail he would fall during the final interview, and someone else would profit from his tendency to choke. This had happened so many times, it was all he had to talk about, it was what defined him as a person, and now even you could not escape it. You couldn't change the subject, if you turned the radio on every song reminded him of another slight to his name, if you tried to sleep he would awaken you with another reason why the successful candidate was unworthy. The last few days travel had only been marginally preferable to the violent illness you suffered through the last week.
So when you arrived at the AT&T Center you unloaded that truck as quickly as humanly possible in an effort to rid yourself of Sean's attentions and finally end nearly a week and a half of two entirely different, but equally insufferable, ailments. One of your other unsaid punishments was the assignment to shoot stock footage of many of San Antonio's landmarks for use during the Pay-Per-View itself, a task which involved dragging your camera around the city for days on end, so no real change there. But it did give you the perfect excuse to decline Sean's invitation to have a few drinks at a bar, you didn't even want to imagine Sean when drunk let alone experience the mind numbing nature of the actual proceedings.
So you quickly grabbed your camera and head off for the front of the arena, figuring that would be a good first shot to get, especially as a UGWC Fan Festival was under way, and their were plenty of excitable fans to film just around the corner. But as you made your way towards the front for some reason your eyes are drawn towards a smaller stage entrance than the loading bay, and it forces you to stop, set up the camera.
And begin rolling.
Because at the stage door, pounding at it's steel exterior is none other than The Natural Born Killer, he soon begins to claw at the surface, before finally attempting to break it down using his forehead. After a number of unsuccessful attacks he finally lets out an almighty scream and turns to see the camera.
And begins speaking.
The Screams...they consumed me more than ever....in the past weeks...they howled so much the essence of The Killer was almost lost to them. They are impatient, restless...they see unprecedented ballrooms stretched out before them....but with the way barred from them. And because of what they are, and why they are....they blame The Killer....and they are right, it can only be my fault. They demand to be occupied by dance partners....or they will turn their attentions to the Killer...and if their Partners do not fulfil their needs....that too is my problem, not theirs.
If the mental squatters of my prey do not fulfil....the criteria my own demand, it is the job of The Killer to ensure they meet expectations. If the mental anguish of those who stand before me is not...sufficient, this is not something The Screams consider, they merely ask...neigh, [i[demand[/i] to know why I have brought them before us...and done nothing to change the state of play.
They do not listen to reason...they don't care why Kyle Tacker...did not present the dance they had anticipated, they just berate The Killer for bringing them such weak partners. The fact that Kyle Tacker's...own mental anguish was merely conceived from humiliation and disbelief...that he was too consumed by his new found inadequacy to Medos...for his mind to present the dance partners they exist for. The simple fact that his mind was not tormented enough for them...is not an excuse, The Killer knew this would be who was coming to the dance...and I should have ensured his psyche had endured sufficient torment....to satiate their appetite.
Nor would they care that although Medos...has finally conquered his initial anguishes...he now faces a fresh set of doubts and fears...is he really good enough to be called a champion? Did he merely luck out when he claimed....the gold that has brought him...false confidence? Medos...and his passengers...know he is the same man....who suffered at the sword of his own self doubt...every time it mattered before. Some claim....The Natural Born Killer...underestimates Medos, but surely that is a crime only Kyle 'Riot' Tacker can be presumed guilty of? The Killer never suggested...that Medos would never be successful...just that his screams, were of no substance for those that ride alongside me. And we do not presume, that Medos cannot be successful at No Holds Barred...we are just aware, acutely, of his own...doubts, his own knowledge that he has been in the high pressure situations before, and failed...will one victory change the habit of a career? If Medos does retain....and finally turns a corner in his own mind, maybe his screams will develop into something more substantial...or maybe The Killer will be forced to ensure they become appetizing...in his own way.[/b][/color]
NBK lets out yet another scream and throws his whole body into the door, before falling to the floor, panting.
They want to be in that Gladiatorial arena...so much...They have heard that untold atrocities and unspeakable carnage will erupt within these walls in only a few days...and they know the screams of those involved will be ripe for dancing, ready to become entwined with mine....offering me those few moments of sanctuary the ferocious fox-trots provide. The fact...the Killer has not been invited to the ball does not concern them...the one thing that matters to them, is the dancing will be under way...and they expect to be involved...The Most Dangerous Rumour You've Never Heard, may not be on the card...but that's not their problem... it's mine.
NBK lunges at the door one more time, before picking himself up and dragging himself away off camera. And then, after marvelling at the essence of crazy that seems to be emitted from this man, you stop shooting.
That was unexpected, but in a good way, hopefully this bit of bonus footage should get you out of stock footage duty, and you can spend a day in the motel, recovering your energy from your violent illness, and the road trip with Sean, before the hard work begins for No Holds Barred.
Unfortunately this was not a view shared by your peers, when you returned to work you were astutely aware of the looks of judgement coming your way, even Harvey was reluctant to welcome you back. When he eventually did he explained that most of the 'boys' didn't believe you were actually ill and were just flaking on your assignments. Obviously they were disappointed that they had had to pick up some of the slack, which had annoyed them, but more seriously the Natural Born Killer had not had a segment filmed last week. Immediately you had wondered why no-one else had bothered to take on that particular hunt, but felt now was not the time to ask, it could be construed as obnoxious.
Harvey had assured you that was all in the past now, and that everyone would move on from the incident, but you had a hard time believing him, mainly due to the situation you found yourself in immediately afterwards.
This week was an important week for UGWC, it was PPV week, and we were going to San Antonio, Texas. Now whilst the Entertainment Professionals and some of the equipment made their way to the second largest state via air, it was deemed too expensive to send the off-camera crew in such a way, instead a convoy of Rental cars and trucks would be crossing the country, setting off early at the start of the week. You had been paired in a truck with a man named Sean, and this could only be construed as a punishment for your absence last week.
Over the many hours of travel, Sean described, in depth, the many times he had been looked over for a promotion during his career, and why this was a huge injustice. Sean worked with lighting crew, and had for years wanted to lead his own small crew, instead of being led. He was consistently put forward for the position but without fail he would fall during the final interview, and someone else would profit from his tendency to choke. This had happened so many times, it was all he had to talk about, it was what defined him as a person, and now even you could not escape it. You couldn't change the subject, if you turned the radio on every song reminded him of another slight to his name, if you tried to sleep he would awaken you with another reason why the successful candidate was unworthy. The last few days travel had only been marginally preferable to the violent illness you suffered through the last week.
So when you arrived at the AT&T Center you unloaded that truck as quickly as humanly possible in an effort to rid yourself of Sean's attentions and finally end nearly a week and a half of two entirely different, but equally insufferable, ailments. One of your other unsaid punishments was the assignment to shoot stock footage of many of San Antonio's landmarks for use during the Pay-Per-View itself, a task which involved dragging your camera around the city for days on end, so no real change there. But it did give you the perfect excuse to decline Sean's invitation to have a few drinks at a bar, you didn't even want to imagine Sean when drunk let alone experience the mind numbing nature of the actual proceedings.
So you quickly grabbed your camera and head off for the front of the arena, figuring that would be a good first shot to get, especially as a UGWC Fan Festival was under way, and their were plenty of excitable fans to film just around the corner. But as you made your way towards the front for some reason your eyes are drawn towards a smaller stage entrance than the loading bay, and it forces you to stop, set up the camera.
And begin rolling.
Because at the stage door, pounding at it's steel exterior is none other than The Natural Born Killer, he soon begins to claw at the surface, before finally attempting to break it down using his forehead. After a number of unsuccessful attacks he finally lets out an almighty scream and turns to see the camera.
And begins speaking.
The Screams...they consumed me more than ever....in the past weeks...they howled so much the essence of The Killer was almost lost to them. They are impatient, restless...they see unprecedented ballrooms stretched out before them....but with the way barred from them. And because of what they are, and why they are....they blame The Killer....and they are right, it can only be my fault. They demand to be occupied by dance partners....or they will turn their attentions to the Killer...and if their Partners do not fulfil their needs....that too is my problem, not theirs.
If the mental squatters of my prey do not fulfil....the criteria my own demand, it is the job of The Killer to ensure they meet expectations. If the mental anguish of those who stand before me is not...sufficient, this is not something The Screams consider, they merely ask...neigh, [i[demand[/i] to know why I have brought them before us...and done nothing to change the state of play.
They do not listen to reason...they don't care why Kyle Tacker...did not present the dance they had anticipated, they just berate The Killer for bringing them such weak partners. The fact that Kyle Tacker's...own mental anguish was merely conceived from humiliation and disbelief...that he was too consumed by his new found inadequacy to Medos...for his mind to present the dance partners they exist for. The simple fact that his mind was not tormented enough for them...is not an excuse, The Killer knew this would be who was coming to the dance...and I should have ensured his psyche had endured sufficient torment....to satiate their appetite.
Nor would they care that although Medos...has finally conquered his initial anguishes...he now faces a fresh set of doubts and fears...is he really good enough to be called a champion? Did he merely luck out when he claimed....the gold that has brought him...false confidence? Medos...and his passengers...know he is the same man....who suffered at the sword of his own self doubt...every time it mattered before. Some claim....The Natural Born Killer...underestimates Medos, but surely that is a crime only Kyle 'Riot' Tacker can be presumed guilty of? The Killer never suggested...that Medos would never be successful...just that his screams, were of no substance for those that ride alongside me. And we do not presume, that Medos cannot be successful at No Holds Barred...we are just aware, acutely, of his own...doubts, his own knowledge that he has been in the high pressure situations before, and failed...will one victory change the habit of a career? If Medos does retain....and finally turns a corner in his own mind, maybe his screams will develop into something more substantial...or maybe The Killer will be forced to ensure they become appetizing...in his own way.[/b][/color]
NBK lets out yet another scream and throws his whole body into the door, before falling to the floor, panting.
They want to be in that Gladiatorial arena...so much...They have heard that untold atrocities and unspeakable carnage will erupt within these walls in only a few days...and they know the screams of those involved will be ripe for dancing, ready to become entwined with mine....offering me those few moments of sanctuary the ferocious fox-trots provide. The fact...the Killer has not been invited to the ball does not concern them...the one thing that matters to them, is the dancing will be under way...and they expect to be involved...The Most Dangerous Rumour You've Never Heard, may not be on the card...but that's not their problem... it's mine.
NBK lunges at the door one more time, before picking himself up and dragging himself away off camera. And then, after marvelling at the essence of crazy that seems to be emitted from this man, you stop shooting.
That was unexpected, but in a good way, hopefully this bit of bonus footage should get you out of stock footage duty, and you can spend a day in the motel, recovering your energy from your violent illness, and the road trip with Sean, before the hard work begins for No Holds Barred.
