Post by Prolapsed Wrecked 'em on Jul 27, 2009 15:16:59 GMT -5
[Inside Dr. Torres’s office, she’s set up a television in one corner with it continually playing on CNN. It’s not the greatest flat screen and doesn’t play in 1080p Dolby surround sound, oh no. It’s much more like what your parents watched in the 60s in black and white. It suffices, though, to provide some sort of inspiration to the madness that Mickey Dragon spouts from his mouth. Perhaps seeing some images of death and destruction will pull out his homicidal thoughts. But, putting herself in harms way is really not the right thing to do, so the chair he’ll be sitting in will have arm and leg restraints to hold him in place. As well, Dr. Torres has already filled a syringe of a combination of thorazine, which is the oldest anti-psychotic medicine known to be effective. Dragon would slowly slip into a near catatonic state and be released from the restraints. She’d then remove the television and leave the office herself. Once the medicine wore off, he’d find his own way out and she’d have her office back.
Well, that was her plan anyway. Even if he destroyed her office, it’s nothing she couldn’t replace. If he burned it down, she had insurance. Seemed foolproof. She slowly but surely prepared herself for the session after seeing exactly what he was capable of at the restaurant the night before. What on earth could she expect this time? Her hair was pulled up in an extremely tight bun with enough hair spray to cause a hole in the ozone right above her head. The less he has to grab when she has to administer the shot, the better. Her shirt, a black button down shirt has the top two buttons unbuttoned, showing just a little bit of the top of her breasts. Her black slacks rode low on her hips, but showed no skin and she wore flats tonight, for fear of having to run. She exhales deeply as the door slowly swings open.]
Doctor Torres: Good Evening.
[Dragon stands in the doorway as if he were just passing by. Wearing his combat boots, camouflage shorts with strings hanging off the sides as if he’d cut them off with his bare hands. His shirt is wet which is peculiar considering the beautiful weather that has been southern California in the past few weeks. No sign of rain in the forecast either. He steps through the doorway, removing his aviator sunglasses and taking his cigarette from his lips. He stomps it out in the doorway and reaches behind him with his right hand.]
Dragon: I couldn’t find a good home. Do you think you can take him?
[Dragon pulls the hairpiece, now ratty and disheveled, from his back pocket. He stalks over to the doctor’s desk and places it down on her desk, petting it once more before retracting his large and powerful hand from it.]
Dragon: I even named him.
[Okay, the doctor thinks, I’ll play along. If I gain his trust, he’ll let me do this experiment.]
Doctor Torres: What’s his name?
Dragon: Stalin.
Doctor Torres: Well of course I can find Stalin a good home. Why don’t you take a seat and we’ll talk about where we can keep him.
[Dragon backs away from the desk and takes a seat in the chair. He realizes the restraints and glares at the doctor instantaneously with a look of disdain.]
Dragon: You’re going to strap me down and drug me, aren’t you?
Doctor Torres: No, Mickey. What I’m going to do is allow you to say whatever you want and feel however you want while we watch some television. This stimulation will bring out as many emotions and urges as you want, but the restraints are for my protection. I don’t want you taking your rage out on me, and I don’t think Dirge would want that either.
[Dragon thinks over the request she’s made and rolls his eyes back and forth inside his head a few times before shrugging.]
Dragon: Okay, I’ll play your game. Let’s go.
[That was easier than I thought, she thinks. Didn’t take too much convincing. She stands from her desk, syringe in her back pocket. She walks over to the chair and prepares the first restraint for his right hand.]
Dragon: Ya know, they did this to me too many damn times in the ward. The bitches there would gang up on me, though. Six on one is quite difficult to fight off. Four I could take, though. You’re very brave to be doing this by yourself. I respect that.
Doctor Torres: Are those too tight?
[Dragon’s eyes snap over to her face as she’s looking at him. She stands quickly, adjusting her shirt and waiting for a reply.]
Dragon: No, those are perfect.
[She then bends down to strap his legs down, her shirt riding up her back just a bit, revealing the bottom of a tattoo on her lower back. Hard to make out completely, but it’s obviously there and tribal. As she finishes the right leg, he pulls his left leg away. Doctor Torres looks up at him quickly and nearly in fear.]
Dragon: Only three points, please. I have restless leg syndrome and my leg will twitch. Trust me, my leg won’t be of any danger. I’m not Pele for crying out loud.
[Doctor Torres thinks a second and agrees that juts one leg isn’t going to throw the entire experiment off. At worst, he’ll kick himself onto his back on the chair. Plus, with the leg free, she’d be able to drive the needle into the fat of his thigh and have him sleep it off.]
Doctor Torres: As you wish.
[She stands slowly and turns back to the television, bending over slightly to turn it on. Without hesitation…]
Dragon: What’s on your back?
[She stands back up quickly and turns slowly with her hands on her hips. Mouth agape, she is almost speechless.]
Dragon: What? The tattoo… what is it?
Doctor Torres: That, sir, is none of your business.
[Dragon seems rather astonished that she’d not reveal something and grinds his teeth in anger. A vein in his forehead bulges forward.]
Dragon: We’re supposed to share things with each other… why --
Doctor Torres: No, Mickey. YOU share your inner thoughts with ME. I don’t have to share my body with you. Now…
[She sits down in her chair behind her mahogany desk and looks to the television.]
Dragon: I see Barack Obama killing a fly. Let me tell you, those people at PETA have it all wrong. They’re thinking that Obama killed a fly and he should have found a humane way to release it. These are the same fools that have absolutely NO stance when it comes to abortion, Kim-Jong Il, and would rather see Michael Vick spend twenty-three months in jail for dog-fighting but when Donte Stallworth kills a man drinking and driving, he only gets thirty days! The world is a complete shithole anymore, doc. Obama is the one going to give us “change” and the white, upper-middle class, fearful fucks of this planet have put too much faith in him.
Doctor Torres: Interesting.
[She changes the channel quickly and flips to a blonde woman signing autographs outside of a supermarket. She has multiple shopping carts filled with food and milk and someone’s loading her van with them.]
Dragon: Oh this stupid fuckin bitch? Please. I can empathize with her, now estranged husband. I mean, seriously, have you seen how she talks to him? I’d call her a nag but that would be an insult to nags everywhere. This woman is the biggest bitch I’ve seen since I had to deal with my ex girlfriend. Look at this woman’s HEAD! Does she really think she looks good like that? She is going to be the laughinstock of American television for years to come thanks to that abomination of a haircut. Their eight children are nothing but a sad statistic now.
Doctor Torres: You seem fascinated with people’s hair and heads. Is that why you have a bald head?
Dragon: No, I just have a severe problem with anyone who looks that ridiculous when they leave the house. It’s as if they don’t have a mirror. Yet, for someone like Vanity ShowWood, he’s got all the mirrors in the world and this weirdo still thinks he’s somehow worthy of praise and fame due to his ridiculous look. If he really wants to believe he’s the “Pretty One” well then he can get together with Kate Gosselin and have themselves a contest of who is the most delusional.
[Again, Doctor Torres changes the channel. This time it’s a newscast from somewhere and the man on the television is reading the story.]
Anchorman: The mother of a missing 2-year-old Indiana girl said police are working "around the clock" to find her daughter, who was apparently taken from a parked car while her baby sitter was in a convenience store. Jada Justice was last seen about 9:40 p.m. on June 16 when her cousin stopped at a convenience store. Jada Justice was last seen about 9:40 p.m. on June 16, when her 18-year-old babysitter and cousin stopped at a Gary, Indiana, convenience store to buy milk and cigarettes. The baby sitter, identified as Engelica Castillo, told authorities that when she came out, Jada -- who had been in the back seat of the car and in a car seat -- was gone.
[Dragon’s quick to interrupt at this point.]
Dragon: She’s dead and the babystiter did it.
Doctor Torres: What makes you so sure?
Dragon: She was the last one to see her. Children just don’t disappear out of cars, doc. It’s not something that happens. Plus, it’s a family thing. The kid was probably screaming and shittin all day and the eighteen year old was trying to smoke some pot with her friends. She can’t get away for a minute so she shakes the baby hoping to shut her up. Instead, it kills her. She buries it somewhere or throws her in the garbage somewhere and drives to the convenience store to get some cigarettes to calm her down. When she goes back to the car, obviously the kid is gone, but she’s going to now blow everything up to try and throw the blame off herself. People do it all the time. How many of these stories come out and the kids are either never found… or they find them dead and it’s a family member? The same people who stand there and cry in front of the cameras begging for “someone to bring my baby back” but in reality, you know no one will? These fuckin people are sick… they’re as delusional as I am, as Vanity ShowWood is… and yet I’m the one getting locked up in the psycho bin. I’m the one being forced to sit through this garbage and make social commentary on the shit that society does. I’m not empathetic toward anyone anymore, doc.
Doctor Torres: Not even the parent of this little girl who --
Dragon: What the fuck was she doing when this was going on? Why would you leave the baby in the care of an eighteen year old who obviously has issues?
[Doctor Torres shrugs her shoulders. She turns the channel one last time and we find a paused DVD on the screen. It’s a shot of Osiris face to face with Mickey Dragon at Break for the Border.]
Doctor Torres: Before I push play here, Mickey, I want you to know that I am prepared to leave if this gets out of hand. I will drug you, you will sleep it all off and by then, all of this will be gone. You’ll also be untied and you will be able to leave, but you’ll sleep for many hours first and wake up very groggy.
Dragon: Fuck you. You said you weren’t going to drug me. Lying bitch.
[Doctor Torres pulls the syringe from her pocket and places it on her desk.]
Dragon: Fuck you. You’re not gonna do that. Fuck you and fuck him and fuck all of this!
[Dragon begins to kick at the floor trying to free himself from the chair.]
Doctor Torres: This can also go very easily for you. All you have to do is tell me what was going through your mind at each time I pause the video. Then we’ll talk about Serapis and your match this Sunday.
[The kicking stops but now Mickey Dragon’s foot is bouncing on the floor like a tennis ball. That’s the restless leg syndrome. Dragon’s mouth is pursed as he prepares to relive his destruction of Osiris. The DVD plays.
The lights come on and Osiris stands mid-ring, face to face, with… himself.
Vinegar: It must be an Osiris doppelganger! The single difference is the face paint. While Osiris has his worn half off from the battle…
Hanson: This guy has a mask on, Nick!
Vinegar: You’re right Daniel! The other man’s wearing a mask… and man is his body racked with scars. Look at his back, Dan!
Hanson: It’s…
Vinegar: He’s taking the mask off!
Hanson: OH
Vinegar: MY
Hanson: TITTYTWISTING
Vinegar: MICKEY DRAGON! And does HE LOOKS PISSED OFF!
PAUSE]
Dragon: Well, see, I knew he wouldn’t expect me to be dressed like him. Dumbass. He didn’t expect it at all. The look on his face when I took off that mask was like he had seen a ghost. It’s kinda crazy that we’re nearly the same size, though. He uses the size so much differently than I do. Trying to be a powerhouse at our size isn’t very easy. Anyway, I knew then that he wasn’t going to give me much of a fight. The element of surprise is always too great.
[Vinegar: Dragon goes to work with right hands! Pounding Osiris!
Hanson: You just said --
Vinegar: He’s got him against the ropes and just clotheslined him over the top! The Covenant quickly there to pick him back up and throw him back in the ring!
Hanson: Now this is what I like to see. Teamwork on ass-beatings.
Vinegar: Mickey Dragon motioning for Raenius to get something for him. Meanwhile, Dragon locks Osiris in a front-facelock. Ooh, he drives him into the mat with a DDT.
Hanson: He held on.
Vinegar: He floated over and stood back up, holding onto his head! A second DDT!
Hanson: He held on again… and Raenius is getting a chair.
Vinegar: Raenius sliding the chair into the ring as Dragon stands back up again! He’s going to…
Hanson: Oh this looks ugly.
Vinegar: Dragon lifts his leg upward behind him and… SPIKES Osiris into the chair! That has a dent in it now! He may be dead!
PAUSE]
Dragon: It was so well orchestrated. Once the lights went out, Dirge and Raenius took their positions at the entranceway and kept that little prick Serapis from distracting me from what needed to be done. Osiris, to his credit, almost got away after I clotheslined him over the top. But, that’s also why R and Dirge were where they needed to be. No one got out of the ring, no one got into the ring without them knowing about it and allowing it. He had no chance. It was more of an assassination than a mugging like so many people have called it. But, by no means was it cowardly. Osiris could’ve fought back at any point, but he gave no fight whatsoever. For a guy who wasn’t in the ring that much DURING the match, he sure was tired by the time I got my hands on him.
[Dragon’s fingers start to dig into the leather of the chair. He’s getting excited at reliving the massacre.
Vinegar: He’s got the chair opened up and standing as if he’s going to take a seat. He’s got Osiris’s legs grapevined around his shin. Osiris’s face-down under the chair.
Hanson: This isn’t going to be pretty.
Vinegar: The entire Covenant is now here at Break for the Border, and it doesn’t look like Osiris is going to make it out of here alive!
Hanson: What the hell?
Vinegar: Dragon has Osiris by his arms, pulling him upward… Oh My God! CURB STOMP onto the seat of the chair! His neck HAS to be broken!
Hanson: That was awesome.
Vinegar: The man may be dead, Daniel!
Hanson: Nick, you have no sense of thrill.
Vinegar: He’s not letting go! He’s doing it again! A SECOND curb stomp on the chair! Someone has to stop this!
Hanson: The Covenant sure isn’t. Chassie Fear is sliding in to help!
Vinegar: She’s yelling at him to stop!
Hanson: But he’s not!
Vinegar: A THIRD CURB STOMP on the chair! Finally he’s let go!
PAUSE]
Dragon: See Chassie there? Everyone thinks that she’s telling me to stop. Sure, that was the ultimate message of it, but she wasn’t pleading with me. Oh no. She was welcoming me back. Telling me that I’ve still got it. I’m going to do amazing things and that this slime ball deserves everything he’s gotten. The way he provoked her, using me against her. That sonofabitch had no idea how deeply the veins of friendship run between me and that woman. I’ve said before that I’d die for her.. And I nearly did. I’ve said before that I’d kill for her… and I nearly did. But for me, it wasn’t enough seeing him lying face first with blood coming from his mouth, oh no. Go ahead and show it.
[The TV shuts off.]
Doctor Torres: I told you to tell me what was going through your HEAD. Not commentate on what you were doing. This is not what I was looking for, Mickey. You’re failing at this, miserably.
Dragon: I don’t give a fuck what you’re TELLING me to do. I’m doing whatever I want. The sooner you realize that you’re NOT in control of these therapy sessions, the easier this is going to go and the quicker you’re going to cash your checks. So shut your mouth and --
[Doctor Torres slams her hands down on the desk. She tears her black glasses off her face and pulls her hair down from her bun.]
Doctor Torres: HOW DARE YOU! I’m a fucking professional psychiatrist and me vas a tratar de criticar por el trabajo que hago!? Your psychotic ass needs to sleep off whatever disgusting attitude you walked in here with.
[She comes around the table as Dragon lifts his left leg toward her.]
Dragon: YOU made the mistake of giving me something to fight back with, bitch. NOW… as far as SERAPIS is concerned…
[The doctor has realized her error and leans against her desk. The long black curls hang down to her breasts and her brown eyes glint at him. Her rage is written all across her face, but, somehow, it’s sexy.]
Dragon: Serapis made the mistake with Dirge of not accepting the offer given to him. He also made the mistake of standing behind someone who made a crucial error in judgment of standing off with The Covenant. Sure, he didn’t fight back while I was nearly decapitating his partner, but then again, who knows if he truly was behind that man at all? All I know is that he’s been a thorn in the side of my friends for far too long and he needs to be exorcised. That’s what’s going to happen at Sentinel, doc. There’s not going to be a match. Those two won’t know what they’re going to run into. Vanity’s already overstayed his welcome and should be falling into ambiguity again sometime soon. Perhaps he won’t even show up this week. Perhaps he’s just going to hide behind his makeup bag and his wigs and pretend if he doesn’t pay attention to us, we’ll just go away. As for Serapis, though, he’s got more pride than to run and hide behind someone or something and for that, I give him credit. It’s the hubris he shows in trying to take down such a powerful entity as The Covenant that will be his downfall.
Doctor Torres: Is that it?
Dragon: No, there is one other thing.
Doctor Torres: What’s that?
Dragon: Cuando te enojas asi me das ganas de callarte la boca a besos.
[Doctor Torres smiles, then gains a face of rage as she reaches back and slaps him clear across the face. Dragon grins wide. She turns her back to him and reaches on the table.]
Dragon: Yeah, that’s the shit. Do it again.
Doctor Torres: I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.
Dragon: You already have… carbona puta.
[Her shoulders cringe up toward her head and she turns slowly. She gets the syringe ready as Dragon lifts his leg toward her.]
Doctor Torres: Ducles sueñas, pendejo.
[She drives the syringe into his leg and flips him onto his back.
-black-]
Well, that was her plan anyway. Even if he destroyed her office, it’s nothing she couldn’t replace. If he burned it down, she had insurance. Seemed foolproof. She slowly but surely prepared herself for the session after seeing exactly what he was capable of at the restaurant the night before. What on earth could she expect this time? Her hair was pulled up in an extremely tight bun with enough hair spray to cause a hole in the ozone right above her head. The less he has to grab when she has to administer the shot, the better. Her shirt, a black button down shirt has the top two buttons unbuttoned, showing just a little bit of the top of her breasts. Her black slacks rode low on her hips, but showed no skin and she wore flats tonight, for fear of having to run. She exhales deeply as the door slowly swings open.]
Doctor Torres: Good Evening.
[Dragon stands in the doorway as if he were just passing by. Wearing his combat boots, camouflage shorts with strings hanging off the sides as if he’d cut them off with his bare hands. His shirt is wet which is peculiar considering the beautiful weather that has been southern California in the past few weeks. No sign of rain in the forecast either. He steps through the doorway, removing his aviator sunglasses and taking his cigarette from his lips. He stomps it out in the doorway and reaches behind him with his right hand.]
Dragon: I couldn’t find a good home. Do you think you can take him?
[Dragon pulls the hairpiece, now ratty and disheveled, from his back pocket. He stalks over to the doctor’s desk and places it down on her desk, petting it once more before retracting his large and powerful hand from it.]
Dragon: I even named him.
[Okay, the doctor thinks, I’ll play along. If I gain his trust, he’ll let me do this experiment.]
Doctor Torres: What’s his name?
Dragon: Stalin.
Doctor Torres: Well of course I can find Stalin a good home. Why don’t you take a seat and we’ll talk about where we can keep him.
[Dragon backs away from the desk and takes a seat in the chair. He realizes the restraints and glares at the doctor instantaneously with a look of disdain.]
Dragon: You’re going to strap me down and drug me, aren’t you?
Doctor Torres: No, Mickey. What I’m going to do is allow you to say whatever you want and feel however you want while we watch some television. This stimulation will bring out as many emotions and urges as you want, but the restraints are for my protection. I don’t want you taking your rage out on me, and I don’t think Dirge would want that either.
[Dragon thinks over the request she’s made and rolls his eyes back and forth inside his head a few times before shrugging.]
Dragon: Okay, I’ll play your game. Let’s go.
[That was easier than I thought, she thinks. Didn’t take too much convincing. She stands from her desk, syringe in her back pocket. She walks over to the chair and prepares the first restraint for his right hand.]
Dragon: Ya know, they did this to me too many damn times in the ward. The bitches there would gang up on me, though. Six on one is quite difficult to fight off. Four I could take, though. You’re very brave to be doing this by yourself. I respect that.
Doctor Torres: Are those too tight?
[Dragon’s eyes snap over to her face as she’s looking at him. She stands quickly, adjusting her shirt and waiting for a reply.]
Dragon: No, those are perfect.
[She then bends down to strap his legs down, her shirt riding up her back just a bit, revealing the bottom of a tattoo on her lower back. Hard to make out completely, but it’s obviously there and tribal. As she finishes the right leg, he pulls his left leg away. Doctor Torres looks up at him quickly and nearly in fear.]
Dragon: Only three points, please. I have restless leg syndrome and my leg will twitch. Trust me, my leg won’t be of any danger. I’m not Pele for crying out loud.
[Doctor Torres thinks a second and agrees that juts one leg isn’t going to throw the entire experiment off. At worst, he’ll kick himself onto his back on the chair. Plus, with the leg free, she’d be able to drive the needle into the fat of his thigh and have him sleep it off.]
Doctor Torres: As you wish.
[She stands slowly and turns back to the television, bending over slightly to turn it on. Without hesitation…]
Dragon: What’s on your back?
[She stands back up quickly and turns slowly with her hands on her hips. Mouth agape, she is almost speechless.]
Dragon: What? The tattoo… what is it?
Doctor Torres: That, sir, is none of your business.
[Dragon seems rather astonished that she’d not reveal something and grinds his teeth in anger. A vein in his forehead bulges forward.]
Dragon: We’re supposed to share things with each other… why --
Doctor Torres: No, Mickey. YOU share your inner thoughts with ME. I don’t have to share my body with you. Now…
[She sits down in her chair behind her mahogany desk and looks to the television.]
Dragon: I see Barack Obama killing a fly. Let me tell you, those people at PETA have it all wrong. They’re thinking that Obama killed a fly and he should have found a humane way to release it. These are the same fools that have absolutely NO stance when it comes to abortion, Kim-Jong Il, and would rather see Michael Vick spend twenty-three months in jail for dog-fighting but when Donte Stallworth kills a man drinking and driving, he only gets thirty days! The world is a complete shithole anymore, doc. Obama is the one going to give us “change” and the white, upper-middle class, fearful fucks of this planet have put too much faith in him.
Doctor Torres: Interesting.
[She changes the channel quickly and flips to a blonde woman signing autographs outside of a supermarket. She has multiple shopping carts filled with food and milk and someone’s loading her van with them.]
Dragon: Oh this stupid fuckin bitch? Please. I can empathize with her, now estranged husband. I mean, seriously, have you seen how she talks to him? I’d call her a nag but that would be an insult to nags everywhere. This woman is the biggest bitch I’ve seen since I had to deal with my ex girlfriend. Look at this woman’s HEAD! Does she really think she looks good like that? She is going to be the laughinstock of American television for years to come thanks to that abomination of a haircut. Their eight children are nothing but a sad statistic now.
Doctor Torres: You seem fascinated with people’s hair and heads. Is that why you have a bald head?
Dragon: No, I just have a severe problem with anyone who looks that ridiculous when they leave the house. It’s as if they don’t have a mirror. Yet, for someone like Vanity ShowWood, he’s got all the mirrors in the world and this weirdo still thinks he’s somehow worthy of praise and fame due to his ridiculous look. If he really wants to believe he’s the “Pretty One” well then he can get together with Kate Gosselin and have themselves a contest of who is the most delusional.
[Again, Doctor Torres changes the channel. This time it’s a newscast from somewhere and the man on the television is reading the story.]
Anchorman: The mother of a missing 2-year-old Indiana girl said police are working "around the clock" to find her daughter, who was apparently taken from a parked car while her baby sitter was in a convenience store. Jada Justice was last seen about 9:40 p.m. on June 16 when her cousin stopped at a convenience store. Jada Justice was last seen about 9:40 p.m. on June 16, when her 18-year-old babysitter and cousin stopped at a Gary, Indiana, convenience store to buy milk and cigarettes. The baby sitter, identified as Engelica Castillo, told authorities that when she came out, Jada -- who had been in the back seat of the car and in a car seat -- was gone.
[Dragon’s quick to interrupt at this point.]
Dragon: She’s dead and the babystiter did it.
Doctor Torres: What makes you so sure?
Dragon: She was the last one to see her. Children just don’t disappear out of cars, doc. It’s not something that happens. Plus, it’s a family thing. The kid was probably screaming and shittin all day and the eighteen year old was trying to smoke some pot with her friends. She can’t get away for a minute so she shakes the baby hoping to shut her up. Instead, it kills her. She buries it somewhere or throws her in the garbage somewhere and drives to the convenience store to get some cigarettes to calm her down. When she goes back to the car, obviously the kid is gone, but she’s going to now blow everything up to try and throw the blame off herself. People do it all the time. How many of these stories come out and the kids are either never found… or they find them dead and it’s a family member? The same people who stand there and cry in front of the cameras begging for “someone to bring my baby back” but in reality, you know no one will? These fuckin people are sick… they’re as delusional as I am, as Vanity ShowWood is… and yet I’m the one getting locked up in the psycho bin. I’m the one being forced to sit through this garbage and make social commentary on the shit that society does. I’m not empathetic toward anyone anymore, doc.
Doctor Torres: Not even the parent of this little girl who --
Dragon: What the fuck was she doing when this was going on? Why would you leave the baby in the care of an eighteen year old who obviously has issues?
[Doctor Torres shrugs her shoulders. She turns the channel one last time and we find a paused DVD on the screen. It’s a shot of Osiris face to face with Mickey Dragon at Break for the Border.]
Doctor Torres: Before I push play here, Mickey, I want you to know that I am prepared to leave if this gets out of hand. I will drug you, you will sleep it all off and by then, all of this will be gone. You’ll also be untied and you will be able to leave, but you’ll sleep for many hours first and wake up very groggy.
Dragon: Fuck you. You said you weren’t going to drug me. Lying bitch.
[Doctor Torres pulls the syringe from her pocket and places it on her desk.]
Dragon: Fuck you. You’re not gonna do that. Fuck you and fuck him and fuck all of this!
[Dragon begins to kick at the floor trying to free himself from the chair.]
Doctor Torres: This can also go very easily for you. All you have to do is tell me what was going through your mind at each time I pause the video. Then we’ll talk about Serapis and your match this Sunday.
[The kicking stops but now Mickey Dragon’s foot is bouncing on the floor like a tennis ball. That’s the restless leg syndrome. Dragon’s mouth is pursed as he prepares to relive his destruction of Osiris. The DVD plays.
The lights come on and Osiris stands mid-ring, face to face, with… himself.
Vinegar: It must be an Osiris doppelganger! The single difference is the face paint. While Osiris has his worn half off from the battle…
Hanson: This guy has a mask on, Nick!
Vinegar: You’re right Daniel! The other man’s wearing a mask… and man is his body racked with scars. Look at his back, Dan!
Hanson: It’s…
Vinegar: He’s taking the mask off!
Hanson: OH
Vinegar: MY
Hanson: TITTYTWISTING
Vinegar: MICKEY DRAGON! And does HE LOOKS PISSED OFF!
PAUSE]
Dragon: Well, see, I knew he wouldn’t expect me to be dressed like him. Dumbass. He didn’t expect it at all. The look on his face when I took off that mask was like he had seen a ghost. It’s kinda crazy that we’re nearly the same size, though. He uses the size so much differently than I do. Trying to be a powerhouse at our size isn’t very easy. Anyway, I knew then that he wasn’t going to give me much of a fight. The element of surprise is always too great.
[Vinegar: Dragon goes to work with right hands! Pounding Osiris!
Hanson: You just said --
Vinegar: He’s got him against the ropes and just clotheslined him over the top! The Covenant quickly there to pick him back up and throw him back in the ring!
Hanson: Now this is what I like to see. Teamwork on ass-beatings.
Vinegar: Mickey Dragon motioning for Raenius to get something for him. Meanwhile, Dragon locks Osiris in a front-facelock. Ooh, he drives him into the mat with a DDT.
Hanson: He held on.
Vinegar: He floated over and stood back up, holding onto his head! A second DDT!
Hanson: He held on again… and Raenius is getting a chair.
Vinegar: Raenius sliding the chair into the ring as Dragon stands back up again! He’s going to…
Hanson: Oh this looks ugly.
Vinegar: Dragon lifts his leg upward behind him and… SPIKES Osiris into the chair! That has a dent in it now! He may be dead!
PAUSE]
Dragon: It was so well orchestrated. Once the lights went out, Dirge and Raenius took their positions at the entranceway and kept that little prick Serapis from distracting me from what needed to be done. Osiris, to his credit, almost got away after I clotheslined him over the top. But, that’s also why R and Dirge were where they needed to be. No one got out of the ring, no one got into the ring without them knowing about it and allowing it. He had no chance. It was more of an assassination than a mugging like so many people have called it. But, by no means was it cowardly. Osiris could’ve fought back at any point, but he gave no fight whatsoever. For a guy who wasn’t in the ring that much DURING the match, he sure was tired by the time I got my hands on him.
[Dragon’s fingers start to dig into the leather of the chair. He’s getting excited at reliving the massacre.
Vinegar: He’s got the chair opened up and standing as if he’s going to take a seat. He’s got Osiris’s legs grapevined around his shin. Osiris’s face-down under the chair.
Hanson: This isn’t going to be pretty.
Vinegar: The entire Covenant is now here at Break for the Border, and it doesn’t look like Osiris is going to make it out of here alive!
Hanson: What the hell?
Vinegar: Dragon has Osiris by his arms, pulling him upward… Oh My God! CURB STOMP onto the seat of the chair! His neck HAS to be broken!
Hanson: That was awesome.
Vinegar: The man may be dead, Daniel!
Hanson: Nick, you have no sense of thrill.
Vinegar: He’s not letting go! He’s doing it again! A SECOND curb stomp on the chair! Someone has to stop this!
Hanson: The Covenant sure isn’t. Chassie Fear is sliding in to help!
Vinegar: She’s yelling at him to stop!
Hanson: But he’s not!
Vinegar: A THIRD CURB STOMP on the chair! Finally he’s let go!
PAUSE]
Dragon: See Chassie there? Everyone thinks that she’s telling me to stop. Sure, that was the ultimate message of it, but she wasn’t pleading with me. Oh no. She was welcoming me back. Telling me that I’ve still got it. I’m going to do amazing things and that this slime ball deserves everything he’s gotten. The way he provoked her, using me against her. That sonofabitch had no idea how deeply the veins of friendship run between me and that woman. I’ve said before that I’d die for her.. And I nearly did. I’ve said before that I’d kill for her… and I nearly did. But for me, it wasn’t enough seeing him lying face first with blood coming from his mouth, oh no. Go ahead and show it.
[The TV shuts off.]
Doctor Torres: I told you to tell me what was going through your HEAD. Not commentate on what you were doing. This is not what I was looking for, Mickey. You’re failing at this, miserably.
Dragon: I don’t give a fuck what you’re TELLING me to do. I’m doing whatever I want. The sooner you realize that you’re NOT in control of these therapy sessions, the easier this is going to go and the quicker you’re going to cash your checks. So shut your mouth and --
[Doctor Torres slams her hands down on the desk. She tears her black glasses off her face and pulls her hair down from her bun.]
Doctor Torres: HOW DARE YOU! I’m a fucking professional psychiatrist and me vas a tratar de criticar por el trabajo que hago!? Your psychotic ass needs to sleep off whatever disgusting attitude you walked in here with.
[She comes around the table as Dragon lifts his left leg toward her.]
Dragon: YOU made the mistake of giving me something to fight back with, bitch. NOW… as far as SERAPIS is concerned…
[The doctor has realized her error and leans against her desk. The long black curls hang down to her breasts and her brown eyes glint at him. Her rage is written all across her face, but, somehow, it’s sexy.]
Dragon: Serapis made the mistake with Dirge of not accepting the offer given to him. He also made the mistake of standing behind someone who made a crucial error in judgment of standing off with The Covenant. Sure, he didn’t fight back while I was nearly decapitating his partner, but then again, who knows if he truly was behind that man at all? All I know is that he’s been a thorn in the side of my friends for far too long and he needs to be exorcised. That’s what’s going to happen at Sentinel, doc. There’s not going to be a match. Those two won’t know what they’re going to run into. Vanity’s already overstayed his welcome and should be falling into ambiguity again sometime soon. Perhaps he won’t even show up this week. Perhaps he’s just going to hide behind his makeup bag and his wigs and pretend if he doesn’t pay attention to us, we’ll just go away. As for Serapis, though, he’s got more pride than to run and hide behind someone or something and for that, I give him credit. It’s the hubris he shows in trying to take down such a powerful entity as The Covenant that will be his downfall.
Doctor Torres: Is that it?
Dragon: No, there is one other thing.
Doctor Torres: What’s that?
Dragon: Cuando te enojas asi me das ganas de callarte la boca a besos.
[Doctor Torres smiles, then gains a face of rage as she reaches back and slaps him clear across the face. Dragon grins wide. She turns her back to him and reaches on the table.]
Dragon: Yeah, that’s the shit. Do it again.
Doctor Torres: I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.
Dragon: You already have… carbona puta.
[Her shoulders cringe up toward her head and she turns slowly. She gets the syringe ready as Dragon lifts his leg toward her.]
Doctor Torres: Ducles sueñas, pendejo.
[She drives the syringe into his leg and flips him onto his back.
-black-]
