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Post by moonchild on Oct 16, 2019 15:57:11 GMT -5
Our Fourth Friday Night Clash episode.
Role Plays for this show are posted below for your enjoyment.
Here is a link to the actual show: steemit.com/fiction/@ultimatewrestlin/ultimate-online-wrestling-ch-7-friday-night-clash-episode-4
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Post by moonchild on Oct 16, 2019 16:00:22 GMT -5
Written by Valora
Valora and Abbigail
After Friday Night Clash 3, San Francisco, California
Valora groans and shakes her head. “The one fuckin’ time I don’t stick to my usual routine…” Abbigail Dresden raises an eyebrow. “You mean your paranoid insistence that whatever you drink never leave your sight for a second?” Valora turned and looked at her protege. “Paranoid? Paranoia keeps you alive kid. Also, tonight. I left my water bottle alone for two fuckin’ seconds and someone drugged it. Luckily, Walter Reagan is as incompetent as he is old.” Abbigail blinks. “He drugged you both and beat the shit out of you two.. Seems to me like he did a good job.”
Valora laughs a bit. “That’s because you’re a rookie kid. I’m a pro. And I don’t just mean a pro at wrestling.” Abbigail walked over to Valora, definitely interested in what her mentor was saying. “Got anything to add on that?” Valora nodded and slid down from the medical exam table she had been sitting on. “Plenty. But not here.” With that, Valora grabbed her hoodie and the two headed out of the medical area and made their way into the night..
Valora’s house, Los Angeles, California, The Day after Friday Night Clash:
Valora sits in her living room, drinking from her tequila. She wears her usual torn blue jeans, and black shirt with her name, face and Hardcore Icon names on it blood decorating the words Hardcore Icon. Over the t shirt, she wears a hoodie. Abbigail Dresden is there as well, wearing blue jeans and a generic UOW long sleeve shirt. Valora laughs a bit as she hears Abbigail arrive and walk in. “So. I assume you’re serious in wanting to know?” Abbigail nods. “Uhh yeah..” Valora nods.”Started long before I was in wrestling. I won’t bore you with all the details But bottom line is this… This is new to me. I’m not usually the heroine of the story..”
Abbigail nods. “I know. I remember watching you in one of the earlier points in your career. You and Kronin going to war with each other.” Valora smirks. “Yeah well.. Wrestling wasn’t my only income. I was.. Well there are a lot of words to describe it. Assassin, hitman, mechanic. I preferred… ‘problem solver’ Assassin and hitman well they imply murder, torture, things like that. Problem Solver encompasses so much more. Some years back, back in one of the feds I worked for a guy like Mudcock. Pay was good. He had problems… I made them go away. He made me champ and helped me keep the belt. For a brief period of time I even worked for Warhammer. I doubt Vastrix had any say in that department but I’m sure he has access to Allen Anderson’s files on me. That was less...willing but Anderson found a way to recruit me. Point is.. I’ve always been a ‘End justifies the means’ kinda gal. And my past… well that gives me special insights into the mistakes Walter Reagan made.”
Abbigail sits down and listens, not quite able to believe what she is hearing as she listens. “Wait… you… you killed people? For money?” Valora nods. “Sometimes. Sometimes it wasn’t for money. Sometimes.. Well sometimes a person just needs to be removed from the equation. I like to think of those as service to humanity killings.. In Medical school I focused on psychology. More specifically the divisions of psychology one would need to become the perfect crime fighter… or the perfect criminal. I learned some things about myself during those studies… made adjustments to deal with those discoveries. But I’m getting off topic. Point is this. Yeah for the short term, Walter Reagan didn’t do too bad. For an amatuer.”
Abbigail tilts her head to the side. “So? What would you have done?” Valora smirks. “Well, first off, drugging both of us was a mistake. It was obvious, everyone noticed. Then he comes out and ambushes both of us. Again, in plain view of the public. All Walter Reagan did was make Takuma Sato and I much more popular with the people, make his boss more hated, and now people will blame Walter and Mudcock for ruining their main event instead of blaming Sato and/or myself. Also, the way things unfolded this past event, it couldn’t have been more cliche if they named it ‘Friday Night Clash episode 3: Revenge of the Mudcock’ So.. anyways he cuts it, Mudcock lost big in San Francisco. Now, for your question in what I would do. I suppose there are a few options.” Valora says, taking a break to take a swig from her tequila.
“Basically, the mistake he made was drugging both of us. If he had just drugged me, he and Mudcock could blame the resulting scene on my well documented love of alcoholic beverages. If Walter decided to beat the crap out of me and I’m found backstage, Mudcock can create division in the locker room, I’m paranoid, it wouldn’t take much to frame another wrestler. Divide and conquer, every one..knows. Well apparently not everyone If he drugs Sato. The same result can be achieved. I have a well documented past of being willing to take shortcuts to ensure I win. Now Sato might take more convincing than I would to believe that I was behind it, but again.. Convincing him another wrestler did it. Not the hardest thing world to do. I suppose those are the two simplest solutions to the problem. If left to my own devices.. Results might vary depending on the situation.”
Abbigail pauses a moment, obviously torn. It doesn’t take an expert in body language or a close friend of Valora’s to see she is seething. She clears her throat and nods. “Alright.. Well stupid idea… you mentioned you worked with guys like Mudcock before… why make it hard on yourself by fighting a war? He seems to be a businessman, surely he can see the money here.”
Valora smirks. “Heh.. well that mentality is exactly what got me working as the problem solver for guys like Mudcock. For evil inc. aka Warhammer corporation. Mudcock isn’t a businessman. He a propagandist. He has money. UOW could go bankrupt, Mox news would never speak of it again and it would be relegated to arcane trivia knowledge right next to say.. A certain professional football league that went from the Next big thing to ‘The Pro Sports failure that must not be named.’ Bottom line is there is no deal to be made.. McStrump declared war when he said Mexicans were ‘Thieves, Rapists, and Murderers.’ He declared war on hispanics when he refused to aid American Citizens in Puerto Rico by criticizing a mayor trying desperately to keep her fucking people from dying. You know, Abs… Fidel Castro in Cuba used to mock Puerto Rico. He called them a colony of the American Empire. That America was no different from the Spanish. Another foreign power that would take and take and take and give nothing back. McStrump proved Castro right with how he has handled Puerto Rico’s recovery from the Hurricane. I.C.E. used be a sort of Jekyll and Hyde situation.. On one hand, the Border patrol would aid refugees.. Give them food, water, blankets, medical care.. And deal with them from there. McStrump doesn’t want that. He built his wall and put men with guns on that wall. He wants to deport everyone with brown skin. Shit anyone who isn’t white. Like I said, the definition will continue to narrow. It has to. There always needs to be an enemy to distract the people from how bad the dictator is fucking them over.”
Abbigail looks over her mentor and nodded as she thought. The personal emotion within her was obvious. Truth be told, she relished these moments. Ever since she had first seen Valora perform in Chicago. Saw the way Valora fearlessly stood up to the status quo. Abbigail was a novice to Professional fighting it’s true. But she knew a little. She knew that by the numbers Valora should never have been able to succeed in Wrestling. She was a woman. And a Mexican. In American pro wrestling, Women were seen for sex appeal and while Valora was certainly an attractive woman, she wasn’t the typical bubbly bimbo type to run around the ring in a pillow fight, or engage in mud wrestling in a bikini, or indulging other male fantasies to make money. She was a fighter. Mexicans by and large were used as comic relief. Not taken seriously. Valora had 2 major strikes against her and had succeeded. She had inspired Abbigail to track her down. That hadn’t taken much effort. The effort came in trying to convince Valora to take her on. Valora was not initially interested in training a wrestler. That brought up a question. She laid back on the couch in the room, positioning herself so that she was upside down, looking at Valora who was still drinking from her tequila. “You know.. You don’t seem to have many close people. I mean… you. Tara. Samantha. Me. That seems to be about it. No family?”
Valora smirks. “Mom died. Cancer. She wanted to me to play soccer. I was good. Good enough to get a scholarship to USC. Made mom happy. Local college. She could visit. Check in on me, make sure her little girl was alright. Watch me play. I made a promise. That I would do whatever I had to to give her a good life. To get her out her shit ass job.” Abbigail interrupted here. “What’d she do?” Valora smirked and took another drink. “At one time.. She worked in the American Embassy in Mexico City. Her job was a translator. She also taught American Diplomats and federal agents Spanish, taught them who the power players in Mexico were. Who the bad elements were. The criminals, the corrupt officials. Also the little things.” Abbigail nodded. “What about your father?” Valora’s expression darkened a bit. “Don’t remember much about Dad. But I did some research on him. His record is very well covered. Covered to the point I believe he worked for a Government. I’m told he’s dead. I’ve visited his grave. But I’m not sure I believe that. So if he’s still out there.. He’d be mostly what counts as family. I have a twin sister but she is.. Well let’s just say I don’t need to worry about her at the moment. But yeah… I keep my group small because the more connections you have, the easier a target you are.”
The conversation was about to continue as it was clear Valora was just getting started on a point but both women were interrupted by the door opening and Samantha walking in. Valora smirks. “So who am I defending the title against this week?” Samantha, surprisingly, did not look at Valora first, she instead looked at Abbigail. “This week the big match is a tag team title match. Takuma Sato and Vendredi vs. Valora and Abbigail vs. Kronin and Davey boy O’Brien vs. Abishag and Vastrix.”
Valora scoffs. “So Abs and I against Sato and Vendredi, basically?” Abbigail blinks. “Writing off two other teams?” Valora nods. “I’d be worried if it were Kronin and his twin sister. Shit, knowing how twins are… I’d probably be the closest I’ve ever come to being scared. Abishag hates pretty much everyone and Vastrix is definitely the type of person he can’t stand. They have no chance. Now, tell me why you’re worried about Kronin’s team..” Valora said, giving her protege a chance to shine.
Abbigail thought for a moment. “Diversity of Styles.. Thunder and Lightning.. Forget how you say that in German but Kronin is a big, powerful fighter and for someone as big as he is, he has scary athletic ability and he’s a veteran. He seems smart too… like you, he always seems to have a plan and I’ve never seen him panic.Davey Boy has one match.. Lot of unknowns about him, hard to scout.. Is willing to work with Kronin as he came out to try and help him.”
Valora nods “my German is rusty so I’ll let someone else handle that. Good observations but in tag team wrestling knowing your partner is just as important as knowing your opponent. You need to know when your partner is hurting. When they’re in trouble. You need to know when to let them fight out of trouble and when they need help so bad you need to get in there and risk distracting the ref. You need to know what your partner can and can not do to get a decent gameplan together.” Abbigail nods and cuts in. “But 4 teams? You always said multi-fighter matches were chaotic and anyone can come out.”
Valora nods. “True. I guess it will mainly depend on what setup our fascist boss has in mind.” Abbigail blinked. “What do you mean?” Valora smirks. “Easiest way to handle a match like this is only 2 fighters are ‘legal’ at any time. Say Kronin and I start off. I get in trouble. Abishag tags me. Now he’s in the match and we’re out. In that set up the trick is to measure resting with staying in the match to have a chance to win. Another way is one fighter from each team. Then you have rules. Is it first pinfall wins? Elimination?” She says looking at Samantha who shrugs. “World Tag Team Title match. That is what I was told then told who was taking part.” Valora nods. “So first pinfall wins. Alright, come on kid.. We need to get training and get ready to kick some ass.”
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Post by moonchild on Oct 16, 2019 16:02:07 GMT -5
Written by Vastrix
Matters of Faith
Seattle, Washington in a warehouse by the docks.
"God's Gift" Jeremiah Vastrix and Johnny Melange are in the rafters of the building as they look down upon a massive gathering. Three beings of immense size stand by a fourth that dwarfs even them.
Aktas Atalar and his three remaining trusted champions in their bio-tech power armor suits. Around them are a few hundred of the Faithful. People who believe that Aktas and his chosen who are fitted and trained to operate the power armors are Gods created by mankind.
Power armor is a light description. These armors combine elements seemingly stolen from Iron Man, Terminator, and Warhammer 40,000 to create something ghastly. The physical capabilities and stature of the pilot are greatly increased across the board. Hidden weapons and abilities combine with top notch armor and environmental protections. The outside of the armor is living flesh, hair, and fingernails. All crafted to make the power armor seem less like armor and more of an immense being of the divine. The pilot is bonded to the armor and cannot leave it under normal circumstances. Why would they want to? The armor filters everything that comes to them, even food is broken down into needed components, and sent directly into their blood with a method to keep their hunger satiated. In essence, the pilot becomes the armor. A God of Immense Power.
AKTAS ATALAR: We have our marching orders as passed down from the President of the United States. We are to watch and wait until this Valora Salinas is defeated and removed from the public eye. We will then crush her and cast her remains across the Pacific Ocean! My faithful, do you understand? Will you help your Gods attend to their mission?
Jeremiah closes his good eye as he reels from the roaring from the crowd. Mad people utterly devoted to a false god.
Johnny elbows Jeremiah in the ribs, speaking plainly to try to be heard over the chaos below.
JOHNNY MELANGE: You think this lot will leave here and then go see if they can find a church for the Chilean Blob to worship the bit of rotting whale fat? That's what your upcoming tag team partner worships.
Jeremiah just shrugs, looking down at the congregation below.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: I never understood why these people would put their faith in such beings. Being involved with the Warhammer Corporation my entire life has led me to seeing strange things that defy normal explanations. People that have described themselves as Gods, but I give my worship to none.
Johnny watches the proceedings as the Gods begin to pronounce "blessings" upon the gathered host.
JOHNNY MELANGE: It's all a really fascinating study when you think about it. There is literally a religion for everything, even now. The pretend gods down below are blessing their congregation with a blend of blessings from the Catholic Church, white magic spells from Wiccans, and Shinto blessings. All of it's bullshit.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: This isn't going to stand. I won't have these fake gods trying to take out...is she my rival?
JOHNNY MELANGE: She's kicked your butt at every meeting.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: My better then. Either way, they need to be stopped now. Let's unpack the sniper rifle.
As Jeremiah and Johnny begin to open a duffle bag containing the pieces of the sniper rifle to put together, Wimizaus the Eternal (otherwise known as Aktas Atalar) looks up to their location. Of course they would have amplified hearing as well as everything else.
AKTAS ATALAR: We have enemies amongst us! Capture them, my faithful!
JOHNNY MELANGE: We might want to hurry with this.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: Keep working. I have this.
Johnny nods and continues to work on the rifle while Jeremiah stands to look down upon the assembled crowd.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: Wait! Nobody move! I seem to have dropped my contact lense! Can anyone find it?
Jeremiah flips up his eyepatch to reveal a milky white sphere in place of the cybernetic socket. He plucks the squishy sphere out and calmly drops it to the floor below. He flips the eyepatch back into place as the crowd of worshippers all move out of the way from the item.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: Or maybe it's an eyeball I've dropped. Whatevs. Can you get it for me?
There is a ladder not far from where the "eye" landed, but no one seems to be willing to get close enough to the eye to climb the ladder. Aktas shakes his head, certainly angry now.
AKTAS ATALAR: Trukord the Nightmare! Rise up and show these cowards how one captures the enemies of the Gods!
Johnny hands Jeremiah the sniper rifle, who takes aim as Trukord launches himself into the air with the aid of a rocket pack. Johnny connects a loop of a bungee cord hooked to a harness to the girder that they are squatting on.
JOHNNY MELANGE: Is it really a good idea to fire a gun this powerful when in a position like this?
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: Absolutely not. The problems with these icons of faith is that things fall apart when the Gods are revealed as frauds.
Jeremiah fires the rifle, the recoil sending him off of the girder. The shot strikes the fuel cell of the rocket pack and explodes, driving Trukord straight down into the crowd of followers where it becomes hard to tell from the flailing mass of crushed bodies of who is bleeding.
Truckord the Nightmare stands up quickly, but the followers who can recoil, do so at the sight of the nightmarish metallic exoskeleton.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: See the true nature of your “gods”! Men wrapped in machines!
Aktas Atalar keeps his eyes upon the dangling Jeremiah Vastrix, his anger bared to the world as his followers began to flee.
AKTAS ATALAR: Exterminate everyone who doesn’t bow down in worship.
Screams begin as the fellow gods of Aktas begin slaughtering the followers. Aktas himself begins to rise into the air as if he were always meant to be there. He “stands” in front of Jeremiah, no thrust in sight from his twenty foot tall frame. Jeremiah doesn’t have to work hard to take aim with the rifle.
AKTAS ATALAR: Do it. Show everyone assembled here what your actions against one such as I amount to.
Jeremiah fires the weapon. The bullet seems to fly in slow motion as it crumples against the chest of Aktas’ chest, not even damaging the clothing. Down below has become a scene of carnage as those who have survived the initial onslaught have fallen upon their knees in the hopes of being granted mercy for their fealty. Some are even granted it.
JOHNNY MELANGE: Jeremiah, I think we’re fucked.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: Right? Wimizaus the Eternal? We’d like to surrender. Johnny’s my agent and I have a match coming up. You know? The President would be sad if the son of one of his staunchest allies is killed.
Aktas grins wide at Jeremiah’s use of his Godly name. He reaches out and flips up Jeremiah’s eyepatch to reveal the empty cybernetic eye socket.
AKTAS ATALAR: Oh, I won’t be killing you. I have been in contact with Mr. Mudcock and he has such plans for you. Valora Salinas and her little protege will suffer for their defiance.
Yes, this is the worst of times to be a smartass...or is it the best time?
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: You know that I have a tag team partner and about four other opponents as well as Valora?
Aktas flicks a single finger against the side of Jeremiah’s jaw, knocking him out. He looks casually up to Johnny, who puts his hands into the air right away.
JOHNNY MELANGE: We are very sorry for the inconvenience we have caused you.
AKTAS ATALAR: You and Jeremiah belong to me now.
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Post by moonchild on Oct 16, 2019 16:03:04 GMT -5
Written by Baron Vendredi
White Walls
Baron knew he was a failure at wrestling. Just because a man is big and strong does not mean that he can get into a sport and expect to be called a professional. Now, some guys were talented enough to do such a thing. However, Baron wasn’t one of them. He spent a lot of his time training at Jack Burton’s place but it wasn’t paying off as fast as a young man would like. Another thing that bothered him was his inability to beat Dwight Couch. The man had somehow gotten under Baron’s skin. He knew this was a result from competition. But it was easier to forget about someone in football because there was always another team to play.
Speaking of football, his coach wasn’t too happy to hear about Baron’s whereabouts. He had kept in contact with him over the months, letting him know that the university was okay with Vendredi going off and doing things on his own but heavily reminded him that if he were to get hurt doing this “wrestling thing,” then he could say goodbye to his full ride scholarship. This added stress caused Baron to skip workouts at the gym and fly back to Detroit for practice. He kept lying to Mudcock about his training and being ring ready week in and week out. Truthfully, he had been running triples with his team and trying to memorize plays. At this point in his life, football was more important. But Dwight Couch was the reason the young man kept going forward with the wrestling. This guy lit a fire in Baron and he was waiting for the day he could finally douse the flame.
School was a different story. Baron was able to keep up on his schooling thanks to a lot of online courses that were offered to the students. He knew it wouldn’t last long but he was thankful for the option and some understanding from the professors.
The paycheck that came from wrestling treated him well. But it was also a constant reminder that he could not stick his face into the politics that came behind it. He heard others in the locker room talking about starting a union or getting healthcare or whatever it was they were doing but it wasn’t enough to keep him interested. Quite frankly, he knew that if his face started showing up in the news for things outside of wrestling and football, he would quickly be reminded by the University that they would not support him and heavily persuade him to give up on the political commentary. There were already whispers about men on his team being suspended if they even dared “take a knee” during the national anthem. When things like this popped up, Baron would hear his mother’s voice telling him to keep his nose clean and pay no attention to the opinions of fools. It was reiterated: think about himself and what playing football could mean for his career.
Reflecting on all of this, an intruding thought came to his head. He didn’t know if this was formed from his own conscious or if the “greater powers” had anything to do with it. Takuma Sato. Baron knew he was supposed to get into contact with Takuma. That didn’t mean he had to become friends with the guy but every attempt so far seemed to fail him. He had to keep thinking up ways to get into contact with Sato, but he knew it wasn’t going to be easy.
He sat in his Vegas apartment, staring at his white wall. His thoughts wouldn’t clear. It had been months since he last attended a “Meeting of the Barons.” Though he admitted to himself that he gave up on his prayers and meditation while trying to figure this UOW situation out, he was still surprised that the head Baron Vendredi did not contact him to see how things were going. As a matter of fact, Vendredi couldn’t recall the last time he had any premonitions or warnings about the near future. It was as if he was just a regular young man trying to make his way in this world.
Regular enough that his wall still remained white and he still found himself sitting in his living room. “Better luck next time, I guess,” he said as he got up from a folded chair and made his way to his bedroom to get ready. That’s when his cell phone went off.
“Hello, Rich. How’s it going?”
It didn’t take psychic abilities or Caller ID to know it was Rich Relando phoning him. He was the only person to call Vendredi in today’s time. Even his own mother preferred to use Google Hangouts to talk.
“Hey, yeah, how’s it going, Vendredi? Just calling to let you know that you’re booked next week. It's a tag team match for the World Tag Team Titles. Try saying that five times fast, hah. Anyway, it’s you and Takuma Sa-”
Baron interrupted him. “Wait, they’re teaming me up with Takuma Sato? Why?” Baron began to wonder how this would play out.
“Yeah kid, it’s not that big of a surprise. You both represent Detroit in some essence, they just thought it would make sense, I guess. Either way, you guys will be facing the team of Abbigail Dresden and Valora Salinas, Davey-Boy O’brien and Kronin (or as I like to call them, Kronin O’Brien), and last but not least, Vastrix and Abishag. Not too bad for a guy that’s been on a losing streak.”
That last line stung a little. But Baron was happy to hear that he would be teaming up with Sato. “What about all of the other stuff that has been happening? Has there been anything regarding me in the news?”
Baron could hear Rich sigh on the other end of the line. “No, kid. So far you still appear to be squeaky clean in this whole thing. I wouldn’t worry too much with what’s going on. Let those that are leading the charge deal with all the other stuff that comes with it. If I were in your position, I’d remain silent until this whole thing washes over. Alright kid, I gotta go. Take care of yourself.”
And with that, the phone line went silent. Baron stood there wondering if this would get any easier. He knew this was the invitation to meet up with Takuma but would he be any more welcoming than he had been in the past? Time would tell. For now, he needed to get a hold of Ivan Stricker. Maybe Sato's manager would be able to get this ball rolling.
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Post by moonchild on Oct 16, 2019 16:03:57 GMT -5
Written by Kronin
Kronin: A New Chapter, part 1:
Kronin’s hotel room, Mt. Vernon, Washington:
It was morning, and for Kronin, that meant the same ritual. Waking up early, extricating himself from his bed without disturbing the sleep of his fiancee who was most definitely not a morning person, and having his coffee as he read the newspaper. This morning, however, the newspaper had been ditched in favor of the laptop. In the background, the morning news was going with some politician railing about ‘entitlements’ and how Americans were lazy and needed to be more self sufficient. He rolled his eyes as he took another drink and turned as the door opened and his twin sister walked in. A quick glance at the TV and she looked back to Kronin who shook his head. “I’ve only spent 2 days reviewing the politics involved with labor unions and healthcare and all of that. I am beginning to understand why Valora is perpetually enraged. Jesus christ, not even the Communists treated their own people this bad.”
Kara remained silent. Both her and her brother were old enough to remember a Germany divided. Both born in East Berlin, East Germany. Both identified as potential athletes. That decision led to both of them being raised, essentially, in a military style barracks training at the sports chosen for them for no less than 10 hours a day. Both growing to hate that system and both very glad to see a free and united Germany. She decided to try and inject humor. “Well, maybe that’s why they put you in charge. Mudcock likes his Communist anaolgies, why not send you to answer that charge?” Kronin smirked. “Mudcock is incapable of understanding anything that doesn’t fit the nice bubble he’s painted himself into.” Kara scratches her chin. “So… let’s do something about that. Lemme call Rose Johnston. Let her come up here, and you can make the case that needs to be made.”
Kronin thinks about this option as he sips his coffee. “Mox news will bring out their talking heads, they will find their little soundbites to twist around what I say.” Kara nods. “But you aren’t trying to convince them. The willfully ignorant and uneducated. The people so hopelessly dependant on the illusion of security they will do anything for it…” Kronin shrugs. “Then who would I be trying to convince? This is is where Valora falls short. She preaches to the choir. Her arguments won’t convince anyone who doesn’t agree with her already. And if you’re making an argument that has no chance to convince anyone, it’s just wasted air.”
Kara nods and smiles. “But brother… you have something that Valora doesn’t have. You are literally the poster child for what American Conservatives are ‘supposed’ to be.” Kronin nods. “Maybe an idea for later down the road. I’ll want to make sure I can organize things. Besides.. I need to focus on the match.” Kara nods. “Well, lucky for them they didn’t pair you and me up. Gives the others a chance.” Kronin thinks for a moment and nods. “Another potential idea for the future. For right now, I’ve got to try and work out how to survive this match.”
Kronin walks over to the table and turns the laptop around and switches window to his game plan for the match. “Let’s start with Vastrix and Abishag. I give their team… 5 minutes… no, that’s giving them both too much credit. 2 and a half minutes. At most. On their own, both are great fighters. But they don’t match up well as a team. Too different in personalities. Abbigail and Valora? The weak link in that team is Abbigail. She is a rookie. Inexperienced, eager to prove herself to Valora. They will be cohesive, They know each other well.. They will be on the same page.” Kara nods. “Valora doesn’t seem like the leader type.” Kronin raises a finger. “Oh she’s a born leader.. She just doesn’t want the responsibility. She likes worrying about herself. More than that, Valora has become an expert at tag team wrestling. Her team and the team of Sato and Vendredi are the major threats here.” Kara nods. “Sato beat you, after all.” Kronin laughs a bit. “Well I would say we beat the hell out of each other and he survived the match more than won it, but that might be a bit of my stubborn pride talking.”
Kara smirked a bit and looked over the notes Kronin had taken before glancing over at him. “What about your partner? Can you guys work together?” Kronin shrugs. “Well, he ran out and tried to help out when Abishag and the little cult of genetic defectives he has beat the crap out of me. That gives me a good base to work with and build on. Do I expect to win? Depends on how things are set up.. Should be fun if nothing else.”
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Post by moonchild on Oct 16, 2019 16:05:12 GMT -5
Written by Dr. Summeroff
Dinner and Wine
The Order’s Compound - Location Unknown…
15:12 - The Blob’s Ante Chamber…
Buzi, Abaddon and Abishag stand mindful watch over the unconscious Doctor Summeroff. The Doctor lies at the foot of the Chilean Blob’s tank – various electrodes that are hooked into the Tank are attached to the Doctor’s head. A computer shows the sleep patterns of the doctor are highly engaged – as if in a dream state.
“There”, one of the Order’s sleep scientist’s remarks, pointing to a spike in the graph displayed. “He has made contact…”
Abaddon nods.
It did appear the Doctor was communing with his watery master.
In the tank, the bio-mass of the Blob quivers slightly.
Summeroff, for his part, stands in his dream in front of the burning wreckage of what used to be an arena of some kind. All around him – Flames. In the distance, the burning rubble of homes, trailers and businesses.
A catastrophe had happened here.
Summeroff walked beside the wreckage and then he saw something…
It was himself.
Unconscious.
“What is this”, he asks himself.
“Another time. Another place”, a voice answers.
Indeed it was. It was Mount Vernon. The site of this week’s Friday Night Clash 4.
Only the place was In ruins - and it seemed the source of this ruin had come from the Tom Tiny Lister Memorial Arena.
“Witness”, a voice says and then all the images come.
23:17 – The Great Hall…
“I saw it all”, Summeroff says as he opens up a bottle of Brother Janus’ finest vintage. It was a wine made of the finest grapes – a blend of taken from the fields of France, California and from the Wine Growing regions of Southern Ontario. A hidden treasure to be sure. Infused in this wine was just the right amount of the Blob’s essence.
“Delicious” Buzi says as he samples the Beverage.
Janus, also at the table along with Abaddon and Abishag, smiles in agreement.
The light here is dim. Only the flicker of the great candles gives light by which to see. The only sounds are the sips of the vino and the far away echoes of large doors opening and closing.
As such, when Summeroff does choose to speak, he sounds louder than he really is.
“Do you believe the Blob can transverse both space and time, my friends?”
Buzi nods but isn’t sure. Abishag is doubtful but hides it. Abaddon is also skeptical. Janus – who was among the most spiritual of an already spiritual order – believes it fully.
“Well he can”, Summeroff says, “Whilst I communed with our watery savior earlier, he showed me a warning…a vision…an alternative reality concerning Mount Vernon and the Tiny Lister Arena. We must be carefull my friends for what he showed me was terrible. In this other reality, the Lister was blown up…there was death and destruction everywhere! The toll was catastrophic! The citizens of Mount Vernon all perished! Buzi – in that reality, you were already dead – taken out by an assault on the compound itself…Abishag - not long before the destruction of Mount Vernon, you escaped a siege on Detroit…I saw it all – the Arena in flames as troops stormed the ring…you escaped through the sewers and into the Detroit River…none of that matter though…what matters is the fate of the Lister arena and the town it resides in…The Blob advises caution for a bad energy surrounds the place…”
“It sure does", Abishag says with disgust, "…UOW has given me Jeremiah Vastrix as my tag team partner in this bizarre main event…Doctor – I’m not sure I can stomach carrying that insufferable crackpot. Look at last week and how badly that Scotsman brutalized him…”
“Yesssss…him…” Summeroff says with disgust remembering the assault at that haggis eater’s hands. “Well they say Vastrix’s cybernetic eye just might be operational again by the time the match begins. Perhaps it will give you both the advantage you need.”
“I don’t need any cybernetic eyes to help me…the Blob is all I need. He is my sword, my shield…my strength…”
“Yessss…he is that, isn’t he?” Summeroff says smiling at Abishag, happy that the man has once again fully accepted the Blob as his guiding light.
Abaddon interrupts, “I am hungry…a light snack would have been nice…I find the service of the Culinary class less than adequate these days…”
“Indeed, they will need to be spoken to on this matter”, Buzi says, his own belly requesting a midnight snack.
“Gentlemen, patience. The new servant is still in training”, Summeroff says and snaps his fingers.
Chet – the Lift bridge operator they ‘recruited’ a few week back – steps out with a plate of bread, cheese and Prosciutto. The brothers take their shares from the tray, all giving the evil eye to Chet for his tardiness in the matter.
“Chet, the food is to be on the table before we come for our nightly leadership meetings…is that understood?”
“Yes, Mr. Summeroff”, Chet says.
Summeroff stands up, grasps onto Chet’s head and without warning, grasps onto his tongue and pulls hard, tearing half of it at the root.
Chet drops to his knees and screams, blood flowing freely from the wound and onto the floor.
“Do not make that mistake again…am I understood?”
Chet nods his head in understanding.
“I’m not sure he truly understands…Abishag…drive the point home.”
Abishag slowly rises from his seat, wipes his mouth with a napkin and then makes his way over to the quivering servant. “On your feet!” He hollers.
Chet struggles to stand, his head now woozy from the loss of blood. Abishag reaches out with his arm and Power bombs Chet onto the floor, knocking the man unconscious. Without being asked, two acolytes come scurrying into the room and remove the servant.
“With that unpleasantness out of the way, and given my message to you from the blob to be mindful of the negative energy that surround Mount Vernon…let’s discuss the upcoming match. Abishag – your point about Vastrix is noted. He IS an unworthy teammate…but I don’t see much better on the other teams. On the one team, it’s the Scotsman that assaulted me! Davey Boy O’Brien…I want that one to suffer…you hear? I want him to suffer…right before you administer the Blob’s essence to him…that way he keeps suffering…those who are blessed by the light…the essence revives…as it did for you last week Abishag…for those on the wrong side of his glory…the essence corrupts…makes you ill…I want O’Brien feeling as ill as he does under the grip of the worst kind of flu…but first you break his bones…I want him to PAY FOR THE TEMERITY of laying his hands on me Abishag…AM I CLEAR?”
“Yes, very clear”, Abishag says.
“The Blob demands vengeance!!” The Doctor says.
The others at the table voice their agreement.
“What about Kronin? His partner?” Abishag says.
“Haven’t you done enough to poor Kronin?” The Doctor replies with pity. “Poor, poor Kronin…”
Summeroff sighs and waves a dismissive hand, “Do just what is necessary and no more to keep him out of the way. It’s O’Brien I want to feel the full, unbridled wrath of the gelatinous god!”
“There’s also the matter of Baron Vendredi and Takuma Sato…” Buzi says, looking over the intelligence report the Order’s analytics department came up with.
“Yes. The Baron…again, haven’t you done enough to him? The Baron is an irrelevance…a product of a bygone time…speaking of which, did you know when the Blob showed me the events of one of the alternate time – in that world, the Baron was actually a formidable opponent – a wrestler of ability. Here, he is but a test subject – a shell of what he could have been. He is of no concern. Sato though…he continues to be a problem. We went along with his and Stricker’s foolish plan to stir up the locker room and cause dissent under the guise of worker’s right…of course, this was all a ruse. Those fools in the locker room – of which most are in this match – they all bought it hook, line and sinker. They gobbled it up like Pierre Poutine and Whale Jones at a buffet.”
They all laugh.
“As if I give two shit about worker’s rights and insurance…the only insurance policies WE need, my friends is downstairs in that tank!”
They all cheer and give praise to their watery master.
“PRAISE BLOB!” Summeroff shouts raising his hands to the air.
After a moment, they settle and the Doctor picks up his thoughts, “Takumi Sato…”
“It’s Takuma…isn’t it?” Abaddon asks.
“Yes, Takuma…whatever, does it matter?” The Doctor asks.
“Not to me it doesn’t”, Abishag says, “When I get my hands on that shit disturber, I’m going to Powerbomb him half way back to Japan. I’m going to smash him back to dust. The preferential treatment afforded to him will end. Perhaps when I’m done with him, I’ll send his carcass to McStrumps as a Christmas Present. He can string Sato up on his wall like a stringer of Christmas lights.”
“We will be giving no presents to McStrumps…let’s not forget why we have returned Abishag…it is to OVERTHROW that tyrant. We’re the good guys. Don’t forget it, even if UOW doesn’t realize it. Everything we do is to strengthen the resolve of UOW…to temper the roster and make them stronger. Each beatdown is a lesson taught…a mirror held to the faces of the likes of Kronin, The Baron and the others that THEY ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH…in order to overthrow McStrumps and truly hurt Rupert Mudcock, this Roster must grow strong. Must evolve and put on a better show…UOW is AMERICA’S PASTIME! The Fans will listen but not to the likes of the Baron, Sato or that false Prophet Salinas. No my friends, We…are the WAY. When this is all over – YOU Abishag will sit upon the throne of America and depose McStrumps and usher in a new era of peace and prosperity. THAT is the goal. Old Glory will be taken down…burned in front of McStrumps VERY EYES as we raise the Flag of Blob.”
Abishag, Abaddon, Buzi and Janus all stare intently at the Doctor.
“Oh yes, I am VERY SERIOUS. I see in your eyes you think the Doctor has had a bit too much to drink…I assure you I am of sound mind my friends. WE WILL rule this country someday but it all starts here. The People must believe. Abishag, you must somehow carry Vastrix and the two of you MUST win this match.”
“Of course”, Abishag says as he takes another drink of the wine and can feel the essence of the master infuse him with purpose.
“And when that’s done”, The Doctor says coldly, “…then we set our sights on Salinas. We will show her the TRUE people’s champion. Her time is almost at an end. Let’s hope she makes the most of it.”
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Post by moonchild on Oct 16, 2019 16:07:19 GMT -5
Written by Davey O'Brien
Mettle
The blue eyes of hopeful youth met the dark, azure tide of the violent Atlantic as it crashed against the steadfast cliffs upon which Davey-Boy O’Brien stood. Despite his fear of the ocean which had taken his Da years prior, he endured with pride. Within a few days, Davey would be given his first opportunity at championship gold. It was true that he had never wrestled alongside his partner before, but that was the case with most of the opposing teams as well. Fortunately, O’Brien and his partner, Kronin, had both gotten to know one another a bit as they both were at the forefront of the healthcare battle against Mr. Mudcock, the proprietor of Ultimate Wrestling. Professional wrestling, after all, was a dangerous industry. Davey-Boy was only 18-years-old, and he had already suffered many injuries in the sport.
“Ye gonnae just stand there all day an’ gawk at the rocks, lad,” teased a voice from behind Davey.
A bright smile cross the blond youth’s mustached face as he turned to. “Ain’t ye just a stealthy bastard,” Davey snapped back as he embraced his visitor. “Whit took ye?” The height difference was quite noticeable. As the visitor was a rather tall aging man of nearly two meters tall, dwarfing Davey. However, Davey was definitely the more muscular of the two.
“Well, lad, I didnae expect ye to come out here all by yer lonesome,” the older man pointed out as he studied Davey’s eyes. He could see a mixture of emotions because Davey was the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve despite his years of experience as the man of the house.
For a moment, it seemed as though Davey had something to say, but his mouth shut again before any sound came out. His eyes just turned toward the horizon where the sun was failing. “Me Da,” he began slowly, “brought me here to watch a solar eclipse. ‘Twas the last tame I saw ‘im, Geoffrey.” Davey’s jawline visibly tightened as he fought back his emotions. A supportive hand landed on Davey’s shoulder. Geoffrey was actually Davey’s uncle on his mother’s side, but had been best friends with his Da. Suddenly, this reminded Davey of something as he abruptly perked up. “Did ye bring anythin’ back from yer travels?” Despite having to grow up quicker than he should have, Davey was still a kid at heart.
“Matter o’ fact,” Geoffrey plunged his right hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a rather large stone before placing it in Davey’s outstretched hand. “Got this meteorite fer ye, lad.”
It was rather hefty Davey noted as he examined it. Davey-Boy had dozens of these that Geoffrey had brought him, but nothing ever this big. Geoffrey was an astro-scientist of some sort. He had told Davey many, many times, but he could never remember what the old man actually did. All he knew is each and every time they met, his uncle had some sort of piece of space rock for him. The cold, metal rock felt smooth save for some imperfections.
“Ain’t ye got some metal o’ yer own t’ win, Davey-Boy,” the astro-scientist reminded him.
For whatever reason, it wasn’t until this reminder did Davey feel any butterflies in his stomach. His match was only a few days away. In fact, his flight back to the United States was tomorrow. Would he be able to win the Tag Team Titles in his first-ever title opportunity? A troubled look crossed his face.
“Look, son,” said Geoffrey with his hand still over Davey’s shoulder, “no matter what ye do out there, we’ll be proud o’ ye. Yer Da will be proud o’ ye. Hell, lad, ye make us proud every week ye stand up in front o’ that crowd an’ give it a square go. Don’t worry ‘bout yer undefeated streak, those are meant to end anyway. Jus’ go out there an’ just like any other night an’ fight.”
For a moment, Davey thought he had heard his Da telling him this very thing. Geoffrey, after all, was very much like his father. He was right. A loss here wouldn’t kill him, but a win… Davey felt stronger already as he gripped the space rock in his hand.
“How ‘bout some ale, Davey-Boy,” Geoffrey asked as they turned away from the steep cliff upon which Davey had been standing. "I know the drink in America is laughable at baist."
“Do ye really have to ask, ye ole codger,” Davey snapped back as they left, laughing as they did. Davey-Boy knew despite win or loss everything would be just fine, but it would be nice to have something to show for his first title opportunity...
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Post by moonchild on Oct 16, 2019 16:08:24 GMT -5
Written by MoonChild
The Strings of Fate and Fortune: The Takuma Sato Story: Chapter 6
It’s a funny thing how quickly the human body reacts when a foreign substance enters its complex system. I knew as soon as I got up from my meditation in the men’s locker room that I had been drugged. It seemed that Rupert was a vengeful man with little patience for opposition. Our triumph over him to gain the roster healthcare insurance for injuries suffered in the ring had brought his wraith upon me as it had my manager Ivan Stricker a week ago. All I could think about as I stumbled forward toward the entrance to the stage was how I would miss my one chance to finally pay off my family’s debt. All I wanted to do was save our house and win back our freedom from the greedy banksters that had duped my father into that ridiculous refinance loan before he died.
My vision was blurry and my brains receptors only processed what my eyes were transmitting to them at eighteen frames per second. The world around me was like a poorly made stop motion animation that I couldn’t turn off. As I reached the platform behind the stage curtain I heard my music begin to play and the roar of the crowd. The reverberation burned my ear drums like hot wax being poured inside of them. I managed to walk out onto the stage and I could see the energy flow from the fans out from their bodies into the air and subsequently into my nostrils as I sucked in their dynamism heavily into my lungs. Its yellow glow filled my body and charged my chi, but no amount of energy would expunge this poison from my blood stream.
I thought I was walking into a beating that would surely leave me a crippled mess, until I saw Valora suffering from the same affects. We had both been drugged and were suffering from the same afflictions simultaneously. Somehow I made it into the ring as Valora had, but the intensity of the drug was only growing with every minute that passed by. The referee’s words were lost to me and my vision was growing dark until the bell was rung and every nerve ending in my body was set on fire. I gathered what composure I could and Valora and I began our farce of a fight. I could taste the anger pouring out of her body and soul and her aura beamed red and orange almost blinding me. Anger not at me, but at the ones who had done this to us, and forced us to endure this embarrassment in front of our fans and the world watching us at home.
Five minutes into the match it was clear to both of us that we wouldn’t be able to keep this up. Our equilibrium was off and we had been sent into a spiraling cyclone of hell. I sprinted at her in attempt to land my heart punch to end the match quickly, but instead I ended up running straight into her and we both ended up over the ropes and sprawled out onto the floor.
Paralysis was next to set in as Rupert’s lackey, Walter Reagan, vaulted over the steel guard railing and proceeded to beat us within an inch of our lives. As he plopped our useless bodies onto a wooden table that he had pulled out from under the ring. My memory of the following events is broken, the visual in slow motion flash photos, but I’ll never forget the helpless feeling of that three hundred and fifty pound behemoth crushing us through the table under his weight.
Then it all goes black and I awake drifting through a void lit only by distant illuminations that I could merely describe as stars. I feel weightless, as if I’ve left my physical body behind. Panic sets in, my mind races, and I cry out but no one answers. I am completely alone floating through the emptiness of dark space.
Have I died?
Where am I?
Is this all that there is after death?
My questions are interrupted suddenly by a strange voice that echo’s in my mind…
Mysterious Voice: Heh... Haha…Hoo! It is good to see you young friend… It has been so many years.
Sato’s astral form turns 180 degrees as he rotates to see a giant astral projection of a much older looking Baron Vendredi. The visual of his floating colossal head frightens Takuma to his core as he gazes upon the strange looking specter as it speaks to him.
Takuma Sato: Who or what are you?
Mysterious Voice: It is I! Heh… the Baron!
Takuma Sato: You look old enough to be Vendredi’s father! I demand you tell me the truth!
Mysterious Voice: Ahhh… you always were too smart to fool, however… I do not lie! I am the Baron! Ha! Haa! Just not the Baron of your world young Sato!
Takuma Sato: What do you mean not of my world?
Mysterious Voice: I am from a parallel world, from another dimension, one very similar to your own!
Takuma Sato: A parallel world?
Mysterious Voice: Yes my friend, Heh, there are many earths…. a multiverse actually! Think of it as an onion where every layer of the onion is a universe onto its own! Hah ha! Our layers sit upon each other and therefore we share many similarities!
Takuma Sato: What does that have to do with me? Why am I here? What do you want with me?
Mysterious Voice: Ooooh! The Baron is here because I’ve been given a rare opportunity to warn you that your world is in danger! Haha! Yes indeed! I’ve already made efforts to reach out to the Baron of your world! Heh hee… However it would seem you have not been receptive to his effort to befriend you.
Takuma Sato: Why do you keep laughing like that? How do you expect me to take you serious?
Mysterious Voice: The Baron laughs because it is all he has left to carry his spirits! Now listen closely! Your world is about to endure a great suffering! You and Vendredi must help the peoples of America and the peoples of the world avoid a calamitous fate. The Sato of my world and I did our best but we failed… perhaps our approach was misguided heh… or maybe the Baron listened to his friends too much and should have led our movement instead of standing behind and following Ivan and Ares.
Takuma Sato: Ivan Stricker?
Mysterious Voice: Yes, poor Ivan…he was murdered by very sad man who lost his family in the riots… a single man in a mask with a gun changed the course of our future forever that night. We had just won the election in Detroit, things were starting to go our way…
Takuma Sato: None of what you are telling me makes any sense you old fool! I am not from your world!
Mysterious Voice: THEN THE BARON WILL HELP YOU SEE!
Takuma Sato: What?
Suddenly I’m sucked into a black vortex and my astral energy is scattered and dispersed like light through a prism. My brain melts, my soul screams, and then with no warning it’s over and I stand at the top of the Joe Louis arena steps in Detroit surrounded by chaos. The old Baron stands beside me in his ghostly form as we both watch rioter’s battle police officers through the city. Vehicles and buildings burn and fill the sky with smoke and the sound of panic and screams echo from inside the arena behind us.
Baron Vendredi: This was caused by us, a revolution by our group the Rebels of Society! Ares Metaxas and Ivan Stricker revolted against the big banks, the local government here in Detroit, and we successfully seceded Detroit from the rest of America. I felt we had gone too far in our war against corruption, but Ivan, Ares, and your alternate counterpart felt that blood needed to be spilt in the streets in order to save people from the tyrants ruining their lives.
Takuma Sato: This is madness… why would we do this?
Baron Vendredi: Ha! Ho! Heheh! Oh let me tell you young Sato… while our worlds are similar they are also very different. In our world President Obama was never elected, the banks were bailed out but the auto companies were left unsupported by the federal government and all three American manufacturers went bankrupt. Thousands lost their jobs, their retirement, their homes, it was a disaster unparalleled in American history. The country was thrown into a depression that made the great depression seem like a cruel joke. Society crumbled slowly as the wealthy turned their backs on rest of humanity. We tried to unite the peoples, make peaceful changes, but no matter what we did things only seemed to get worse.
Takuma Sato: How could things get worse than this? They’re dead and dying all around us!
Once again I was transported through time and space this time I found myself in an urban battlefield in a dystopian looking Chicago torn to bits by war. Rebel troops from the United Rebel City States battle US imperial soldiers with corporate hammer logos on their armor. The sight is horrific and had I a physical form a chill would be making its way down my spine.
Baron Vendredi: A civil war broke out between US Forces and the rebel city states. Our forces were led by General Kronin Reinhardt and Captain Eric Dillinger who were both close friends ours. At first it looked as if we might have been able to overthrow the government and save the country, but the President enlisted the help of a ruthless mercenary corporation called War Hammer led by Allen Anderson. Heh hooo… noo… we were annihilated in just two months and those of us who survived were sent to Guantanamo bay for our crimes against the American empire.
My surrounding’s change again and I now find myself in a cemetery filled with gravestones. At first I pay them no mind, but the Baron points his finger to them and I quickly recognize many of the names. The tombstones read “Valora Salinas”, “Kronin Reinhardt”, “Brother Abishag”, “Ares Metaxas”, “Ivan Stricker”, “Dixie Clement”, “Nathan O’Connell”, “Ronald Washington”, “K.D. Bachus”, “Jack Burton”, “Chuluun Bold” and finally the last stone reads my own name…Takuma Sato.
Baron Vendredi: These were our rivals in the ring and our friends outside of it. Some we disagreed with politically, but when push came to shove and things got really bad we united together to fight the good fight. I’m sad to say they are all gone now… this is what you must prevent… it will not happen the same in your world…heh, things are different there thanks to President McStrump Ha! Haha! Hehehe!
Once again I feel the pull of the vortex and we are sucked into what I can only assume is the present time in this fucked up reality. The old Baron Vendredi sits on a concrete floor prison cell looking into a makeshift fire he’s made to keep himself warm. He looks old, beaten, and at the end of his life span. His face is wrinkled and littered with regret of the past.
Baron Vendredi: The fires… they tell me secrets… but they do not tell me the future. I cannot see what is coming exactly for your world young Sato. All I can tell you is that it is coming and that it will take hero’s to guide humanity through it. You must stay vigilant and pure my friend… do not let the darkness consume your heart. You must not give in, you must fight the good fight to the bitter end.
The Baron’s tone turns very somber and the energy in the room is sucked out completely.
Takuma Sato: What makes you think that I wouldn’t?
Baron Vedredi: Because my friend you turned on us… something corrupted you… and you were never the same after it.
The Baron begins to weep, his breathing patterns change, and he looks up at Sato with blood shot eyes and tears rolling down his face.
Takuma Sato: What are you saying? That I changed sides? That I fought against your insane revolution? That I came to my senses that this could only lead in death and destruction? How dare you criticize me old man! Look at the world you’ve created! Look at your pathetic existence rotting in this prison on this god forsaken island like some terrorist!
Baron Vendredi: It was not like you say! The Baron tried to save you! To help you see the light! You turned on us all! You did not pick a side! The Blob corrupted you! You chose the destruction of everything! You wanted to see the world burn! I had no choice to do what I had to do!
Takuma Sato: The Blob? You mean that thing Abishag is always going on about in the locker room?
Baron Vendredi: Yes...it destroyed you from the inside!
Takuma Sato: What did you do Vendredi? Tell me! How did I die?
Baron Vendredi: It is not important!
Takuma Sato: TELL ME DAMN IT!
Baron Vendredi: Th…The Barron had to stop you… he had to do it…
Takuma Sato: You killed me?
Baron Vendredi: The Baron is so sorry my friend! So Sorry!
Takuma Sato: If I had my physical form now I’d beat you silly old man! Stay away from me! Do you hear me!
Suddenly I’m ripped from the other world back into mine and I awake gasping for air with plastic tubes down my throat. A male nurse forces me down onto the bed as a female nurse administers a drug to calm me down. I’m told that I’ve been poisoned and that I’ve had an allergic reaction to the drug and I am lucky to be alive. However all I can think about is the experience I’ve just had and whether or not it was real.
Too be continued.
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