Post by MasterEvil on Apr 28, 2017 22:27:10 GMT
act 1
act 2
My first match in months and I can’t help but smile at the sound of these people chanting my name. The feeling of adrenaline coursing through my veins with every punch and every step in every second of this contest. Their cheers giving my heart an extra beat every second as I cup my hands.
“KAMEHAMEHA!”
The fact the people of Portland are shouting out that word at the same time feels completely delighting as I strike down Brown Haired Huntress down. Now to cov-what is that arm doing around my leg? Whoa!
ONE! TWO!! THREE!!!
The ringing of the bell sounding snaps the intensity out of my eyes as I was only able to kick out of Lexie Glass’ rollup a split moment too late. The Huntress has rolled out the ring and began her walk to the back while Lexie is already celebrating on the stage. Yet here I am, still in the middle of the ring on my knees. My arms are slumped. My hair is wet from sweat. My body is unmoving. The official who previously counted my shoulders down has entered the ring and approach me with what seems to be…concern perhaps?
I honestly can’t tell.
His mouth opens and shuts repeatedly and into different shapes here and there. Maybe he is saying something? But how come nothing is coming out then? Another official enters the ring and approaches me, moving his mouth more rapidly than the other. But, yet again, nothing is coming out. Have my ear given up on hearing? How else can’t they seem to speak to me at all? H-Hey! Why is the other guy touching my arm?
No need to touch me, I can get up on my own.
How come my mouth refuse to move? Can’t I speak at all? Am I in shock? Maybe that could explain why my lips feels frozen in both temperature and lack of movement. Hey! Loosen the grip on my arm. And there is no need for the original referee to touch my other arm.
Please don’t grab me.
I try to plea…but my lips seem frozen in time itself as nothing I do seems to get them moving at all. H-H-Hey! Stop grabbing my arms you two. Don’t be forceful. Let go…please…pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…
“GET OFF ME!”
Finally I manage to get something out my lips as I push both officials away. My eyes flaring as I stare at the both of them with a snarl for a couple of moment. Wait…why did I do that? They were only trying to help me. I quickly roll under the bottom rope and jump over the barricade before beginning to walk towards one of the exits that these people of Portland would have to take at the end of the show. With each step I glance at each person I pass. Clearly they must be saying something…but the only thing I can hear is a fusion of deafening silence and the sound of the bell ringing cruelly echoing throughout my skull.
“KAMEHAMEHA!”
The fact the people of Portland are shouting out that word at the same time feels completely delighting as I strike down Brown Haired Huntress down. Now to cov-what is that arm doing around my leg? Whoa!
ONE! TWO!! THREE!!!
The ringing of the bell sounding snaps the intensity out of my eyes as I was only able to kick out of Lexie Glass’ rollup a split moment too late. The Huntress has rolled out the ring and began her walk to the back while Lexie is already celebrating on the stage. Yet here I am, still in the middle of the ring on my knees. My arms are slumped. My hair is wet from sweat. My body is unmoving. The official who previously counted my shoulders down has entered the ring and approach me with what seems to be…concern perhaps?
I honestly can’t tell.
His mouth opens and shuts repeatedly and into different shapes here and there. Maybe he is saying something? But how come nothing is coming out then? Another official enters the ring and approaches me, moving his mouth more rapidly than the other. But, yet again, nothing is coming out. Have my ear given up on hearing? How else can’t they seem to speak to me at all? H-Hey! Why is the other guy touching my arm?
No need to touch me, I can get up on my own.
How come my mouth refuse to move? Can’t I speak at all? Am I in shock? Maybe that could explain why my lips feels frozen in both temperature and lack of movement. Hey! Loosen the grip on my arm. And there is no need for the original referee to touch my other arm.
Please don’t grab me.
I try to plea…but my lips seem frozen in time itself as nothing I do seems to get them moving at all. H-H-Hey! Stop grabbing my arms you two. Don’t be forceful. Let go…please…pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…
“GET OFF ME!”
Finally I manage to get something out my lips as I push both officials away. My eyes flaring as I stare at the both of them with a snarl for a couple of moment. Wait…why did I do that? They were only trying to help me. I quickly roll under the bottom rope and jump over the barricade before beginning to walk towards one of the exits that these people of Portland would have to take at the end of the show. With each step I glance at each person I pass. Clearly they must be saying something…but the only thing I can hear is a fusion of deafening silence and the sound of the bell ringing cruelly echoing throughout my skull.
act 2
We appears to be inside the women’s shower room of the Memorial Coliseum and there seems to be no one around at the moment…but if that was true then why would we be here at all? There is a row of ten shower cubicles, each one having their door shut, and the lights above at all flickering on and off. Suddenly one of the cubicle doors bursts open with enough impact to echo across the room, especially when the door cracks against the wall nearby. Before we could even take a step towards the door, which appears to have a footprint of some kind right in the centre of it, the Purple Haired Dynamo known as Otaki emerges from the cubicle in question. All the young brit is wearing is a longish black trowel that only covers her nipples and just enough to cover her womanhood. The look in her eyes seem to be a mixture of anger – to a point of being almost crazed – and blankly calm as she steps towards us a little bit before stopping, right next to the door of the next cubicle door.
“Last night ended in defeat…but both victory and defeat weren’t what I forewarn. I declared that last night sparks the beginning of ‘Our Infestation’ and us martyrs have already left a brown eyed mark. No one has heard from her, let alone seen her, since we’ve had our way with her. Yet now, with the very mark of midnight being upon us, we are only seventeen odd days away from facing off against the fireman known as Jeremy Warren…the dear Champion of FSW, who only managed to win the belt in a steel cage match that I happen to be in.”
Dongs of a church bell echoes down the corridor and into this shower room. However Otaki simply glances up toward the ceiling before looking back down towards us as the index finger of her left hand trails over the door.
“And now it has been exactly two months since you’ve won that Championship. So how have you been Jeremy? It must feel good, doesn’t it? To become Champion in like four months after your professional wrestling debut? Especially when there are people who have been here for much longer without even getting a single chance to prove their worth. Does it feel good, Pup? Of course it would, you get to the king of the mountain after all. The very top of the roster. You get to hold the gold that people have fought and fallen for. So you should be proud of yourself. You get to be Superman, the good boy who always wins, while those around you falter and wither like dying flowers.
That belt is TOXIC and it will CORRUPT you like it did with EVERYONE WHO HAS HELD IT BEFORE YOU!”
The very moment she sharply shouts out her final words the Highlight of the Night smashes her left fist against the door, causing the cubicle to open inward, before taking a few more steps to only stop again next to the next cubicle.
“Hell, my desire for it – possibly assisted by the moment I won last year’s Rumble in the Bronx – reignited my ego and said ego took a knife and stabbed it straight through my heart the moment I’ve entered match after match…defeat after defeat…to a point where I stand before you feeling numb. And I’ve never manage to even touch the gold. Yet people like Amis took the first opportunity to jump ships the moment he won it and got his ass kicked on day one. Then you have Dixie Dubois spending most of her hundred and forty-nine day reign dodging competition since winning the belt in a tournament set up because Johnny Bonecrusher’s ego had a paddy throw and ran away. Meanwhile the guy he won the FSW Title from, Derek Wellings, apparently retired later in the same year and most people on the roster would be like ‘Who’s Atlas’ and I don’t need to say anything about Jason Hunter…
For the gold has corrupted them all in some shape of form.
Turning bravery to cowardice…morphing confidence to arrogance…changing independence to dependence…eating away at the positives…replacing them with negatives…infecting the holder a virus worse than any T, T-Veronica, G, Uroboros or C virus…
So how will it affect you, hero? Will it make you more cowardly with the knowledge of many others wanting to take you belt away? What about encouraging you to take more and more unnecessary risk after unnecessary risk? Will it devour your confidence and replace it with pure arrogance so that you may end up underestimating those you aren’t defending your Title against? And if that’s the case thennnnnn-”
The very last words whistles out from the Englishwoman’s lips as an almost sickening smirk etches itself across Otaki’s face for only a mere moment before immediately snapping into quite an irritated expression.
“-you’re ABOUT TO MAKE the WORST MISTAKE of YOUR DAMN LIFE by UNDERESTIMATING US!”
Each moment of shouting was quickly empathised with a bang to the cubicle door. However, after each bang, the Purple Haired Dynamo steps onward to the next booth only to bang that respective space. It’s only after banging her fifth door wide open that she stops once again, in front of door number six this time.
“I alone have got the blood of many on my hands – Irish, English, American and even Cantonese – but together we martyrs have already infected a Brown Eyed Huntress as we grow faster and faster with each passing day on our journey to infest FSW. Never know, maybe James Tyson have realised how horrifying we could be. Why else would he risk his Champion, ‘The Everyday Hero’, against us? Because – in the comics, manga books, anime shows, video games and movies – the ending is often the same. Superman beats Lex Luther. Goku defeats Frieza. Pikachu sends Team Rocket blasting off again-”
She mouths out the word ‘ding’ before a playful look on her milky skinned face.
“-Shulk defeats Zanza. And Maximus Decimus Meridius kills Commodus. But NOT! THIS! TIME!”
With the first of the three shouts the twenty-two year old smashes the door before moving down to the next door, only to boot that very door in. Like expected the final words was greeted by Otaki bashing the eighth cubicle door wide open. Yet instead of making her way to the ninth booth, she sharply glares at us with a snarling expression on her face.
“For we are the Magneto and he is the Wolverine from Marvel Ultimatum. We are Buu and he is Dabura. We are Piedmon and he is only Angemon. We are Sephiroth and he is Aerith. And we are the Darth Vader to while he is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Mister Tyson dares to think that he has brought forth the cure to our infection in the form of you, Jeremy…but instead…instead of ‘curing’ us…Mister Tyson has doomed you to BURN in our flame. For the blaze of OUR FIRE is TOO MUCH for you to handle Mister ‘Friendly Neighbourhood Firefighter.’
Yes…
You haven’t lost a match in recent memory…
While I am still searching for my first victory since exactly seven months and one day ago…
But NONE OF THAT MATTERS-”
With pure rage influencing her left hand Otaki smashes it directly at the centre of the door, causing that booth to break wide open for us to see as clear as day, before stepping forth towards the final door. She pulls her hand back, launches it at the plastic frame…only to stop within a finger reach of the object as the anger on The Emo Princess’ face crumbles down and is replaced with a look of disappointment it turns to let her eyes fixate themselves on her clenched hand.
“…not anymore…”
Those two words weren’t shouted nor spoken out but instead barely manage to whisper out from the Englishwoman’s lips as her fist unwraps itself flat and gently presses against the tenth door. The following few seconds were deafeningly silent as her eyes never once look away before she turns her face back to look over towards us.
“For I am no longer alone…we are no longer alone…we have found each other…and united we, myself and all the martyrs in Fresno, will stand. Together and victorious we shall be. Mister Tyson James seeks to have you, Mister Jeremy Warren, to purge FSW of our infestation…and being ‘The Everyday Hero’ you seek to be the cure our infection…but what neither of you seem to realise is that…this outcome isn’t what was prophesied by the words written in the line between the sands of time.
Nonononono…
We know…
Us martyrs knows the truth…
That instead the words written in the line between the sands of time they’ve prophesied our rise from the dark, our rise from the abyss and our takeover of FSW.
You seek to stop us Mister FSW Champion? You seek to defeat me? You’re welcome to try…but, either you fight against us or you help us, it will not change the outcome. For in seventeen days’ time, like it was my own back at Hardcore Revolution because of you, it will be your turn to feel numb.”
The very moment after ‘numb’ leaves her lips the Purple Haired Dynamo turns back towards the tenth door to gently push it open and enter the booth before closing said door behind herself. We approach the closed cubicle door to find it locked shut with only one object stuck to the door…a single red rose.
“Last night ended in defeat…but both victory and defeat weren’t what I forewarn. I declared that last night sparks the beginning of ‘Our Infestation’ and us martyrs have already left a brown eyed mark. No one has heard from her, let alone seen her, since we’ve had our way with her. Yet now, with the very mark of midnight being upon us, we are only seventeen odd days away from facing off against the fireman known as Jeremy Warren…the dear Champion of FSW, who only managed to win the belt in a steel cage match that I happen to be in.”
Dongs of a church bell echoes down the corridor and into this shower room. However Otaki simply glances up toward the ceiling before looking back down towards us as the index finger of her left hand trails over the door.
“And now it has been exactly two months since you’ve won that Championship. So how have you been Jeremy? It must feel good, doesn’t it? To become Champion in like four months after your professional wrestling debut? Especially when there are people who have been here for much longer without even getting a single chance to prove their worth. Does it feel good, Pup? Of course it would, you get to the king of the mountain after all. The very top of the roster. You get to hold the gold that people have fought and fallen for. So you should be proud of yourself. You get to be Superman, the good boy who always wins, while those around you falter and wither like dying flowers.
That belt is TOXIC and it will CORRUPT you like it did with EVERYONE WHO HAS HELD IT BEFORE YOU!”
The very moment she sharply shouts out her final words the Highlight of the Night smashes her left fist against the door, causing the cubicle to open inward, before taking a few more steps to only stop again next to the next cubicle.
“Hell, my desire for it – possibly assisted by the moment I won last year’s Rumble in the Bronx – reignited my ego and said ego took a knife and stabbed it straight through my heart the moment I’ve entered match after match…defeat after defeat…to a point where I stand before you feeling numb. And I’ve never manage to even touch the gold. Yet people like Amis took the first opportunity to jump ships the moment he won it and got his ass kicked on day one. Then you have Dixie Dubois spending most of her hundred and forty-nine day reign dodging competition since winning the belt in a tournament set up because Johnny Bonecrusher’s ego had a paddy throw and ran away. Meanwhile the guy he won the FSW Title from, Derek Wellings, apparently retired later in the same year and most people on the roster would be like ‘Who’s Atlas’ and I don’t need to say anything about Jason Hunter…
For the gold has corrupted them all in some shape of form.
Turning bravery to cowardice…morphing confidence to arrogance…changing independence to dependence…eating away at the positives…replacing them with negatives…infecting the holder a virus worse than any T, T-Veronica, G, Uroboros or C virus…
So how will it affect you, hero? Will it make you more cowardly with the knowledge of many others wanting to take you belt away? What about encouraging you to take more and more unnecessary risk after unnecessary risk? Will it devour your confidence and replace it with pure arrogance so that you may end up underestimating those you aren’t defending your Title against? And if that’s the case thennnnnn-”
The very last words whistles out from the Englishwoman’s lips as an almost sickening smirk etches itself across Otaki’s face for only a mere moment before immediately snapping into quite an irritated expression.
“-you’re ABOUT TO MAKE the WORST MISTAKE of YOUR DAMN LIFE by UNDERESTIMATING US!”
Each moment of shouting was quickly empathised with a bang to the cubicle door. However, after each bang, the Purple Haired Dynamo steps onward to the next booth only to bang that respective space. It’s only after banging her fifth door wide open that she stops once again, in front of door number six this time.
“I alone have got the blood of many on my hands – Irish, English, American and even Cantonese – but together we martyrs have already infected a Brown Eyed Huntress as we grow faster and faster with each passing day on our journey to infest FSW. Never know, maybe James Tyson have realised how horrifying we could be. Why else would he risk his Champion, ‘The Everyday Hero’, against us? Because – in the comics, manga books, anime shows, video games and movies – the ending is often the same. Superman beats Lex Luther. Goku defeats Frieza. Pikachu sends Team Rocket blasting off again-”
She mouths out the word ‘ding’ before a playful look on her milky skinned face.
“-Shulk defeats Zanza. And Maximus Decimus Meridius kills Commodus. But NOT! THIS! TIME!”
With the first of the three shouts the twenty-two year old smashes the door before moving down to the next door, only to boot that very door in. Like expected the final words was greeted by Otaki bashing the eighth cubicle door wide open. Yet instead of making her way to the ninth booth, she sharply glares at us with a snarling expression on her face.
“For we are the Magneto and he is the Wolverine from Marvel Ultimatum. We are Buu and he is Dabura. We are Piedmon and he is only Angemon. We are Sephiroth and he is Aerith. And we are the Darth Vader to while he is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Mister Tyson dares to think that he has brought forth the cure to our infection in the form of you, Jeremy…but instead…instead of ‘curing’ us…Mister Tyson has doomed you to BURN in our flame. For the blaze of OUR FIRE is TOO MUCH for you to handle Mister ‘Friendly Neighbourhood Firefighter.’
Yes…
You haven’t lost a match in recent memory…
While I am still searching for my first victory since exactly seven months and one day ago…
But NONE OF THAT MATTERS-”
With pure rage influencing her left hand Otaki smashes it directly at the centre of the door, causing that booth to break wide open for us to see as clear as day, before stepping forth towards the final door. She pulls her hand back, launches it at the plastic frame…only to stop within a finger reach of the object as the anger on The Emo Princess’ face crumbles down and is replaced with a look of disappointment it turns to let her eyes fixate themselves on her clenched hand.
“…not anymore…”
Those two words weren’t shouted nor spoken out but instead barely manage to whisper out from the Englishwoman’s lips as her fist unwraps itself flat and gently presses against the tenth door. The following few seconds were deafeningly silent as her eyes never once look away before she turns her face back to look over towards us.
“For I am no longer alone…we are no longer alone…we have found each other…and united we, myself and all the martyrs in Fresno, will stand. Together and victorious we shall be. Mister Tyson James seeks to have you, Mister Jeremy Warren, to purge FSW of our infestation…and being ‘The Everyday Hero’ you seek to be the cure our infection…but what neither of you seem to realise is that…this outcome isn’t what was prophesied by the words written in the line between the sands of time.
Nonononono…
We know…
Us martyrs knows the truth…
That instead the words written in the line between the sands of time they’ve prophesied our rise from the dark, our rise from the abyss and our takeover of FSW.
You seek to stop us Mister FSW Champion? You seek to defeat me? You’re welcome to try…but, either you fight against us or you help us, it will not change the outcome. For in seventeen days’ time, like it was my own back at Hardcore Revolution because of you, it will be your turn to feel numb.”
The very moment after ‘numb’ leaves her lips the Purple Haired Dynamo turns back towards the tenth door to gently push it open and enter the booth before closing said door behind herself. We approach the closed cubicle door to find it locked shut with only one object stuck to the door…a single red rose.