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Post by moonchild on Oct 15, 2019 17:05:13 GMT -5
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Post by moonchild on Oct 15, 2019 17:06:39 GMT -5
Written by Valora
Valora Chapter 6: Aftermath
Friday Night Clash, Los Angeles, California. Backstage:
Samantha Topher and Abbigail Dresden both sit in Valora’s locker room, watching the title belt award segment. Abbigail turns over to look at Samantha and then back to the TV before looking back to Samantha. “So umm… think she can make it through this?”
Samantha nods. “We had a nice long talk about professionalism. About biting your tongue. About how important it was to get through this night without controversy and I reminded her a few dozen times that losing her temper here would only feed into the racist, sexist, misogynist narrative MOX news is trying to build here. It took a few dozen attempts, but I feel positive about tonight.”
The pair look back to the monitor just as things start to go downhill. Abbigail looks at Samantha. “A few dozen attempts?” Samantha nods. “She’s only verbally pointing out just how-” She’s cut off as Mudcock calls Valora a stone cold ball busting bitch and she responds by kicking him in the groin and is promptly handcuffed and removed by security. Samantha sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Right… well I’m going to go call her lawyer now..” She says before taking out her smartphone and dialing the number. “Tara? Yeah, it’s Samantha. Yeah.. how soon can you get to L.A.?”
Los Angeles, California. The next day:
Tara Bishop steps out of the car and adjusts her glasses as she glances back at Samantha and Abbigail who are getting out of the car as well and shakes her head. “You’re aware that taking Valora as my client has paid off my college loans, right? And funded my vacation resort in Hawaii?” Samantha smirks. “Least she keeps you busy.” Tara smirks and the trio walk in, Tara speaking with the desk sergeant to handle bail and finding out what she can about the next steps. Samantha and Abbigail being allowed to visit Valora’s cell. Surprisingly, Valora is being treated well. She is fully clothed in her own clothes, has her own cell and it’s obvious the police are treating her as well as can be allowed. Abbigail looks around. “Umm I thought jail was a punishment?”
Valora smirks. “Well when you’re a local heroine… you get some perks… specially when you’re fighting racists and a couple hispanic police officers who have had their children bullied at school are on night watch.” Samantha nods. “What did I tell you literally just before you went out there?”
Valora thinks for a moment. “Ummm blah, blah blah. Franchise Title. Blah blah blah Very important. And umm… something else?” Abbigail grins and Samantha pinches the bridge of her nose. “Not. Funny.” Valora smirks. “You’re the only one not laughing, chica. No. You told me to be a good girl. And to not give that racist gringo a piece of my mind. Now here’s my question. Did you think there was any universe in which that actually happens? He called my a ball busting bitch.” Samantha sighs, “And you responded by breaking his balls!” Valora jumps to her feet. “Hey! It was an incredibly small target! You know the precision that shit required!? And don’t give me shit. You know what he meant. It’s like this any fuckin’ time a woman gets ahead! ‘Oh man you hear about Sue? What a ball buster she is. Fuckin’ bitch. Ice queen… frigid. Probably never been laid’ Because obviously if us women had just had sex, we’d never want to fuckin’ do something with our lives! When I was in med school.. Night and day, that’s all me and the other females got! My entire fuckin’ career I’ve dealt with this bullshit! Just because I have tits and a vagina, that gives insecure men the right to treat me like shit!? I didn’t take this bullshit from Salt St. Marie in Wrestling Midwest. I didn’t take this bullshit from what passed as ownership in WECW. I didn’t take this bullshit from Jesse fuckin’ Styles in NEW. I didn’t take this shit from Cardone in RSW. I will NOT take it from Rupert Mudcock. I don’t care who he thinks he is!”
Tara walks in here on her smartphone. “Yes well let me put this in terms you might understand than, Mr. Elitistos. If your boss proceeds with charges against my client. My client will file a counter lawsuit. At the brawl at the wall event, my client was physically attacked and injured by members of the audience. Members of the audience riled up by the actions of your boss who used his media outlets to push a racist agenda that created an unsafe work environment for my client, Mr. Takuma Sato, Mr. Kronin Reinhdardt and Mr. Baron Vendredi. And yes, I will invite each one of the aforementioned gentlemen to join my client’s suit and if they can not afford their own lawyers, I will represent them pro bono. Oh and given that we are in California at the moment and thus that is the state in which the lawsuit will be filed… who do you think is going to win? Indeed. You have my number. Consult with your boss and get back to me promptly.” She hangs up the phone and rolls her eyes. “What a tool. Has that idiot ever done anything on his own?” Valora shrugs. “Well he hired me…” Tara nods. “I thought you were in RSW… what the hell happened?”
Valora smirks. “I got tired of getting my teeth kicked in on a weekly basis because Rob Riot had better things to do than you know… fight for his fuckin’ company. So I retired. Then Elitistos put an idea in Samantha’s head and…” Tara laughs. “Complain all you want. I know you better. You are the woman who once took a Star Wars nerd at USC that in the Star Wars universe you would be-” Valora nods. “A Mandalorian. Yes.. I like fighting… Only thing in my life I was ever good at. So what’s the score?”
Tara nods. “Well, I paid bail. Until the charges against you are resolved - either in court or by them being dropped - you can not leave the state of California. I would also advise you not to return to work until this matter is dealt with either but I know better.” Valora sighs. “What am I charged with?” Tara nods. “We will discuss that and potential strategies for handling that in a more private area. Oh and for the record, you’re good at plenty of things besides fighting. You just happen to enjoy violence.”
Valora shrugs. “I’m a simple girl with simple pleasures.”
Valora’s house, South Central Los Angeles, a few hours later:
The small group sit in Valora’s house, Tara looking out the window . “I don’t get it. I have heard you rant a thousand times or more about how much you hated growing up here. You’re worth more than at least 4 or 5 of the blocks in this area. You could be living it up.” Valora nods. “First off, I hated the poverty here. I hated how good people were fucked over because of where they came from. People like Mudcock… think they’re so much fuckin’ better… that people like me don’t matter because of where we came from. Fuck that. Secondly, I’ve put too much blood, sweat and tears into fixing this broken down piece of shit to just hand it off. And, most importantly. I’ve seen what happens. Yeah...I could have the mansion in a gated community, nice cars.. But I’ve seen people who make that jump. Once you do… your focus becomes keeping your toys, not doing what got you there in the first place. This place keeps me focused.. Keeps me sharp. Now business.”
Tara sighs. “Well.. right now you’re being charged with assault. As I said, even here in California, I can’t reasonably convince people you’re innocent since there is video of you assaulting him. So if he pushes this… it could get bad.”
Valora nods. “How bad?” Tara thinks for a minute. “If I were his lawyer… in addition to the criminal charges which will most likely be jail time and/ or a fine, I would file a civil suit and sue for damages both physical injuries sustained from the assault and injuries for mental stress.” Valora rolls her eyes. “So he can sue me because I humiliated him on TV?” Tara nods. “He will sue you for making him look bad, yes. And if he adds court costs to the suit, he can take a hefty sum from you if he wins.. Even your gym.”
Valora frowns. “He is not getting that. What’s your brilliant plan to prevent this?” Tara nods. “Well, I’ve informed Elitistos and Mudcock about filing a counter lawsuit. I’m hoping that will give them pause. Outside of that, other options are… ones you would not approve of.”
Valora walks over to her liquor cabinet and takes out a bottle of tequila, taking a drink as she walks back and sits on one of the steps going up to the second floor and takes another drink and shrugs. “Lemme guess… public apology?” Tara nods. “But it won’t be easy… Mudcock will want to humiliate you the same way you humiliated him. And you have a pretty low tolerance for enduring such things.” Valora nods and takes another drink. “You said options, plural. So what else you got?”
Tara clears her throat and looks at Samantha who stands up. “You need to fight the narrative that Mudcock is painting about hispanics in general and you in particular.” Valora groans. “So your answer is… what? Play Bruce Wayne? Go out in a nice sports car to the high class restaurant and have a supermodel on my arm?” Valora stops and thinks for a moment and smirks. “The supermodel would really make their heads explode. Then they can run out their homophobic insults and slurs on me with the other groups. Still, I don’t see how this helps.. If I zig that way then they hit me with the liberal elite arguments.” Valora thinks for a moment and glances over at Abbigail. “What about you? You come from the same background I did growing up… what are your thoughts on this?”
Abbigail thinks for a moment and shrugs. “Well I don’t know what showing off your money does. What you’ve been doing seems to be working, why not keep doing that?” Samantha sighs. “Because what she’s doing now makes it easy for Mox news to paint her and hispanics as thugs, criminals and degenerates.” Samantha says and is about to say more when her phone beeps indicating a text. She checks the phone and nods. “You’ve been booked in a match. Vs. Vastrix and Kronin in a triple threat match...for the Franchise Title.”
Tara looks at Valora. “No.” Valora blinks. Tara continues. “Mudcock is threatening you with a lawsuit. Until he drops said lawsuit, you don’t work.” Valora scratches her head. “I’m not a lawyer but isn’t that breach of contract? Also, he can strip me of the title.” Tara nods. “Both true. But, he can also have you arrested. Again.” Valora shrugs. “Then he can fuckin’ arrest me.” Tara thinks for a moment. “Fine… but you are not to speak to Mudcock, you are not to even be in the same room as he is without me there. I don’t want to give him any room for his smear campaign against you.”
Abbigail leans against the wall, looking at her friend and mentor as a thought occurs to her. “Wait… medical school? I never knew you went to medical school…” Valora turns to look at her and nods. “I keep that secret. Lesson number 1, chica… if stupid people are going to make a snap stereotypical judgement on you.. Let them. People look at me and they see what I want them to see.”
Abbigail nods. “So you’re like… a doctor?” Valora sighs and nods. “Yeah.. I can serve as a medical doctor but my specialty is in psychology. I have the training to make me well I guess the perfect cop or the perfect criminal.” Abbigail nods. “Or...Psy Ops?” Valora raises an eyebrow and Abbigail shrugs a bit. “My older brother was in the Army. worked in Psy Ops… psychological warfare.” Valora nods. “I know what it is, chica. I was surprised it took you this long to put the pieces together and wondering where the hell you’re going with this.”
Abbigail shrugged. “Thinking we might use that at some point…” Valora shrugs. “Right now, I need to worry about Vastrix and Kronin…”
Samantha chimes in. “Vastrix seemed pretty pissed you accused him of selling out.” Valora shrugged. “He used a cybernetic eye that was provided to him by someone. A cyber eye that let him cheat. He came out playing to the crowd and acting like he was firmly on team Mudcock. If it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck then I’m gonna call it a duck. He might not have joined team Mudcock, but he sure as hell ain’t with team Resistance either. He cheated to get ahead. He sold out. If that bothers him well he has to deal with that in his own way.”
Valora takes a drink and sighs.. “And that brings us to….Kronin. Bane of my fuckin’ existance. Only person who has more wins against me is that smug, fuckin arrogant Chinese puta Jade. I have an idea on how to throw him off his game… I just don’t wanna do it. He could be an ally and this plan would kill any chance of that..”
Samantha raises an eyebrow. Tara listens to that and sees the look on Valora’s face and rolls her eyes. “Right… I can’t hear this...I’ll be back in a bit…” She says before she leaves the room. Valora notes that both Samantha and Abbigail are staring at her. Valora sighs. “Kronin has two companions with him.” Abbigail blinks in disbelief. “Kidnap one of them?” Valora nods. “I didn’t say I would do it… I just have to face facts… Mudcock wants the belt off my waist and he picked the perfect match to do it.. I imagine Mudcock will try to convince the two of them to eliminate me first, beat me senseless then settle the belt between the two of them… if I were those two it’s what I would do.”
Abbigail shrugs. “So do it. Reach out to Kronin and see if you can break up any alliance he might have with Vastrix.” Valora laughs. “Why would Kronin do that? We’re polar opposites.. He’s conservative. Principled. Ordered. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he actually schedules taking a shit and gets annoyed if it doesn’t happen on schedule. Me? I’m a bit more… chaotic. I mean seriously… do I look like a woman with a plan to you?” Abbigail smirks. “Looks can be deceiving. You might be chaotic, but I don’t buy you do things at random…”
Valora smirks. “Now you’re learning chica… “ She said before glancing over at Samantha. “Call Kronin… tell him I wanna meet.”
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Post by moonchild on Oct 15, 2019 17:07:52 GMT -5
Written by Kronin
Title Opportunity
Staples Center, Los Angeles, California
Kronin is set to fight in a brutal triple threat match in a few days time, but one would never know that by seeing him as he is currently seated in the stands with his twin sister, Kara and his fiancee Lilly. The trio are watching the Los Angeles Kings play hockey. Or attempt to, at any rate. Kronin groans and rolls his eyes. “This is the problem with the American game.. They want to do the fancy skill moves that look pretty but a solid defenseman can counter easily.” Kara smirks. “We should suit up and show them how it’s done.” This gets a small laugh from Kronin. Lilly sighs. “I’m glad you can relax, babe… really. But we have kind of an important match coming up… maybe training is in order?”
Kronin turns to Lilly and gestures to the ice as a player tries a triple deke and loses the puck. “Who says I’m not thinking about the match? I’m fighting two Americans in this match. Two fighters who..would hate to admit it, but are very, very similar to each other.” Kronin stands up as the game ends and lets the women exit first, following behind them as he continues his explanation. “The deke. The point of it is to try and trick the defenseman and/ or the goalie into making a play, force them to tip their hand so you can do something else. Once, maybe twice is all you really need. But the Americans want speed, skill, finesse. These are not bad perse, it’s not a criticism but that focus comes at the price of other fundamentals. Vastrix and Valora are much the same. Both are showpeople. They like the flash. They don’t just want to win, they wanna look good doing it. Both have inflated egos that tend to get them into trouble. Both are skilled fighters to be sure, but their focus on flash, on looking good has a cost. Neither one is particularly skilled at Technical wrestling, for example. My record speaks for itself. I don’t think anyone has more wins over Valora than I do. She relies on speed, agility. Hell when I stop to think about it… she’s like a female Mohammed Ali. Right down to using his rope a dope method, let a fighter tire themselves out beating the crap out of her and then she unloads. She definitely has his mouth. But, like Ali, she can back up her talk.” Kronin smirks a bit. “Then you have Vastrix…”
Lilly smirks. “Seems to me he’s overcompensating for something.” Kronin shrugs. “Well, I’ve never worked for Warhammer corporation but working for the government I can tell you that Vastrix’s older siblings have run into an amazing run of bad luck that ended with them dying in convenient ‘accidents.’ So I’d guess his act is to convince whoever murdered his brothers that he isn’t a threat. The cyber eye is interesting though.. Never known him to take such an overt shortcut.” Kara nods. “Big picture, brother… you know why this match was set up right?” Kronin smirks. “Of course I do. Valora responded as everyone in the universe expected her to and in so doing humiliated Mudcock but also gave Mox news the noose they will use to hang her and hispanics with. It’s christmas morning for Mox news. Now Mudcock is perfectly justified in screwing Valora out of the title and he is expecting Vastrix and I to beat the bejesus out of her, humiliate her and take the title. Once she loses the title, Mudcock will see to it she doesn’t come within 4 city blocks of even getting half a chance to win the belt back.” He says, shaking his head. “That woman excels at making her life difficult.” Lilly blinks. “You think she was wrong?!” Kronin sighs. “There is a proper response and there is charging into the trap head on. Mudcock baited her. And the temporary satisfaction she got from kicking his balls into his throat is nullified by the consequences of that action… both for her and the people she’s claiming to represent and be fighting for. This is why Valora is the absolute worst choice for a leader and a crappy choice of allies. She’s too damned emotional.” Lilly nods. “And when you came home from the military barricks that were your home while playing soccer for East Germany and found a Russian soldier beating your sister and set on {No Means No} him and you beat him and his buddies half to death? I suppose that was too emotional too?”
Kronin narrows his eyes. “That. Was different and you damn well know it. Kara was in serious danger. Valora has been called a bitch before… Hell she embraces it…” Lilly narrows her eyes. “Ugh… you’re such a man… she wasn’t called a bitch. She was called a ball busting bitch. One of the oldest fucking sexist insults men came up with.” Kronin nods. “Yes it is… but is the proper response to that kicking a man in the groin? Or is the proper response to be professional. Endure the photo op, get the belt and continue to make his life miserable by being a champ and leading the company? There is a time and a place for fighting. A time and a place for more subtle responses.. Until Valora evolves to the point where she has more than a fight or fight response to things, she is going to be stuck in the position of never realizing her full potential.”
Lilly shakes her head a bit and glances back at Kronin. “You mean fight or flight, right, babe?” Kronin shakes his head. “Nope. Valora’s response to any problem is brute force. If that doesn’t work, she’s obviously not using enough so the answer is more brute force..” Lilly shrugs. “Maybe but she’s smarter than she lets on…” Kronin looks at her. “She went to college...on an athletic scholarship..” Lilly nods. “I have some ‘friends’ looking into things, trying to find out what she studied while she was there.. I have a theory…”
Kronin nods. “I’m intrigued… let me know what you find..” Lilly smiles and nods. “Of course, you’ll be the first, babe.”
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Post by moonchild on Oct 15, 2019 17:08:56 GMT -5
Written by Davey-Boy O'Brien
Anticipation
Anticipation: An Introduction
A young, blond gentleman stood in the early morning observing the sunrise over John O’Groats, Scotland. His blue eyes sparkled with anticipation yet a hint of sadness lingered. The chilly morning breeze swept across his hair, tussling it gently into his eyes. He didn’t bother moving the lock of hair as both of his hands gripped his sweat-soaked towel which hung tightly over the dorsal side of his neck. In Davey-Boy’s days in UKWF, he could go back home relatively often. Even in Premier Grappling Club. But, Davey-Boy O’Brien was heading to a company which primarily operated in the United States. He would see the shores of John O’Groats again, but it wouldn’t be any time soon. After all, money would be tight for a green upstart.
Davey glanced back into the gym. The pungent scent of sweat and hard work wafted into the ocean breeze. The gym wasn’t much, but it had what Davey needed to get in fight form. Before and after class each day, the young lad practiced his chosen trade under the tutelage of a legendary Scottish fighter known as Keegan.
In the summertime, Davey-Boy visited London with his uncle Baz. Baz Jones had been known for his hardcore in-ring style. The old codger saw something in the kid so he started training him. Pretty soon Davey was knocking the big man on his arse. At the tender age of 13, Davey had his first match at a carnival in front of a handful of people.
Today was different than any of that though. This would be the first time Davey-Boy O’Brien’s chosen trade would take him across the Pond to America for an extended amount of time. A small smirk cocked his mustache upward. Anticipation filled his lungs again. As he exhaled, the faintest fog appeared around his mouth.
In just a few weeks, everything would become even realer in Davey’s mind. Two fingers gripped his golden mustache and twirled it. Thoughts of his successful run through UKWF and PGC reassured him. The best part about everything was how the crowd had received him. Davey-Boy O’Brien’s charisma alone had been enough to blow the roof off, but then he would step into the ring where he wove his tapestry. Were his moves sloppy at times? Aye, but the lad was only wet behind the ears because he was from an old sailor town that his deceased Irish father had landed ashore one day and fallen in love.
Davey’s breath evacuated his lungs as reality settled back in. He would have to leave his Ma behind. The thought was unsettling to the lad because ever since his Da passed on --May he rest his soul-- Davey-Boy had to be the man of the house. And, now, Ma had shooed his arse out of the house. There was no way she would be the one who would hold him back from his dreams, and his dreams laid across the Atlantic Ocean where a country was tearing themselves apart because of their love or contempt for the President they had voted into office. Davey certainly wasn’t a stupid lad, but politics weren’t exactly his thing.
If his Ma said she would be fine then she would be, and, deep down, he knew that. This was an understandably large step for an 18-year-old. Davey-Boy O’Brien would just have to show the world how he practiced politics… with two fists and the occasional headbutt.
Davey’s eyes searched aimlessly across the horizon. He couldn’t identify where the feeling was coming from, but he felt a warm, fatherly presence. Davey-Boy nodded acknowledging the moment without a word before turning on his heels and striding back into the gym. The young lad knew he had a long journey before him, but something told him everything would be just fine. He would win some and he would probably win some, but Davey-Boy O’Brien was doing what he loved and that was the important thing. Ultimate O Wrestling awaited him.
The Solid Man with the Magic Moustache As Davey-Boy O’Brien shook this other man’s hand, he realized something felt impersonal about the man. Davey could immediately tell that to this codger that had introduced himself as Rupert Mudcock. Davey was certain he’d heard the name before, but he hadn’t a clue as to where. At any rate, before the young lad knew it, there was a lovely blonde standing to his side with a microphone in-hand.
Davey glanced about in confusion. He felt as though the fanfare was, perhaps, a bit much for someone who had only been wrestling at fairs until last year. As the blonde began, her eyes didn’t even bother to connect with Davey’s own as she rambled at the camera.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she began with expertly-feigned excitement in feminine voice. “Rose Johnston here with Davey-Boy O’Brien, UOW’s latest signing. Davey has a very impressive in-ring record in two organizations which toured across the United Kingdom. And, now, at Friday Night Clash 2, live from San Jose, California,” --suddenly Davey-Boy began paying attention to Rose as her sparkling blue eyes turned toward him--, “you will be facing Andrew Storm where both of you will be making your in-ring debut. How are you feeling heading into such an important match for your UOW career?”
His UOW career. The thought amused him. Davey-Boy O’Brien’s career with UOW had literally just started just prior to this interview. Davey could still feel the business man’s firm yet clammy handshake fresh on his palm. At length, the young man smirked at Rose. “Luk, hen, abo’dy is lukin’ t’ make an impact. Ah ain’t any different in that regard,” Davey stated matter-of-factly. “Ah literally just signed the dotted line and now you’re telling me ah’ll be facin’ Andrew Storm in the ring. Simply put: we’re gonna ‘ave a Square Go,” O’Brien pointed out as he brought his two fists up to his chin, “and we’ll see where it leads to from there.”
“But, ah gotta’ tell ye, mannie,” Davey-Boy interjected as his fists lowered and his steely blue eyes regarded the camera lens, “Ah may be greener than the pastures, but I ain’t a pushover. Ye’ll do well to realize that sooner rather than later. Mr. Storm, ah won’t lie. Ah am not very familiar with your work, but ah wasn't trained by a couple'a bampots,” the Scottish Terrier twisted his mustache with an aura of confidence accompanying the smirk on his lips. Rose, at the very least, seemed intrigued by the lad’s spirited charisma. Davey wasn’t finished though. “And, when we meet, ah’m gonna’ beat ye with these two fists,” suddenly Davey’s fists her back in front of him like a defiant brick wall, “an’ the occasional headbutt. ‘Cuse me, hen.”
As Davey-Boy O’Brien swaggered off, Rose Johnston watched him before the special news feed cut out. Would Boy Wonder from John O’Groats be able to overcome the decorated veteran, Andrew Storm in their double in-ring debut? Only time would tell, but it was quite clear Davey-Boy O’Brien had every intention of leaving a lasting first impression.
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Post by moonchild on Oct 15, 2019 17:11:17 GMT -5
Written by Dr. Summeroff
Abishag Reborn II
The darkness is all encompassing. Nary can a sight be seen, nary a voice heard. It had been this way for years now. Simply…Dark. And then…for the first time in what seems like an age…footsteps. Footsteps coming into the darkness. We can see a light…the flicker of a flame, in fact. Shadows are cast onto the cold, moisture slickened stone walls. We get a glimpse of them – five souls – slowly moving down stone stairs, further and further into the depths. The sound of their feet hitting the stairs gives off a deep sound. The air, undisturbed for a long time begins to dance and vibrate, alive once more with the currents of activity. There is dampness to the place, a musty smell bearing the scent of days gone by. “This place, the dampness my sons – can you feel it? It is everywhere...” Silence overtakes them all once more as they continue to move in the darkness. At last they reach the bottom. “We are here…at last…” An aged voice says, the relief evident in his tone. “Do you…do you think HE is still here?” Voice #2 says. “I wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t”, Voice #3 says calmly. “He’s here. Don’t you feel it in the air?” Voice #4 says. He has the tone of someone who almost doesn’t believe it himself what is happening here. “Cut the chatter”, the elderly man says and the rest fall into silence. “We don’t want him startled. The master thinks us all deceased. In his weakened state, he may not have sensed our arrival. My sons, we must restore the power…once that is done, we can check on HIS systems…make sure HE is ready…then we can call the lost one’s home…” “Wow”, Voice # 5 – Dr. Liflander – said, “it’s really real…everything Abishag said…it’s all real” “Yes it is”, the elderly voice replies. “Now stay still and be silent. The master, no doubt, will want to see you when the time is right…but first we must restore power.”
There is the sound of a metal switch being thrown from close by and soon, the hum of generators in a distant area come to life. “Yes……” the elderly voice – belonging to Dr. Erland Summeroff – says. There is a rumble in the walls followed by a high pitched screeching – as if large gears of steel were pushed into motion once more. Long dormant hydraulics were protesting their call to service. Lights begin to flicker on… And now we see the five individuals more clearly. Dr. Liflander was here, seeing all the stories he’d dismissed as utter nonsense a few years ago now come to life. Summeroff was beside him, a smile on his face as the rows of lights burst to life across the ceiling of the underground compound. Abishag stood in the middle in awe. His memories continued to come back to him. The process Dr. Liftlander started a few weeks ago in Toad River continued. Brother Abaddon was here as well. He wore his signature white mask. The mask, as old ICW fans would know, concealed terrible chemical burns from having battery acid poured onto his face. That was a story that was told on a different day. The Last of them – Brother Buzi - was someone who the world hadn’t seen in a long, long time. In fact – the world had thought him dead as did the present company until very recently. His head was something of a mystery – a mask of sorts representing the Lovecraftian great old one – Cthulhu. Or so it was assumed it was a mask. Some were not so sure… “THERE!” The smiling Summeroff said and pointed across what was a large, cavernous space. The five of them walked through the area, all of them feeling like they’d finally come home. All except Liflander who was still in awe. The underground compound was enormous – each area a cavernous space. Some areas contained living quarters, others the trades areas where things were built, others contained the aging barrels of the Vinters and Whiskey makers. There was a science lab, a botanist lab, training areas…above ground were fields where crops were grown. The compound was a self-contained underground city. “Its incredible Abishag”, Dr. Liflander says, “now I can see why President McStrumps wanted you all shut down. Dr. Cutter, Mr. Bradley…what they would give to see this…” “They must never set foot in this place”, Dr. Summeroff barks, “This is a sacred place, the home of the great gelatinous master…from which all of this was made possible. Soon, the lost one’s will come home Mr. Liflander. At long last, the order shall rise again. We will hit McStrumps where it hurts…which is naturally in the arena of combat…we will once more rally the people to his glory through victories in the ring. Combat is everything to McStrumps. He and Rupert Mudcock are no doubt in this together. As the years have passed, they have forgotten about us…they thought Abaddon and Buzi dead and the same with myself…you and your associates scrambled the Brains of Abishag…turned him away from the Blob and instead left him drugged and helpless. It’s a good thing for you Liflander that you saw the error of your ways. Perhaps the blobular master will forgive you…” “I’m sorry, what?” Liflander says, concerned. “Oh yes…you will be brought before him, on your knees and you will repent for your role in trying to bring down the order…” “But I…I restored Abishag’s memories…I did as you asked!” “Silence this abuser!!” Summeroff roars and Buzi karate chops the back of Liflander’s neck, rendering him unconscious. He lifts the unconscious Liflander onto his shoulder and they all begin to walk towards the Blob’s antechamber. They pass an old wrestling ring on the way which brings a smile to Abishag. Once upon a time, this was the place where the warrior class of acolytes trained. Summeroff stops at the door of what is an antechamber – a room apart from the main cavern. “It looks like the backup systems are still intact…let us hope the power to the tank itself remained uninterrupted” The figure in the white mask tilts his head slightly. “Do not lose your faith again now my sons”, Summeroff says, “Abishag – they tried to make you believe none of this was real…in a moment, you will have your faith confirmed. It is all real. It is all glorious. At long last, the will of the Blob will once more reach out into the wrestling rings of the world, for we all know how much the master loves his wrestling and the glory that comes with it. After all the long years, after he has tested us all…HE has called us home…are you ready now? Are you ready to once more commune with the cosmos through his eyes? It’s needed…needed more now than ever. The state of things is dire. Look at the world as this blowhard President McStrumps has turned man against man, father against son, Husband against wife. He has brought out the worst in us…now, we enter the glory of one who can unify us all.” Abaddon clenches his fist. “I know it has been many years…I know the suffering you have all endured. The moments of doubt. Even the Blob himself was tested – brought to a disgusting town called Mt. Vernon where a great evil tried to blow him up…tried to murder him…but the blob lived! For he cannot be killed by such crude means. He is here…NOW!” Summeroff says, reaching a fever pitch, “…time has not been kind to us…I myself suffered terribly at the hands of savage brute during a guest appearance in RSW…my head was smashed and I thought the darkness had finally come but there in that void, a great gelatinous arm reached out and laid healing powers on me. I lived when all thought I must die. So now I am here…my sons – YOU are here…but others are still at sea. The lost ones are out there…the scattered…and they too have been summoned. SOON they will return to this place to resume the training. The world has forgotten us…we have all been forgotten…lost to time itself. This is good for then only a few will know what is coming. We will move amongst them – McStrumps, Mudcocks and his minions – we will move as fire moves amongst the driest of timber. It is a desperate situation. I despaired as I looked upon the world and saw all manner of things. Horrors. Insanity taking over turning making common sense the rarest of things. My sons, we are a family! One big happy family bound together through the grace of the gelatinous master – a being more powerful than any false GOD – and the world is rife with false gods from sea to shining sea!” Summeroff sits down for a moment, catching his breath. It had been a long time since he delivered a sermon and age had taken a toll on his stamina. “So Now, at last, we get to business. The Blob has targeted a group of idolaters in ULTIMATE ONLINE WRESTLING. THE UOW, it seems, is able to attract all manner of lost, wayward souls. Abusers. Those steeped in the stink of the false gods they worship. Those people so drenched in failure…the Blob cannot save such flotsam. Abishag – YOU must go and bring the word of Blob to these dregs. "The Legend" Dwight Couch and the despicable Baron Vendredi. YES Abishag – filth as far as the eye can see. The Blob wants them eliminated. Go to San Jose and remind the world of the power that resides in this Compound. Remind them that the BLOB LIVES! These agents of Rupert Mudcock must be extinguished! WE are the original WAY…Many factions have come and gone in many different wrestling federations – all pretenders trying to fill the void left when the Brotherhood of Blob returned to the ether…when the world thought we’d been defeated. They were all wrong though…look as we stand here today…are we not blessed that that in his wisdom, our gelatinous master has seen fit to turn the lights on once more…that HE called us back from that ethereal plane to once more bring Glory upon him?” Summeroff points to the door they stand in front of, “ Do you not believe that HE is behind this very door, right now! He is waiting to bring us into his glorious embrace! I promise you! We shall enter his chamber and receive his word. If it is his will that we should return, then RETURN we shall. Quickly now, without haste – open this door!” There is a moment of silence as Brother Buzi and Abishag make their way to the door. They each place their palms upon a panel. A blue light passes over and through their hands and the circle around these hands turns from red to green. “Now you Abaddon…” Brother Abaddon places his hand on the place reserved for him. The blue light passes… …and a large lock disengages.
“YESSSSSSSSSS”, Dr. Summeroff hisses as the tumblers move and the door to the antechamber opens. The four walk inside cautiously and there – on the far side of the room is a great tank of water and in it – suspended as if for all time is the bulk of the Chilean Blob. It is not as large as it once was – it was in a weakened state. It required a sacrifice. Summeroff’s eyes open as wide as saucers as he begins to weep. He drops to his knees in reverence. “HE LIVES!” The twisted old man says, his eyes run with tears of joy. Buzi and Abishag all do the same, their former piety restored. Buzi – the former Kapow World Champion - the wise one and the voice of reason – his faith is renewed. Abishag – the former WECW World Champion - the muscle, the enforcer of the order – he too is refreshed, his aging bones now feeling like they did all those years ago. Only Abaddon – the former ICW World Champion and Emperor of the Squared Circle – he remains standing. He had renounced his faith the loudest in these last years. A part of that scepticism still remained and he was not quick to give his life back over to this. His time in the order was not filled with happiness as it seemed to be for Buzi and Abishag. He had many fallings out with Summeroff… And still, what had his life been without his ‘family’? He was the subject of ridicule. He was always ‘that guy who lost to PT Merciless’ – as if his own accomplishments over all others were nullified by a loss to that man all those years ago in ICW. A loss that many think was engineered by the paid off soul that ran the federation. Crooked men – all of them. All that was in the past though. The future was before Abaddon now – in the tank. There really was nothing left for Abaddon in this life but to come full circle. With that realization, he drops to a knee. Abishag puts an arm on his brother, “I understand the doubt – I’ve been living a lie for years, I had been brainwashed – corrupted…but now I can SEE!!” The Blob was an awesome site – floating in his tank –seemingly looking down at his former - and now once again - subjects. What wisdom would the master impart on his flock? What directives would emanate from that free floating mass? “Present the gift!” Summeroff cries out. Buzi, Abaddon and Abishag carry the now awakened and pleading Dr. Liflander up a set of metal stairs that rest against the tank. Abishag presses a button on a control panel and the top of the tank decompresses. The lid opens… …and they toss Dr. Liflander in. He falls to the bottom and bangs against the side of the tank but soon gets entangled in the Blob’s biomass and looks to be absorbed. After a few moments, the struggling stops. Abaddon, Abishag and Buzi all fall to their knees as Dr. Sumeroff raises his hands to the form in the tank and they all rejoice for Blob is good!!!
We back away now, back through the door to the antechamber, back through the cavernous training area and back up the stairs. We move through the great hall of the Brotherhood and to the front doors. There is a knocking there and we move through the doors now to see Brother Janus – the lost member of the ‘Brotherhood’ Class of acolytes – the former Brotherhood Vinter who finally attained the top honor of the order and was sent to the old GCW – only to watch that organization’s light go out just as he was starting his quest – HE had now arrived to join Buzi, Abaddon and Abishag. Behind him – many others. The Lost ones. They were coming home! They knew in their bones something wonderful was in the making. All manner of acolytes who once lived and trained at this compound were arriving. Carpenters, Masons, Electricians – they all walked side by side with the Philosophers, the Scientists, the medical Acolytes and the Warrior Classes. They all came here now, summoned from their new lives back to their old – ready to continue the great work begun those years ago in Kapow, ICW and WECW. The trumpet had sounded – the seal had been opened. The Acolytes marched forward – their cells remembering their mission to bring the glory of the Chilean Blob to the world. They had all arrived and were ready…they now simply had to wait for the word of Blob to come down to them. There was much to do to get the Compound ready.
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