Post by nbk on Sept 23, 2011 9:13:41 GMT -5
You'd been forced to watch a montage of previous years Battleground matches, and quite simply you were horrified. What you had witnessed in the past hours was nothing short of barbarism, and it had very nearly made you physically ill. Everything that played out before your eyes was monstrous and gut wrenching. You had no idea why anyone would pay good money to see this, why they hadn't demanded their money back after witnessing such atrocities. It staggered you that this had gone on for so many years, unrelenting in it's offensiveness, without anyone stepping in to put an end to years of suffering. You had only spent sixty minutes with the footage, you couldn't contemplate watching that much each and every year without having some kind of breakdown.
It was awful, their were no ifs or buts. You could not excuse this kind of behaviour, to accept it would be to ignore the inhumanity of it all. How could anyone happily force this upon an innocent, even if their entertainment choices are questionable, audience?
This footage was, quite simply an abomination and all involved should be ashamed.
What were they thinking? The lighting was completely off inside the cage, did they not notice, after four years, that the mixture of steel and barbed wire caused the light to become unstable and messy unless they lit it from within? It was a simple enough remedy, your were shocked no-one had considered it before you.
Then their was the positioning of the crew, it was like watching a group of homeless men fight over the corpse of a rat. There was no co-ordination, no communication and no reactions. Moves were missed, or half filmed, shots constantly came in and out of focus. It was as if they picked the slowest guys to get inside the cage, you had to be swift on your feet, even with a camera on your shoulder. You may be a coward, but you weren't a small guy, and you could really move with equipment strapped to your back.
So it seemed you found yourself in a familiar position. After speaking of your displeasure at the footage with Harvey, he put you directly in charge of everything regarding the shooting of the Battleground Match itself. Once again it was going to be on your shoulders to create a masterpiece on film, from the chaotic, obscene and destructive filth that UGWC forced down your lens.
Just as with WrestleStock, this would be your chance to shine brightly once more, and show the world just how much you excel at your craft. If you could make the bloodthirsty and unordered turmoil of this match, the celluloid equivalent of Michelangelo's 'Battle of Cascina', maybe somebody would come and rescue you from this hell of a profession you found yourself in.
The possibilities this opportunity could potentially open up to you were exciting and you could barely conceal your delight at this turn of events. You had managed to get away from the rest of the crew, and had found an unused room in the lower recesses of the arena to adopt as a makeshift 'office' from which you could plan and coordinate your plans for the battle itself. Others may refer to it as the 'computer graveyard', but to you this was as close to heaven as could be attained in this building.
You were grateful to have found this haven from the everyday lunacy of UGWC. You found it hard to keep your thoughts straight when confronted with masked maniacs and people that fully bought into their bullshit. When surrounded by that atmosphere you found your mind straying from camera angles, lighting rigs and lens filters, to thoughts of castration, sterilisation and birth permits.
Being alone with your own thoughts was the only way it was going to be possible to make a work of magnificent art out of this inbred hick tradition of ultraviolence. You had no doubt the incomprehensible gullibility and staggering ineptitude of those you shared oxygen with on a daily basis, severely dulled your creative instincts and artistic flourishes. This sanctuary was a godsend.
And that's exactly why you had chosen to grab something to take out from the cafeteria, eating alone at this point was far more beneficial to you than sitting around listening to the rest of the crew wax lyrical about who they thought would emerge victorious from the cage. As if it mattered. You knew all that mattered was that whomever was labelled 'victorious', emerged from a a battle that had been dramatic and eloquently filmed.
You wound your way through the corridors that burrow deep beneath the arena and finally reach your isolated slice of wilderness. As you cross the threshold it is then you remember, that sometimes in the wilderness, you encounter the wild. You reach across the room, grabbing your tripod and camera.
Set them up, and the camera begins to rolls.
The Natural Born Killer stands in the middle of the room, in front of a makeshft 'desk' which had been created using a number of computer bases and a sheet of wood balanced across them. His Chaos title hangs limply from his left hand as he begins to speak.
Our Lord is gracious, Our Lord is patient, Our Lord is wise...but for how much longer can Our Lord continue to be forgiving of our transgressions? Once again, for the second dance in a row, we have failed him. The Temptress...despite her lack of focus and inner turmoil...managed to stop The Killer from exhibiting the strength of Our Lord. Much as with...The Jester before her....The Screams contain great shame...for leaving the dance unfulfilled.
Not good enough, that is the simple truth. The Killer could not break that which was already fragile, that which is perpetually on the brink of implosion. Yet Our Lord...still accepts us, still protects us in his gaze....despite our inability to out dance the Neanderthal's Whore. We could not defeat a mind so weak it allows itself to be humiliated...in one form or another...with a regularity which should be alarming, but still Our Lord offers salvation to the Screams and The Killer.
Even though we allowed an adolescent with a ridiculous fantasy to overshadow our dance, and drew The Whores screams from our own, he still stands by us. We should have risen...charged up that ramp....and broken the foolish child in half, for daring to attempt to flirt over the downed body of The Killer whilst he savoured the last few moments of this dissapointi9ng dance. Maybe, had we done this...'The Cyclone' may have realised, not everything is about him. The Screams...are insulted by his presence, he is out of his depth with the true warriors he shares this realm with.
His inflated sense of self importance, combined with his inability to commit to any one path has led him to being nothing more than a joke in the eyes of his peers, yet he tricks himself into believing they are interested...The Screams would pity him if they were not so repulsed by his undeserved ego...and limited vision. Maybe, with the grace of the Lord, we might get the chance to show this petulant upstart, the beauty of looking beyond ones self....[/color]
The Killer thrusts out his hand, and his fist smashes through a disused monitor, and as the blood drips onto the pile of keyboards below, he continues.
But we must focus...upon the matters at hand. We have the opportunity of another intriguing dance...one which has the potential to have great benefit to Our Lord. The Killer will be part of a magnificent 3 way dance, with one of Our Lords opponents in The Cage. Victory is not essential...this week...but the chance to damage the Flickering Face of the HRD...and remove any advantage his benefactors may have bestowed upon him...in the name of Our Lord. Travis Pierce...a man who truly believes he is irreplaceable...even whilst he is being replaced. The only mind in the world, that believes Pierce is on an even footing with Jet Somers...is Pierce's mind itself. And he does, truly, believe they are equals, partners in the same cause, they pull stunts to enforce this...but The Screams know, all too well, the truth behind human nature, and Travis Pierce is in line for a fall...
And for all his stunts, this coming Monday, he will have to face up to the consequences. The Screams have no doubt...that Phrixus Deimos does not take kindly to being used as the punchline in a sketch...he too shall wish to aid his brethren when they enter The Cage. Alas, his brethren will have been long disposed of by My Prince...and any damage he inflicts upon Pierce, will only serve the One True Lord of this Realm.
On Monday, The Killer will not dance for victory...we have felt enough shame in recent weeks...we will simply fight to advance Our Lords own cause. We will shed blood and break bones...in the knowledge that he will repay our servitude...he will one day offer us the one true path to salvation. This dance, will be the moment one and all realise why...The Natural Born Killer...Is The Most Dangerous Weapon Your Lord will Never Have.[/b]
With that The killer walks from shot.
And you finish rolling.
You remind yourself this really is still a sanctuary, he turns up everywhere and anywhere, and it was clearly something you'd have to get used to, especially if you wanted to turn this Battleground mess into something spectacular.
It was awful, their were no ifs or buts. You could not excuse this kind of behaviour, to accept it would be to ignore the inhumanity of it all. How could anyone happily force this upon an innocent, even if their entertainment choices are questionable, audience?
This footage was, quite simply an abomination and all involved should be ashamed.
What were they thinking? The lighting was completely off inside the cage, did they not notice, after four years, that the mixture of steel and barbed wire caused the light to become unstable and messy unless they lit it from within? It was a simple enough remedy, your were shocked no-one had considered it before you.
Then their was the positioning of the crew, it was like watching a group of homeless men fight over the corpse of a rat. There was no co-ordination, no communication and no reactions. Moves were missed, or half filmed, shots constantly came in and out of focus. It was as if they picked the slowest guys to get inside the cage, you had to be swift on your feet, even with a camera on your shoulder. You may be a coward, but you weren't a small guy, and you could really move with equipment strapped to your back.
So it seemed you found yourself in a familiar position. After speaking of your displeasure at the footage with Harvey, he put you directly in charge of everything regarding the shooting of the Battleground Match itself. Once again it was going to be on your shoulders to create a masterpiece on film, from the chaotic, obscene and destructive filth that UGWC forced down your lens.
Just as with WrestleStock, this would be your chance to shine brightly once more, and show the world just how much you excel at your craft. If you could make the bloodthirsty and unordered turmoil of this match, the celluloid equivalent of Michelangelo's 'Battle of Cascina', maybe somebody would come and rescue you from this hell of a profession you found yourself in.
The possibilities this opportunity could potentially open up to you were exciting and you could barely conceal your delight at this turn of events. You had managed to get away from the rest of the crew, and had found an unused room in the lower recesses of the arena to adopt as a makeshift 'office' from which you could plan and coordinate your plans for the battle itself. Others may refer to it as the 'computer graveyard', but to you this was as close to heaven as could be attained in this building.
You were grateful to have found this haven from the everyday lunacy of UGWC. You found it hard to keep your thoughts straight when confronted with masked maniacs and people that fully bought into their bullshit. When surrounded by that atmosphere you found your mind straying from camera angles, lighting rigs and lens filters, to thoughts of castration, sterilisation and birth permits.
Being alone with your own thoughts was the only way it was going to be possible to make a work of magnificent art out of this inbred hick tradition of ultraviolence. You had no doubt the incomprehensible gullibility and staggering ineptitude of those you shared oxygen with on a daily basis, severely dulled your creative instincts and artistic flourishes. This sanctuary was a godsend.
And that's exactly why you had chosen to grab something to take out from the cafeteria, eating alone at this point was far more beneficial to you than sitting around listening to the rest of the crew wax lyrical about who they thought would emerge victorious from the cage. As if it mattered. You knew all that mattered was that whomever was labelled 'victorious', emerged from a a battle that had been dramatic and eloquently filmed.
You wound your way through the corridors that burrow deep beneath the arena and finally reach your isolated slice of wilderness. As you cross the threshold it is then you remember, that sometimes in the wilderness, you encounter the wild. You reach across the room, grabbing your tripod and camera.
Set them up, and the camera begins to rolls.
The Natural Born Killer stands in the middle of the room, in front of a makeshft 'desk' which had been created using a number of computer bases and a sheet of wood balanced across them. His Chaos title hangs limply from his left hand as he begins to speak.
Our Lord is gracious, Our Lord is patient, Our Lord is wise...but for how much longer can Our Lord continue to be forgiving of our transgressions? Once again, for the second dance in a row, we have failed him. The Temptress...despite her lack of focus and inner turmoil...managed to stop The Killer from exhibiting the strength of Our Lord. Much as with...The Jester before her....The Screams contain great shame...for leaving the dance unfulfilled.
Not good enough, that is the simple truth. The Killer could not break that which was already fragile, that which is perpetually on the brink of implosion. Yet Our Lord...still accepts us, still protects us in his gaze....despite our inability to out dance the Neanderthal's Whore. We could not defeat a mind so weak it allows itself to be humiliated...in one form or another...with a regularity which should be alarming, but still Our Lord offers salvation to the Screams and The Killer.
Even though we allowed an adolescent with a ridiculous fantasy to overshadow our dance, and drew The Whores screams from our own, he still stands by us. We should have risen...charged up that ramp....and broken the foolish child in half, for daring to attempt to flirt over the downed body of The Killer whilst he savoured the last few moments of this dissapointi9ng dance. Maybe, had we done this...'The Cyclone' may have realised, not everything is about him. The Screams...are insulted by his presence, he is out of his depth with the true warriors he shares this realm with.
His inflated sense of self importance, combined with his inability to commit to any one path has led him to being nothing more than a joke in the eyes of his peers, yet he tricks himself into believing they are interested...The Screams would pity him if they were not so repulsed by his undeserved ego...and limited vision. Maybe, with the grace of the Lord, we might get the chance to show this petulant upstart, the beauty of looking beyond ones self....[/color]
The Killer thrusts out his hand, and his fist smashes through a disused monitor, and as the blood drips onto the pile of keyboards below, he continues.
But we must focus...upon the matters at hand. We have the opportunity of another intriguing dance...one which has the potential to have great benefit to Our Lord. The Killer will be part of a magnificent 3 way dance, with one of Our Lords opponents in The Cage. Victory is not essential...this week...but the chance to damage the Flickering Face of the HRD...and remove any advantage his benefactors may have bestowed upon him...in the name of Our Lord. Travis Pierce...a man who truly believes he is irreplaceable...even whilst he is being replaced. The only mind in the world, that believes Pierce is on an even footing with Jet Somers...is Pierce's mind itself. And he does, truly, believe they are equals, partners in the same cause, they pull stunts to enforce this...but The Screams know, all too well, the truth behind human nature, and Travis Pierce is in line for a fall...
And for all his stunts, this coming Monday, he will have to face up to the consequences. The Screams have no doubt...that Phrixus Deimos does not take kindly to being used as the punchline in a sketch...he too shall wish to aid his brethren when they enter The Cage. Alas, his brethren will have been long disposed of by My Prince...and any damage he inflicts upon Pierce, will only serve the One True Lord of this Realm.
On Monday, The Killer will not dance for victory...we have felt enough shame in recent weeks...we will simply fight to advance Our Lords own cause. We will shed blood and break bones...in the knowledge that he will repay our servitude...he will one day offer us the one true path to salvation. This dance, will be the moment one and all realise why...The Natural Born Killer...Is The Most Dangerous Weapon Your Lord will Never Have.[/b]
With that The killer walks from shot.
And you finish rolling.
You remind yourself this really is still a sanctuary, he turns up everywhere and anywhere, and it was clearly something you'd have to get used to, especially if you wanted to turn this Battleground mess into something spectacular.
