Post by Prolapsed Wrecked 'em on Jul 27, 2009 15:21:16 GMT -5
Dragon: I told you what I want to do this week, doc. I don’t want anything else or I’m not coming in.
[Mickey Dragon’s cell phone is pressed hard to the side of his bald head. Sunglasses cover his eyes and his lips hold a lit cigarette between them. Beads of sweat hang just above his eyebrows yet he seems to not care about them as his attention is firmly set in his phone conversation.]
Dragon: I don’t care what the risks are. I want it done. You want this to be a success, then get this shit done. Get the equipment and get it there for this session or I’m NOT coming in. Then you’ll have a bigger problem, won’t you?
[The camera pans back from him to see he’s sitting on a bench in the middle of a nice park somewhere in LA. It’s a gorgeous southern-California day and Dragon is dressed for the occasion with a black and white floral printed Hawaiian shirt hanging from his body with none of the buttons done. His chest shows the wrath of his career in the past 15 years with dozens of scars covering plenty of areas, none in particular gaining any more attention than another. The sheer amount of them makes it quite a sight. His black jean shorts hang down to his knees and his black Chuck Taylor Converse sneakers sit firmly on the ground.]
Dragon: Doc, I could truly care less what favors you have to call in and strings you need to pull. I don’t care what kind of things you need to discuss with me before I commit to this therapy. I want it done. Get the shocker, hell, get some paddles or something from a hospital if you have to. I want this shock therapy done. It sounds like it’s a lot of fun.
[Seriously? Dragon wants to have shock therapy done? Does he truly know what he’s getting himself into? He hangs up the phone a couple of seconds later, clipping it to his waist in a black leather holder. He takes the cigarette from his lips and exhales a large amount of smoke from his lungs. The cloud of toxin wafts upward from his mouth like a mushroom cloud of death and destruction that befell Japan in the mid-1940s. Dragon slowly removes his sunglasses to reveal a shiny black left eye to go along with a split bottom lip. He smiles sadistically before standing and beginning to walk down a red cobblestone path through the park.]
Dragon: What a fucking show that was. Dope put on one hell of a set and I was sure to teach that Kerry King wanna-be a thing or two about eavesdropping on someone’s conversation. Sad thing is, he got taken away by medical professionals before I could really teach more than a couple of things. You’d think if you have that kind of look, you’d be able to take more than a couple elbows to the jaw. I digress…
[Dragon comes to an intersection in the path with a couple of college kids playing Frisbee on the grass. Dragon leans against a tree a few feet from their triangle and lights another cigarette. One of the kids is trying to be the hotshot showoff and catches it in a leaping between-the-legs style grab then turns and fires it toward no one in particular and it lands near to Dragon’s sneakers. Dragon bends over to pick it up as one of the hippies meets him to retrieve it.]
Kid: Sorry sir.
[Dragon picks his head up and glares at the kid whose face goes from stoned idiot to fearful joker in a matter of seconds. He flings the Frisbee back toward the other two guys and runs over to talk to them. Dragon turns and walks off as the camera fades to black.]
--------LATER THAT DAY-----------
Doctor Torres: I’m just about ready. Now, I need to have you sign some paperwork otherwise my ass could be liable for any circumstances coming from your decision. This here…
[Doctor Torres has Mickey Dragon sitting in the same chair she had him strapped to. This time, there are three electrodes on his bald head. One on each temple and one in the back with a wire coming from each of them connecting into one wire running toward a large machine sitting on her desk. The machine is not on, as there is no sound or lights on it. Doctor Torres, dressed in a very colorful summer dress hanging down to her knee with white flat shoes on, holds a brown clipboard with a series of papers hanging from them. Holding a pen in her left hand toward Dragon she continues to speak of what he’s signing.]
Doctor Torres: This one says that you understand the risks I’ve laid out for you in reference to this type of therapy. They include amnesia both before this session and possibly for everything afterward. You could come out of this therapy session with no memory of anything, ever. Memory loss is quite uncommon but is still a risk. You’re going to have some confusion after coming out of it and you may experience some loss of intelligence.
Dragon: Wait, I’ll get dumber?
Doctor Torres: It’s possible. At the same time, it may work adversely and you may become a complete genius. Also, there may be some brain damage happen during the process as we’re over stimulating your brain with electrical currents. They may short out your brain cells and…
Dragon: Doc, I’ve had my skull caved in more times than I care to remember. If I lose a few more brain cells, it’s not going to kill me. I’ll live with that. Let’s get this show on the road
[Dragon signs the paper and Doctor Torres flips to the next page.]
Doctor Torres: This next one is saying that you are aware that you will be put into a catatonic state and suffer a seizure as a result of this therapy. In your opinion, the benefits outweigh the risks and the treatment is only sixty to seventy percent effective on your particular psychotic state. If effective, you’ll go back to the way you were a few years ago. If not, we’ll continue this style of therapy as long as you deem necessary.
Dragon: That’s more like it.
[Again, Dragon signs the paper and Doctor Torres flings the clipboard onto her desk.]
Dragon: So, let’s electrocute myself… c’mon… let’s go.
Doctor Torres: Okay, I’m going to turn this on. Every time you have an evil or psychotic thought of death or killing someone, it will give you a strong shock. At some point, the machine will pick up when you’re going to have one and will shock you before hand. When you have too many of those thoughts, it will continually shock you and eventually, you’ll have a seizure, basically hitting the reset button on your mind. Afterward, we’ll see how well it worked. Now, in order to stimulate your mind, I’ll also be performing the Rorschach test. You’ll look at some pictures of inkblots and tell me what you see. The more stimulated your mind becomes, the better this test and treatment become. Are you prepared for this?
[Dragon nods, locking his hands around the end of the chair.]
Doctor Torres: God help us all.
[Doctor Torres flips a switch and the ancient machine whirrs to life. Within an instant, Dragon’s body contorts a bit as he gets the instantaneous shock.]
Dragon: Oooh… I didn’t realize it’d be working that quickly. I shouldn’t think about how pitiful Serapis’s losing streak has become.
[Again with a shock]
Dragon: Damnit.
[The doctor turns around a first card revealing this picture]
Doctor Torres: What do you see Mickey?
Dragon: Can I hold the picture?
[Doctor Torres abliges and hands the picture over to Dragon. He turns it upside down, the turns it on its side before finding something he can tell the doctor he sees.]
Dragon: I see a mother clutching an oversized baby, hoping for life to be revived back into it. In the same way I see Declan Prescott clutching to his dreams of capturing what used to be his power over the GIW. His hiding in plain sight as Peter Damascus was a charade and a stunt that only the desperate do and being booked into this battle royale is one of his last ways of trying to gain prestige here. It’s no longer his age in GIW. It’s no longer about The Revolution. It’s the age of The Covenant and if he gets in my --
[Dragon drops the picture and begins to twitch hard.]
Dragon: God…. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck…… that’s gooooooooooooood.
[It stops and Dragon returns to his seated position. A sadistic smile comes across his face as beads of sweat form on his forehead. The doctor, shaking her head and holding her hand over her mouth, holds up a second picture.]
Doctor Torres: What do you see here, Mickey?
[Again, he reaches his hand out to hold the picture and the doctor obliges. Again, he turns it upside down and instantly finds his answer.]
Dragon: I see two people with haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa--
[The picture falls to the floor as Dragon’s again being shocked, this time harder than before. This shock lasts longer and he continues to try and speak.]
Dragon: Ha-Ha-Hammmm… mmmm…errrrrrr….zzzzzzz….
[Having to lock his jaw down to make the sound of the ‘Z’ doesn’t help him any as his neck bends backward and his body begins to shake. After a few seconds, his body relaxes and he takes a couple deep breaths, collecting himself.]
Doctor Torres: Are you okay?
Dragon: Oh that’s such a rush… yeah. I’m fine. They’re beating on…
[Another quick shock]
Dragon: Damnit. On… a little boy…
[Another shock]
Dragon: FUCK… can I get this out?
Doctor Torres: That’s just it, you need to stop having these violent thoughts. That’s what’s triggering it.
Dragon: It’s what I’d like to do to….
Dragon: Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa….. Kaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa……..
Doctor Torres: You’re getting close, Mickey. This next picture might cause the necessary seizure to make this therapy effective.
[She pulls a third picture from a folder on her desk and holds it toward herself before turning it around.]
Doctor Torres: I’m not going to hand you this one, though. I need your body to be free from all grip so that if you go into the seizure, you are free to flop around and then go limp. Once it starts, I will shut off the machine so that you’re not going to be killed. It’s the last risk I mentioned to you. Death.
[Dragon’s eyes go wide as she turns around the picture.]
Dragon: Bloooooooooooooooooooooooo--
[His body begins to shake uncontrollably and Doctor Torres immediately shuts the machine off. Dragon’s body twitches, falling in a heap to the floor in a gran mal seizure. He twitches and violently thrashes about the floor, kicking over the chair he sat in. The wires fly around bouncing off his bald head. He kicks the desk a few times and Doctor Torres rises from her desk and comes over to his head. She holds his head in her hands, leaving his airway open so that he doesn’t choke on his own tongue. After another few seconds, the twitching dissipates and his eyes are simply rolled back into his head.]
Doctor Torres: Mickey? Mickey are you back?
[Nothing. The tone in Doctor Torres’s voice gets a little more concerned after about fifteen seconds.]
Doctor Torres: Mickey. Come back now. Don’t lose yourself into the darkness… come back to us…
[Her tone grows cautious and almost fearful as she continues to try to wake him.]
Doctor Torres: MICKEY… WAKE UP….
[She lowers her face to his mouth…]
Doctor Torres: Is he breathing?
[His arms rise up quickly, grabbing the back of her head and planting a very harsh kiss on her mouth. She tries to fight him, unsuccessfully and is released a few seconds later. His eyes are glazed over as he sits up, taking slow deep breaths to collect himself. Doctor Torres looks down at him with disdain, holding her fingers over her mouth as if she had just tasted the undercarriage of a leaky Ford Escort. He stands, wobbly, and leans against her desk trying to compose himself. She rears back, slapping him hard across his face.]
Doctor Torres: You son of a bitch.
Dragon: Yep.
Doctor Torres: What the hell was that?
Dragon: Twenty years ago, I killed my mother… and somehow, she’s back.
[black]
[Mickey Dragon’s cell phone is pressed hard to the side of his bald head. Sunglasses cover his eyes and his lips hold a lit cigarette between them. Beads of sweat hang just above his eyebrows yet he seems to not care about them as his attention is firmly set in his phone conversation.]
Dragon: I don’t care what the risks are. I want it done. You want this to be a success, then get this shit done. Get the equipment and get it there for this session or I’m NOT coming in. Then you’ll have a bigger problem, won’t you?
[The camera pans back from him to see he’s sitting on a bench in the middle of a nice park somewhere in LA. It’s a gorgeous southern-California day and Dragon is dressed for the occasion with a black and white floral printed Hawaiian shirt hanging from his body with none of the buttons done. His chest shows the wrath of his career in the past 15 years with dozens of scars covering plenty of areas, none in particular gaining any more attention than another. The sheer amount of them makes it quite a sight. His black jean shorts hang down to his knees and his black Chuck Taylor Converse sneakers sit firmly on the ground.]
Dragon: Doc, I could truly care less what favors you have to call in and strings you need to pull. I don’t care what kind of things you need to discuss with me before I commit to this therapy. I want it done. Get the shocker, hell, get some paddles or something from a hospital if you have to. I want this shock therapy done. It sounds like it’s a lot of fun.
[Seriously? Dragon wants to have shock therapy done? Does he truly know what he’s getting himself into? He hangs up the phone a couple of seconds later, clipping it to his waist in a black leather holder. He takes the cigarette from his lips and exhales a large amount of smoke from his lungs. The cloud of toxin wafts upward from his mouth like a mushroom cloud of death and destruction that befell Japan in the mid-1940s. Dragon slowly removes his sunglasses to reveal a shiny black left eye to go along with a split bottom lip. He smiles sadistically before standing and beginning to walk down a red cobblestone path through the park.]
Dragon: What a fucking show that was. Dope put on one hell of a set and I was sure to teach that Kerry King wanna-be a thing or two about eavesdropping on someone’s conversation. Sad thing is, he got taken away by medical professionals before I could really teach more than a couple of things. You’d think if you have that kind of look, you’d be able to take more than a couple elbows to the jaw. I digress…
[Dragon comes to an intersection in the path with a couple of college kids playing Frisbee on the grass. Dragon leans against a tree a few feet from their triangle and lights another cigarette. One of the kids is trying to be the hotshot showoff and catches it in a leaping between-the-legs style grab then turns and fires it toward no one in particular and it lands near to Dragon’s sneakers. Dragon bends over to pick it up as one of the hippies meets him to retrieve it.]
Kid: Sorry sir.
[Dragon picks his head up and glares at the kid whose face goes from stoned idiot to fearful joker in a matter of seconds. He flings the Frisbee back toward the other two guys and runs over to talk to them. Dragon turns and walks off as the camera fades to black.]
--------LATER THAT DAY-----------
Doctor Torres: I’m just about ready. Now, I need to have you sign some paperwork otherwise my ass could be liable for any circumstances coming from your decision. This here…
[Doctor Torres has Mickey Dragon sitting in the same chair she had him strapped to. This time, there are three electrodes on his bald head. One on each temple and one in the back with a wire coming from each of them connecting into one wire running toward a large machine sitting on her desk. The machine is not on, as there is no sound or lights on it. Doctor Torres, dressed in a very colorful summer dress hanging down to her knee with white flat shoes on, holds a brown clipboard with a series of papers hanging from them. Holding a pen in her left hand toward Dragon she continues to speak of what he’s signing.]
Doctor Torres: This one says that you understand the risks I’ve laid out for you in reference to this type of therapy. They include amnesia both before this session and possibly for everything afterward. You could come out of this therapy session with no memory of anything, ever. Memory loss is quite uncommon but is still a risk. You’re going to have some confusion after coming out of it and you may experience some loss of intelligence.
Dragon: Wait, I’ll get dumber?
Doctor Torres: It’s possible. At the same time, it may work adversely and you may become a complete genius. Also, there may be some brain damage happen during the process as we’re over stimulating your brain with electrical currents. They may short out your brain cells and…
Dragon: Doc, I’ve had my skull caved in more times than I care to remember. If I lose a few more brain cells, it’s not going to kill me. I’ll live with that. Let’s get this show on the road
[Dragon signs the paper and Doctor Torres flips to the next page.]
Doctor Torres: This next one is saying that you are aware that you will be put into a catatonic state and suffer a seizure as a result of this therapy. In your opinion, the benefits outweigh the risks and the treatment is only sixty to seventy percent effective on your particular psychotic state. If effective, you’ll go back to the way you were a few years ago. If not, we’ll continue this style of therapy as long as you deem necessary.
Dragon: That’s more like it.
[Again, Dragon signs the paper and Doctor Torres flings the clipboard onto her desk.]
Dragon: So, let’s electrocute myself… c’mon… let’s go.
Doctor Torres: Okay, I’m going to turn this on. Every time you have an evil or psychotic thought of death or killing someone, it will give you a strong shock. At some point, the machine will pick up when you’re going to have one and will shock you before hand. When you have too many of those thoughts, it will continually shock you and eventually, you’ll have a seizure, basically hitting the reset button on your mind. Afterward, we’ll see how well it worked. Now, in order to stimulate your mind, I’ll also be performing the Rorschach test. You’ll look at some pictures of inkblots and tell me what you see. The more stimulated your mind becomes, the better this test and treatment become. Are you prepared for this?
[Dragon nods, locking his hands around the end of the chair.]
Doctor Torres: God help us all.
[Doctor Torres flips a switch and the ancient machine whirrs to life. Within an instant, Dragon’s body contorts a bit as he gets the instantaneous shock.]
Dragon: Oooh… I didn’t realize it’d be working that quickly. I shouldn’t think about how pitiful Serapis’s losing streak has become.
[Again with a shock]
Dragon: Damnit.
[The doctor turns around a first card revealing this picture]
Doctor Torres: What do you see Mickey?
Dragon: Can I hold the picture?
[Doctor Torres abliges and hands the picture over to Dragon. He turns it upside down, the turns it on its side before finding something he can tell the doctor he sees.]
Dragon: I see a mother clutching an oversized baby, hoping for life to be revived back into it. In the same way I see Declan Prescott clutching to his dreams of capturing what used to be his power over the GIW. His hiding in plain sight as Peter Damascus was a charade and a stunt that only the desperate do and being booked into this battle royale is one of his last ways of trying to gain prestige here. It’s no longer his age in GIW. It’s no longer about The Revolution. It’s the age of The Covenant and if he gets in my --
[Dragon drops the picture and begins to twitch hard.]
Dragon: God…. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck…… that’s gooooooooooooood.
[It stops and Dragon returns to his seated position. A sadistic smile comes across his face as beads of sweat form on his forehead. The doctor, shaking her head and holding her hand over her mouth, holds up a second picture.]
Doctor Torres: What do you see here, Mickey?
[Again, he reaches his hand out to hold the picture and the doctor obliges. Again, he turns it upside down and instantly finds his answer.]
Dragon: I see two people with haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa--
[The picture falls to the floor as Dragon’s again being shocked, this time harder than before. This shock lasts longer and he continues to try and speak.]
Dragon: Ha-Ha-Hammmm… mmmm…errrrrrr….zzzzzzz….
[Having to lock his jaw down to make the sound of the ‘Z’ doesn’t help him any as his neck bends backward and his body begins to shake. After a few seconds, his body relaxes and he takes a couple deep breaths, collecting himself.]
Doctor Torres: Are you okay?
Dragon: Oh that’s such a rush… yeah. I’m fine. They’re beating on…
[Another quick shock]
Dragon: Damnit. On… a little boy…
[Another shock]
Dragon: FUCK… can I get this out?
Doctor Torres: That’s just it, you need to stop having these violent thoughts. That’s what’s triggering it.
Dragon: It’s what I’d like to do to….
Dragon: Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa….. Kaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa……..
Doctor Torres: You’re getting close, Mickey. This next picture might cause the necessary seizure to make this therapy effective.
[She pulls a third picture from a folder on her desk and holds it toward herself before turning it around.]
Doctor Torres: I’m not going to hand you this one, though. I need your body to be free from all grip so that if you go into the seizure, you are free to flop around and then go limp. Once it starts, I will shut off the machine so that you’re not going to be killed. It’s the last risk I mentioned to you. Death.
[Dragon’s eyes go wide as she turns around the picture.]
Dragon: Bloooooooooooooooooooooooo--
[His body begins to shake uncontrollably and Doctor Torres immediately shuts the machine off. Dragon’s body twitches, falling in a heap to the floor in a gran mal seizure. He twitches and violently thrashes about the floor, kicking over the chair he sat in. The wires fly around bouncing off his bald head. He kicks the desk a few times and Doctor Torres rises from her desk and comes over to his head. She holds his head in her hands, leaving his airway open so that he doesn’t choke on his own tongue. After another few seconds, the twitching dissipates and his eyes are simply rolled back into his head.]
Doctor Torres: Mickey? Mickey are you back?
[Nothing. The tone in Doctor Torres’s voice gets a little more concerned after about fifteen seconds.]
Doctor Torres: Mickey. Come back now. Don’t lose yourself into the darkness… come back to us…
[Her tone grows cautious and almost fearful as she continues to try to wake him.]
Doctor Torres: MICKEY… WAKE UP….
[She lowers her face to his mouth…]
Doctor Torres: Is he breathing?
[His arms rise up quickly, grabbing the back of her head and planting a very harsh kiss on her mouth. She tries to fight him, unsuccessfully and is released a few seconds later. His eyes are glazed over as he sits up, taking slow deep breaths to collect himself. Doctor Torres looks down at him with disdain, holding her fingers over her mouth as if she had just tasted the undercarriage of a leaky Ford Escort. He stands, wobbly, and leans against her desk trying to compose himself. She rears back, slapping him hard across his face.]
Doctor Torres: You son of a bitch.
Dragon: Yep.
Doctor Torres: What the hell was that?
Dragon: Twenty years ago, I killed my mother… and somehow, she’s back.
[black]
