Journey to Overheated | Conquest for the Crown | Weaselpop 2
Jul 12, 2019 16:08:09 GMT -5
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Post by The King on Jul 12, 2019 16:08:09 GMT -5
JOURNEY TO OVERHEATED
C o n q u e s t f o r t h e C r o w n | W e a s e l p o p 2
FOUR MONTHS AGO | Devonshire, England.
The wolf was lurking, unlike Trevor’s lingering ambition to slaughter where it stood. It’s silvery silk-like fare hair was almost a facade for its black-as-night scowl, they say it’s growl could be heard for miles on end. Trevor stood with a knee dug upon some mount on the ground, his face too, in a scowl. Yet this was no facade. Trevor was not hiding from the wolf, for he too was growling. After a long while he let out a mighty roar, not the wolf that is, Trevor. This was just like two months prior, when Trevor first spotted, and fought, the wolf... But unlike that instance... This time Trevor Blackmoor was not going to spare its life... He was going to take it...
The Harrowing Harvester ran as fast as the wind could take him, his long, balding hair flowing in the winter nights breeze. He was panting, as though an animal himself - his beady beast engraved eyes stared gravely within the Wolf’s soul and never before had such nature of lives swapped in an instant. The Wolf, acting human-like at the advancing prey... Ran. Away.
Trevor continued to chase, but to no avail - the Wolf had fled beyond the bramble bushes at the end of the field, and when Blackmoor had reached the bullet point he let out an almighty yelp - angry at himself for not being faster, angry at the wolf for fleeing. He kicked the dirt beneath his feat and punched his fist into the deadly array of brambles, cutting it and stinging himself. But he did not care. The wolf was still out there... That’s all that mattered to the man they call ‘Weaselpop’... It’s not often that such a calm, cool and collected man like Trevor lost sense of pride and allowed himself to be bested by ambition, instead following the route of desperation and despair in the hopes that haunt him.
MODERN DAY | Devonshire, England.
Trevor scanned the web like a hawk, a blind one albeit. For he was what you would call an old fart, a pocket of poop particles that didn’t understand how the Internet worked... But despite being lost - he found what he was looking for... A quick google search for Subject #42 and all that he needed popped up in front of his eyes, he could scarcely believe it. (Not Subject that is, but how fast his results appeared... And at the bottom! How many there were!) He began to mutter to himself.
Amazing...
He clicked the first link that appeared and was confused almost instantaneously. The text was blurred. He rubbed his eyes... Yet the blur still occurred. Oh fuck! He had thought...
Me bloody glasses!
He removed his six foot nine frame from the chair, despite some minor difficulty, and slow jogged his way to the farm-house kitchen... Reaching his hand out for his pair of taped lenses that cracked in the middle and were wonky one side. He placed them on his face... And they slipped down his nose, stopping at the fat stub of a mound that was centred between his nostrils. Didn’t bother him though. (For he looked like a librarian... and that somehow made him smarter) He returned to the desktop and with even more difficulty than beforehand sat himself back down. His eyes widened as he read the page, highlighting all of the disasters surrounding the thing they call Subject #42, all the theories and speculations... Some sort of cruel fan site...
Hrm.
The sick speculators were taking advantage of such a tormented and tormenting thing, making up stories for their own enjoyment and folk lore. Weaselpop obviously saw past this though, for he knew that Subject was some sort of guinea pig for a higher power (It was in his name!) - he was nothing more than a creator’s creation... But if he was the forty second, then that means much worse has been done in the past (and maybe worse will be done in the future.)
Like all things man made, their’s bound to be flaws... And if Trevor has to take advantage of man’s creative mistake when battling such a fiend... Then so be it. Anything for the X*Crown... ANYTHING, for a change. ANYTHING, to topple the giants of AWF and AXW and being brand supremacy to a rightful, new, holder. The supremacy of Master Class...
Trevor, done with reading up on his opponent pulled the plug out of the wall. Not out of anger or anything, but because he didn’t know where the power button was... Or how to shut it down properly. He stretched back into his chair and cracked his knuckles. He removed the frames from his face and rubbed his eyes, tired.
It was waiting time... And he was ready. Ready for Subject and his man-made mistakes... Ready to prove to the world that he was the incoming monsoon of the desert’s conformity. That he was Weaselpop, the King of Master Class.