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Post by moonchild on Oct 17, 2019 17:53:42 GMT -5
Written by Valora
UOW Firday Night Clash 9 - Valora on the rebound
Valora sat up, then down, up then down. Running through her daily exercise motion as she did sit ups. Hearing the door to her room open, she seamlessly dropped down, then sat up in her normal exercise motion, only this time a knife flew from her hand and slammed into the doorjam inches from Abbigail’s head as she tried to enter, the young protege’s eyes widening as she registered it finally, and then realized where that knife could have landed. Turning she saw Valora sitting there with a handgun leveled at her. Abbigail put her hands up. “Jesus Christ! Do you sleep with weapons?” Valora smirked. “Of course, not.” Abbigail sighed in relief and Valora continued as she walked around in the room. “You should have a bare minimum of 4 weapons on you at all times Never know when you’re going to need to kill someone.” Abbigail nods. “This is a conversation normal people don’t have.” Valora laughed. “Kid, I’ve never been normal. Well my mom convinced me to try once.. I was young and naive and stupid.. Kinda like you. My reward? Two LA cops nearly beat me to death because I wasn’t a whore and wouldn’t give them their daily blow job that they felt entitled to.” Valora stopped her walking and picked up her trademark lead pipe. “This saved me. Message was clear.. Always have a weapon.”
Abbigail nods, considering this. “Soo what happens when you’re not allowed to have a weapon?” Valora smirks. “I learned to use my fists.. My feet, my body itself as a weapon.. You’ve been to the gym.. You know about Hector.. He taught me to box.. Later I learned.. Other techniques…” Abbigail nods. “I...know the gym meant a lot to you.” Valora waves a hand. “It’s fuckin’ gone now! Just like my titles.. My awards.. The the awards Hector won.. The awards the fighters at the gym..” Valora punched the wall. “You know that’s the cruelty of Nuclear weapons.. It doesn’t just fuck your shit up. It vaporizes it. It’s the closest humanity can come to wiping someone away completely… Los Angeles and everyone that was there isn’t just gone.. It’s like they never even fuckin’ existed.”
Abbigail nods, opening her mouth a few times but not sure what to say to that. “You did everything you could, Val..” Valora turns and narrows her eyes at Abbigail. “I...fuckin’ hate this feeling. This.. this right here.. This is the reward for being a hero. You always lose. I’m frequently called arrogant. A gloryhound.. An attention whore, who just wants her 15 minutes.” Valora paused and sighed as she looked down at her clenched fist. “You know how much of a fuckin’ narcissist you have to be to look at millions of people dead and say that it’s okay?! That they died for a cause.. Part of that cause being your fuckin’ legacy as a hero.” Valora turns to face Abbigail. “My best, wasn’t fuckin’ good enough.. And some 6 million people are fuckin’ dead because of it. I don’t get to shrug and say “Opps. my bad.” Abbigail nods. “No.. you don’t. But you saved 4 other cities… put just about anyone else in your position and who knows how much damage is done.” Valora waved her hand dismissively and took the bottle of tequila sitting on the table next to her and took a big drink. “Yeah well.. You’ll just have to forgive me if I’m kinda stuck on the people who are dead.” It was right about here that Abbigail decided a change in subject was needed and she decided to move to work.
Abbigail looked over Valora’s body, clothed in her athletic, work out style gear. “Well we almost had a good plan at the match.. Just bad luck someone got involved. “No chica.. Luck is that some masked fuck decided to get involved in my match before I could throw you a beating for ignoring what I said!” Abbigail opened her mouth but Valora cut her off as she took a couple step forward. “Which fuckin’ part of no teaming did you not fuckin’ understand?!” Abbigail took a risk and put her hand up, holding Valora at arm’s length before responding. “No, you said that I shouldn’t waste my title shot trying to protect your title. You never said not to team up to eliminate the odd man out.” Valora thought about this for a second and took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m beginning to see why most pro fighters don’t train proteges anymore.. Damn kids..” Abbigail crossed her arms across her chest. “I’d make a joke with you as a surrogate mother of mine, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t survive it and I’m having trouble coming up with a joke that’s good enough to justify dying for.”
Valora, in mid drink, pointed to her and as she finished nodded. “That’s the smartest fuckin’ thing you’ve said since you came in here.” Abbigail smirked. “Thanks? Soo.. what is the plan with our guest?” Valora nods. “Heh.. I’m gonna find out who he is. Then I’m going to hunt him down. Then I’m gonna fuckin’.. Cross him off.” Valora says, dragging her thumb across her throat for emphasis. Abbigail’s eyes widened and Valora let out a laugh. “You asked me to train you and you’re still squeamish over the thought of killing someone? You realize that is the job description for… people with my skillset, right? We solve problems. We make them go away.” Abbigail nods. “Yeah.. but all he did was interfere with your match.” Valora shook her head. “No it was personal.. He liked to talk.. And I listened as he attacked. I have an idea who it was. Now as for training you - “ Valora is cut off as the door opens again and Samantha Topher walks in. “Val, there you are.. Allan Andersen has just been named the VP of UOW.” Valora was silent for a few moments before nodding her head. “This actually works out to my advantage.. “
Samantha and Abbigail both turned and looked at Valora, the expressions on their faces making their surprise obvious. Abbigail speaking first. “How so?” Valora smirked. “If he’s working here, there’s a good chance Jeremiah Vastrix fired him from Warhammer. Those two never have seen eye to eye. Also, Andersen owes me.” Valora said as she removed her clothes as she moved to a dufflebag and took out new clothes to put on, Samantha tilting her head a bit. “Owes you? What for?” Valora looks up, the chesire smirk on her face seeming to grow a bit. “He owes me for not killing him in North Korea… and he hates being in debt.” Abbigail nods. “But he hates you too, right?” Valora pauses a moment, thinking about this. “Well, I’m pretty sure I’m not on his christmas card list but then given that he’s the kind of sick fuck he is that might be a good thing. Anyways, Abbs.. the question to ask isn’t if he hates me.” Abbigail looks at Valora blankly and gestures for her to continue and Valora nods. “The question is who does he hate more? Me? Or Jeremiah Vastrix.. And I know from working with him before it is without a shadow of a doubt… Jeremiah Vastrix.” Samantha chimes in here, walking over to Valora. “But that was before you killed Michael Vastrix.” Valora nods. “Yeah and you know what they were arguing about when I snuck up on them? Me. Michael Vastrix wasn’t taking me seriously enough. Allen Andersen was telling his boss not to underestimate me. He may not like me very much at the moment, but he respects my ability. I know how he handles himself in the wrestling business too. He’s going to want me on his side.”
Abbigail thinks about this for a second, looking back and forth from Samantha to Valora and finally speaks. “So… what? Am I hearing this right? The same woman pissed off that my first thought was to try and help her retain her title is now going to run to Allen Andersen and make a deal with the devil to get her belt back?”
Valora narrowed her eyes a bit and walked over to Abbigail. “I’m pissed off that you wasted your first title opportunity on a plan that was never going to work in the first place! God fuckin’ damn it! I told you how rare title shots are..” Both of her companions were quiet after the outburst and Valora looked them over. “Look.. it was a matter of time.. They couldn’t beat me fairly, so the fascists and racists were always going to screw me over. And what better time than a fatal four way hell in a cell match.. that is why I wanted you and Sato to focus on winning the title.. Better to have 3 chances to win the belt than all 3 fighting for 1 that was already a target.” Samantha nodded at this and looked at Valora. “Do you think Huckleberry was in on it?” Valora shook her head. “No, he strikes me as the type who’d be pissed if he knew someone helped him win.. He’s probably just a useful idiot.. A way to placate Mudcock who will be pissed.” Abbigail rolled her eyes. “Pissed? He hates you, Val!” Valora laughed a bit as she finished dressing and making her way over to the table, taking another drink of her tequila and nodding. “Yeah, he does… but he loves the ratings and money I brought him.. So whoever fucked me over has to hope that Huckleberry the wonder rube can replace the viewers he’s going to lose. I don’t think that’s going to happen because the people that Huckleberry would draw in… are already Mox news viewers. So Mudcock just lost a shit ton of ratings, money and now will have a lot of bad press to deal with for what went down in New York.. which means.. There’s every chance that I will be kinder to the person that fucked me over than he will.. I love karma..”
Samantha thinks about this for a second and nods. “Well.. you’re right about the bad press.. Social media has blown up and it’s definitely making news. That’s how I found out about Allen Andersen.. I was going to use your rematch clause.. Then I found out about the new hire and..” Valora nods. “I’ll see Andersen, this match up isn’t an accident.” Abbigail turns and looks at Valora as the latina fighter makes her way to the door. “What do you mean?” Valora pauses mid stride, turning her head back to look at Abbigail and Samantha with a smirk. “He picked this match for a reason. He wants to make Jeremiah Vastrix pay. He makes a match with me that seemingly Vastrix can’t lose. But he’s counting on me to find a way to make a robot tap out.” Valora said before resuming her previous course and heading out the door.
A couple hours later saw her sitting in the office of Allan Anderson. A large smile on his face. “Valora Salinas. Without a title belt. Once again, lesser people have taken from us and forced us to work with each other to get it back.”
Valora nods. “Call me stupid again and it’ll be you I kill, not the asshole next to you.” Allan Anderson laughed a bit and nodded. “I never called you stupid.. I called you short-sighted. You failed in North Korea because you re-act You need to learn to identify the problem and eliminate it before it becomes a problem.” Valora nods. ‘Maybe. Right now, you and I have the same problem.” Anderson smirked. “Jeremiah Vastrix. Tell me.. What ideas do you have so far for dealing with that?” Valora shrugs. “You can’t make a cyborg tap out.. Not in the usual way. I thought of a low grade EMP weapon, but I’m told it might kill him.” Anderson nodded. “It would, is that a problem?” Valora nods. “Yeah, Vastrix didn’t do anything to me. I got no problem with him.” Anderson rolls his eyes. “I like you better without the useless ethical restraints. You continue to deny your nature.” Valora rolls her eyes. “Then I thought electricity like the last time he and I fought.” Anderson thought for a moment. “Might work, but we did beef up his defenses against overload after you electrocuted him the last time,. Anything else?” Valora shrugs. “Hacking.. But I’m told by my computer girl that that would require getting up close and personal.”
Anderson nods and slides forward a small IPAD looking device with schematics of Vastrix’s cybernetics on it. “Give that to your ‘computer girl’ Samantha Topher was top of her class at MIT. I’m sure she’ll be able to glean the needed information from it and come up with something to.. Level the playing field between the two of you, so to speak.” Valora takes the pad and looks at it, memorizing the details of it as she looks at Anderson. “And for this?” Anderson smirks. “ “For now… the chance to savor the public humiliation of Jeremiah Vastrix will be enough. I want him to know he is vulnerable. The Romans had a practice… when a conquering general returned home and had his grand triumph, the victorious spectacle and parade through the city-”
Valora cut in. “They put a slave with the general whose sole job was to repeat the phrase ‘Remember thou art mortal.’ or something to that effect.. Everyone who quotes that tradition has their own phrase.” Anderson nodded. “Exactly. I want to remind Jeremiah that he is mortal and that I can end him. If we continue our partnership… we’ll talk terms later as things develop.”
Valora hesitates a moment and turns, heading out with the Pad. Anderson smirks as he watches her go.
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Post by moonchild on Oct 17, 2019 18:03:19 GMT -5
Written by Vastrix
Tower of Faith
On a helicopter in the African sky, “God’s Gift” Jeremiah Vastrix looks across the land below him to the dark horizon. After he had officially changed the outlook of the Warhammer Corporation away from the arms trade, this has been a meeting that he has been dreading.
Desolation looms ahead, the dark smog covering the large industrial city where most of the weapons of the entire Warhammer Corporation are made, both for sales and for in house use by Warhammer’s security company (better known as Warhammer’s private militia, the Shocktroopers).
Desolation poisons the ground, the water, and the air. It literally will kill anyone who spends more than a few minutes breathing the unfiltered air. It won’t be instantaneous, but will happen over time as cancers develop in the body after exposure. It’s that deadly.
In the distance, Jeremiah can make out the visage of the Tower of Faith. A skyscraper that towers over Desolation, rising above the heavy poisons to the crisp clean air above. This is where the monstrous Cardinal Mariano Urizar of Warhammer Africa holds sway over his dominion where his workers die in order to save their souls.
Jeremiah briefly considers his upcoming match against Valora Salinas to defend his Submission championship. It’s obviously a ploy by Anderson. If anyone can figure out how to overcome Jeremiah’s cybernetics, it will be Valora.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: Are you certain that we have to do this, mother? I do have a wrestling match to get ready for. It’s a pretty major match, you know.
Monica Vastrix, who sits in a seat opposite of Jeremiah, nods.
MONICA VASTRIX: I understand. You want to get revenge against the woman who killed your father. He did get what was coming to him in the end, you know. I wouldn’t blame Valora too much.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: I don’t blame Valora at all. I just want to keep my title.
MONICA VASTRIX: Oh, that. It’s not something that’s really important like this meeting. The Cardinal needs to know that Desolation will no longer be needed.
Jeremiah sighs, looking out through the window as they begin to fly over the poisonous clouds of Desolation below.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: They are of the same importance to me, mother. This meeting though, I can do without. He’ll no doubt threaten my life a few times within a few minutes of the meeting like he did at the board meeting. He doesn’t believe in our new direction.
MONICA VASTRIX: There was only a couple of board members that did agree, but only because they’re bottom line wasn’t almost exclusively weapons like Warhammer Africa. We will have to help the Cardinal brainstorm a new direction for his company. It won’t be easy, but-
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: Nothing great is ever easy. Just like my match with Valora. It’ll be a great match, but it won’t be easy. I have no doubt that Anderson will help her in some way. I should have had him killed…
Monica reaches across the place her hand on Jeremiah’s with a sad smile.
MONICA VASTRIX: But you are not your father. If you were, it would just have been easier to kill the Cardinal as well as Anderson to remove all obstacles to your plan to transform Warhammer. You are a good man, my son.
Jeremiah nods, looking over as the Tower of Faith looms near. There is a helicopter landing pad jutting out of the side of the building. A place for those meeting with the Cardinal without having to go through the disaster that is Desolation.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: I have a feeling that I’m going to prefer having to face dozen Valoras rather than this meeting.
MONICA VASTRIX: You know, I think you might be right on this one.
Jeremiah sighs as the helicopter moves in to land.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: Let’s get this over with and then I need to train to face Valora.
A Shockrooper opens the door to the helicopter to allow Jeremiah and Monica out. Jeremiah smiles at the faceless white armored soldier that has a Captain insignia on his shoulder.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: Thank you, Captain. Lead the way!
The Shocktrooper Captain leads them only a few feet before they stop in front of the Cardinal himself. It is strange to see someone so highly placed within the Warhammer Corporation without his honor guard at his side, but it could be that the Cardinal feels safe within his Tower of Faith.
Cardinal Mariano Urizar greets Jeremiah with a handshake and Monica with a warm embrace. He’s a large man, a little over seven feet tall and nearly that in the shoulders. He cuts an imposing figure, threatening even when wearing a smile.
MARIANO URIZAR: Welcome to my humble abode, Jeremiah and Monica. Monica, I’m so sorry for the loss of your husband. He was a great man.
Monica Vastrix smiles and nods in appreciation for the kind words.
MONICA VASTRIX: He was paranoid and delusional at the end, but he had done great things.
The Cardinal smiles a toothy grin, a predatory grin.
MARIANO URIZAR: He did terrible things, but they were great.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: Of that we can agree. Shall we proceed to the meeting room?
MARIANO URIZAR: Of course. Follow me.
The two follow the Cardinal down a hallway and into a massive meeting room. A long table of dark oak and nearly twenty chairs around the table. Men in Warhammer Service uniforms come take their drink orders as they sit down at one end of the table, The Cardinal sits at the head of the table in a larger chair built for his bulk.
MARIANO URIZAR: I would imagine you have come here to tell me what Desolation will make instead of weapons? What will they make?
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: I think that you should make toys for kids. I’m picturing an entire line of different Shocktroopers, Security Specialists, and UOW wrestlers both past and present.
The Cardinal sits in silence for a moment before he lets out a booming laugh. He laughs for a few minutes before he notices that Monica and Jeremiah haven’t started laughing with him.
MARIANO URIZAR: Oh, you’re serious. I suppose an entire franchise could be built around the toys. Action figures, vehicles, playsets, and so on. Still. You think that toys could replace a multi trillion dollar industry? I think maybe we could make millions, but not trillions.
Jeremiah takes a sip of his drink as it’s handed to him with a smile.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: Toys often sell better when they’re paired with movies and television shows. It would be the ultimate in public relations to make a whole franchise of movies to make Warhammer out to be the heroes in any story! You know how much the comic book industry makes in their movies alone. Much less the comics, toys, and so on. Heck, you could build a Warhammer World, or something similar in name, as a theme park to rival Disney World! Trillions of dollars there when you combine them all and it spreads the investments around so that if one aspect doesn’t do so well, the rest will hang on.
The Cardinal breathes in deeply and lets out the sigh slowly.
MARIANO URIZAR: I want the rights to build in other territories with only sharing five percent of the profits with the other heads. I also want help if I’m going to shut down and start cleaning up Desolation.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: Done and done. All of the other holdings of the Warhammer Corporation have benefited from Desolation and should partake in helping shut it down. What will you do with all of the workers who are likely sick and dying?
MARIANO URIZAR: They will be at the forefront of the cleaning process and once we are finished? Well, the less you know the better.
Jeremiah finishes his drink, motioning to the Warhammer service person to fetch him another one from the bar.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: So, you’ll build the most advanced cancer center in the entire world and hospice care unit for them to spend the rest of their days in comfort? That’s fantastic! And will make money from the treatment of cancer in the years to come!
The room seems to go dark as the Cardinal glares at Jeremiah, hate burning in his eyes. He relaxes and the room goes back to normal.
MARIANO URIZAR: I was intending to keep this as a secret surprise for the workers,but you guessed it. Luxury all the way for those who survive the cleaning efforts.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: They won’t hear a peep from me. It shall remain a surprise.
MARIANO URIZAR: Thank you. Desolation shall become a memorial to honor those who died in saving their souls with the holy labor that they did. Now, if you will excuse me. I need to spring the new plans on some of my executives to see what kind of plan they can make for me and where the new and clean industrial complex will be built. You know the way back to your helicopter?
MONICA VASTRIX: We do. Thank you for your hospitality, your eminence.
The Cardinal stands up and nods to Monica with a smile for his ranking within the Catholic Church being recognized. He makes his way out of the room and Monica lets out a sigh like she was holding her breath for minutes.
MONICA VASTRIX: A movie, comic, and toy franchise from the ground up? Cancer center? I thought he was going to strangle you with his bare hands!
Jeremiah just smirks, but it fades quickly.
JEREMIAH VASTRIX: And unlike when I face Valora in the ring, there wouldn’t have been a whole lot I could have done to stop him. I mean, we do need a new Hollywood. Might as well make it in South Africa where the Cardinal has his usual business office at. Let’s get out of this place, mother. I need too train for Valora.
Monica rises from her seat, nodding her head in agreement.
MONICA VASTRIX: While I don’t agree with the training still, I do want out of here. The Tower of Faith is just...creepy.
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Post by moonchild on Oct 17, 2019 18:05:24 GMT -5
Written by MoonChild
Dark Sato Rising - Ch. 1
Takuma Sato is a young Martial Arts savant and considered one of the mega stars of the M.O.X network owned Ultimate Wrestling promotion in the United States of America. When he wields his chakra powered Heart Punch, he is the most dangerous man in wrestling…
Last Time in the life of Takuma Sato.
After surviving the deadly Death Sport Tournament in North Korea and returning home from the disaster that was the North Korean Crisis, Sato discovered that his mother had been evicted from their home and had traveled back to Japan leaving no details of how to reach her or where she would be staying. Angry with losing the home that he’d worked so hard to keep for his mother, Sato vowed vengeance upon the company that seduced his father into a bad predatory loan. Sato now finds himself speeding through the streets of Detroit on his motorcycle with bad thoughts coursing through his mind, considering actions that would put his new found freedom and his Presidential Pardon at risk…
Downtown Detroit, Michigan.
Speedy Loans Headquarters Parking Lot.
Sato sat on his new black and green Kawasaki Ninja 300 he’d purchased earlier in the week from a used dealership in Detroit. He was parked outside of the Speedy Loans Company front office that had repossessed his mother’s home while he’d been imprisoned and trapped in North Korea. The Asian American martial artist switched off the motor on his bike and then took off his helmet revealing a disheveled looking Takuma. His hair was messy and unkempt and his face and chin were covered in stubble from not having shaved in what looked to be over a week. As he dismounted his bike he adjusted his black leather jacket that rested over his white t-shirt.
“I woke up feeling as cold and as dark as the early winter day I found myself in. My thoughts as grey as the sky and my emotions as erratic as the frigid morning wind gusting toward my face. As I moved toward the main office of the company that caused my family so much hardship over the past few years I could feel my heart beating ever so faster. I’m usually a reserved person capable of controlling my sentiments with almost a monk like focus, but the tragedies and setbacks of the past month had sent me over the edge. There was a fire raging inside me and losing that hell in the cell match to Huckleberry was the straw that had broken the proverbial camel’s back.”
Takuma shoved open the Speedy Loans office door with extreme prejudice which instantly took hold of the secretary’s attention as he marched into the building. The secretary was a gorgeous woman with platinum blonde hair and was sporting expensive diamond earrings on her lobes. She had strapped herself into a skin tight tan pencil skirt and was wearing a white women’s dress shirt with the top three buttons undone for added dramatic sexual appeal. She immediately stood up to confront the angry Sato headed straight for their bosses’ office.
Secretary: Excuse me! Sir do you have an appointment? SIR! You can’t go in there right now! Mr. Filbert is in an extremely important meeting presently!
Sato ignored the woman and forcibly kicked open the President and CEO of Speedy Loans, Stan Filbert’s office door. As Sato entered the office he caught Mr. Filbert receiving a blow job from under his desk from a young woman under his employment. The shock of the forced entry caused her to hit her head on his desk and at the same time injure the Mortgage Lending Mogul’s privates with her bottom front teeth. Mr. Filbert stood up angry struggling to zip up his pants clearly enraged by the brass entry of the martial artist.
Mr. Filbert: What the Devil is the meaning of this!
Sato instantly went into a berserker rage after baring witness to the corruption taking place. He grabbed hold of Stan Filberts desk and flipped it aside with only his brute strength. The desk hit the window causing it to spider as the woman under the desk shrieked in panic and sprinted out of the office. Filbert, frozen in shock stood there as Sato came at him and slammed him up against his office wall before forcing his forearm up against his throat pinning him to it.
Sato: You corrupt sack of shit! You kno why I’m here! You’ve only ruined my life in every way possibly imaginable!
Mr. Filbert: Ahh…haackyah… Mr. Sato…
Sato: That’s right!
Mr. Filbert: I’m sorry… {Choke} … about your father’s suicide… {Cough} … but I am not responsible…
Sato: Shut your fucking lying mouth! You knew my father’s business plan would fail! You knew that the great recession would affect this city more than the rest of the country! Yet you lured him into taking out that predatory loan! You wanted the property! TELL THE TRUTH!
Mr. Filbert: Son… {Choke}… I’m the largest land owner in Detroit… {Cough}… your parent’s tiny property means nothing to me!
Sato: LIAR!
Sato kneaded Filbert in the crotch forcing him to let out a nasty and slightly high pitched groan. Stan Filbert’s eyes welled up with tears from the absorbed shot as he tried to keep his dignity while the young lion emasculated him in front of his entire staff who had now huddled around the entrance to his room and were watching the insanity unfold in front of them.
Sato: I know you’ve been buying up all the properties on that street! You’re building something and you wanted us out of there! You greedy little rat! Admit it! NOW!
Mr. Filbert: Fine! Yes I’m building something, but it’s none of your {choke}… business damn it! Your father was an adult! No one forced him into signing that loan!
Sato: You’re a crook Filbert! I know all about your mafia like tactics and your willingness to manipulate the city of Detroit into spending their citizen’s tax dollars in your benefit! You prey on the weak and take money from the good people of Detroit for your own personal gain! Apparently your six billion dollar net worth isn’t enough for you!
Mr. Filbert: {Cough}… Once… again Mr. Sato… PROVE IT!
Sato cocked back his right fist and began to focus his chakra gearing up for a massive heart punch. Police sirens now could be heard in the background due to Filberts secretary having dialed 911. Filbert knowing full well the power of Sato’s heart punch had begun to wet himself and the piss stain trailed all the way down the right side of his trousers to his right boot.
“At that moment I knew I’d made a mistake… I’d done what I had criticized Valora so heavily for in the past. I’d given into my emotions and I’d let them take control of me. I’d left my civility, my conscious, and need to abide the law to the way side… and it had felt amazing! It took everything that I had inside of me not to stop that fat fucking parasite Stan Filbert’s heart right there and then like I’d done to the War Hammer mercenary Ishan Golden Fire in North Korea. The life and death situation of the North Korean crisis had change me… I could see that now…”
Sato: I could end you right here right now! Do the whole city and the entire Midwest of this country for that matter a favor!
Mr. Filbert: Do it you punk! See {Cough} if it makes a difference! Soon as I’m gone there will be someone… {Choke}… else to take my place! You can’t win! Your kind never does!
The sound of squad cars screeching to a halt in the front parking lot grabbed Sato’s attention as the officers exited their vehicles and barreled into the office building with their weapons drawn. The office workers scattered out of the way as the Police darted into the room and pointed their weapons at Takuma. Sato released his grip on Filbert’s throat and put his hands up in the air.
Mr. Filbert: I knew you wouldn’t do it! You’re weak just like your father!
The officers quickly grabbed Sato and handcuffed his arms around his back and began to march him out of the office to their squad car. Stan Filbert used the opportunity to dig at Takuma trying to spark an emotional response that would cause the officers to hurt him.
**Mr. Filbert: You’re a moron kid! You’re an American hero! Just think of the capitalistic opportunities there were for you! We could have worked out an agreement where you did advertising for my company nationwide! I could have made your life and your mother’s life for that matter better than you could have ever dreamed of! Now I’m going to burry you! I’m going take you for everything your worth and then make sure you rot in prison for the next year!
Sato was silent as he absorbed Filberts last words to him. He was then placed in the back of DPD squad car and taken downtown for booking. After having a judge set the price of his bail for his assault and battery charge at $5’000, Takuma was placed in a holding cell. Not wanting to bother his girlfriend or manager he waved his phone call and sat in the cell overnight meditating on what he had done and what had transpired. Once again society had rejected his actions and he found himself sitting in a prison cell soul searching for what to do next. The next morning Sato was awoken by an officer opening his cell door.
Police Officer: You’re free to go kid. You made bail.
Takuma Sato: Bail? I didn’t even call anyone.
Police Officer: Some asshole named Ares Metaxas is out front waiting for you. He paid your bail.
“Once again the Rebels of Society had come to my rescue. I’d agreed to join them when I was targeted in prison by a Nazi hate group gunning to kill me. They’d attempted to recruit me for a few months before that, but I’d walked away from them not wanting to get involved. Now their leader Ares was here in Detroit and paying for my release. It seemed I was about to find out what joining Rebels meant for my future.”
Once Sato had received his things back he exited the police department to find Arex Metaxas leaned up against a black sedan with tinted windows smoking a hand rolled cigarette. Ares was dressed in an old red leather jacket and a black dress shirt that had seen better days. His collar was popped and it was clear he hadn’t put very much effort into his appearance. He had a full beard, but is his head looked like it had been buzzed by himself this morning.
Ares Metaxas: Well look who it is! The solo white knight fighting the corruption of America all on his own! Hahahaha!
As Takuma walked toward him, Ares finished laughing and smiled at him. It was clear he found the whole thing that had transpired the day before extremely amusing. Ares then opened the passenger side door for Takuma.
Ares Metaxas: Get in. We got a lot to talk about.
Sato didn’t hesitate and got into the black sedan as requested. Ares slammed the door shut and then made his way over to the driver side door and got into the car. Metaxas fired up the motor and then shifted into drive before pulling out into traffic. Sato sat in the car quietly waiting for Ares to speak first, not knowing exactly what to say to the leader of the R.O.S.
Ares Metaxas: I think by now you’ve realized how corrupt this country and the world for that matter has become?
Sato nodded as Ares picked up speed and started weaving in and out of traffic in an aggressive manner. Ares looked to be in his mid-thirties and had tattoos running from wrists all the way up his arms to his shoulders. His fingers nails were stained from nicotine and his eyes were tired and bloodshot from lack of sleep.
Ares Metaxas: We’ve got a White Nationalist President in bed with Russians and that corrupt fuck Putin! Fat disgusting billionaires like that asshole Stan Filbert you roughed up yesterday practically {No Means No} the poor and using greedy politicians to do it. All the while the rest of us suffer and squabble among each other fighting just like they want us to. They purposely divide us! Make us hate one another so they can manipulate us and keep us good consumer worker slaves! It has to end Sato! I has to end! There is a reckoning coming… a revolution… and you’re about to play a pivotal role in it my friend…
To be continued…
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Post by moonchild on Oct 17, 2019 18:07:18 GMT -5
Written by CreativeTruth
Rebels, Yankees, and Dixies, Oh My!
What you are about to witness is really, really bad writing. It's crass, rank, inappropriately unapologetic satire. This post represents my roleplay for Ultimate Wrestling. This is fictional writing for a fantasy pro wrestling organization. Enjoy, or not!
In Times Square New York City, a massive protest has been forming. Many diverse groups have organized themselves in cooperation together against an organization full of corruption, racism, violence, and hate speech. That organization they came out to protest is called Ultimate Wrestling; also known as UOW.
A balloon the size of a small trailer is floating above the crowd, being held down by a temporary stage area for speakers to rile up the crowd of protesters with a megaphone to repetitive songs that start with "Hey Hey, Ho Ho". Mimicking the pouty lips and bald head of President Rupert Mudcock, the giant balloon above has an undeniable porcine resemblance: hooves for hands and feet. The morbidly obese ferry balloon wears a business jacket and a sign on the back side under the squiggly tail, reading "INSERT MONEY HERE" over a suggestive coin slot.
A taxi pulls up to the curb of Times Square, and a slender young blonde with perfect teeth and hair emerges clacking across the pavement on a pair of pink four inch heels. Rose Johnston, Ring Announcer and spokesperson for UOW approaches the stage while dodging glares from stubble-faced, bra-less cows.
News media crews from the national television stations suddenly surround her, with none other than Dill La'Roasta, lead journalist from MNN Mainstream News Network shoving a mic in her way.
Dill La'Roasta: Rose, if I might, on behalf of the majority of the concerned citizens of America, I have a question for you. There is strong evidence that accusations that President Mudcock has been embezzling Russian money to help fund the McStrump campaign are mostly likely, in fact undeniably true. The death of Dwight Couch has been linked to a major international human rights violation, against regulations agreed upon by the UN of which the United States is bound by international law to adhere to. Dwight Couch was reportedly forced under threat of death to compete in a Death Tournament in North Korea, a country travel-banned, yet orchestrated covertly by Not-My-President McStrump. All of this was contracted initially by UOW President Mudcock, for which he profited greatly. Southern California and Western Washington were bombed by Kim Jung-Un's nuclear missiles due to UOW's interference with North Korea which has been on the brink of causing a world war for decades. Several---
Agitated by the lengthy speech, the former Pageant Queen, tries her best to be assertive and not appear too passive aggressive in front of the live cameras.
Rose Johnston: What exactly is your question Dill?
Dill La'Roasta: How can you allow employees of your company such as Kronin Reinhardt and Huckleberry to go about impersonating clearly racist personalities? Kronin is a German Facist, representing the most repulsive aspects of Macho Toxic Masculine European White culture, and Huckleberry is making a mockery of minorities, women, and immigrants by portraying the most disgusting aspects of uneducated, inbred, racist, nationalist white males. How do you explain allowing this slob to reign as your franchise champion, and the face of your company?
Rose Johnston: The views of the athletes on our roster do not represent--
Dill La'Roasta: Athletes?! You call these showboats athletes?! What are you going to say next? Wrestling isn't fake?
As Rose raises her voice to interject, they begin to argue over who is interrupting who, and who is being more rude and insulting to women. Insults begin to be tossed back and forth, and soon the protesters start to swell around them hurling profanity and threatening violence against Rose.
At this same moment, a vehicle zooms over the curb, nearly slamming into a herd of Kim Kardashian apparel clad sheep. The balking protesters slap the hood of the orange Dodge Charger, famously known as General Lee from the Dukes of Hazard. The news crew loses interest in the previous argument, and now zooms in on the driver behind the Union Jack emblazoned muscle car who nearly mowed down half a dozen pedestrians. He honks the horn, which plays the first 12 notes to the Confederate song Dixie, and aims a shotgun at the over-sized balloon embarrassingly mocking President Mudcock.
dukes-of-hazzard-1.jpg POP!
The wilted balloon cascades down to the earth.
The crowd becomes hostile.
Kicking out his driver's side door, Huckleberry jumps out onto his shiny new cowboy boots. He attempts a ridiculously aimed high boot kick, which fails miserably as his tight jeans contract along his knee and around his hips. In a much more practiced motion, he grabs the back of his belt-less jeans to only partially conceal the frightfully growing plumbers crack. A goblin green haired witch swats a black claw at Huckleberry's face, but he jumps back and retaliates with a wild swing of his heavy golden belt. The wicked witch back-flips with inhuman speed and grace, floating into a handspring on an Ogre's back who helps her magically land defensively ten people deeper away.
Dill La'Roasta squirms his way through attempting to calm the situation down enough to further humiliate the UOW with some questions aimed at the champion. Rose Johnston slips in behind Huckleberry, and holds him back from further violence. She whispers in his ear.
Rose Johnston: Careful Huck. If we screw this up, our whole company could go belly up. Show them why you're the champ. Make them love you, not hate you.
Huckleberry: Alright, alright. Uncle Huck didn't come here for a fight. I juss heard ya on the radio, and thought ya be needin' some help s'all.
The Huckster turns around to show the cameras his cutt-off t-shirt that reads as follows...
For Walter Reagan! 💖 Your Veterans! Lived. Died. Served Our Country Bravely! Dill La'Roasta: Mr. Huckleberry--
Huckleberry: Juss call me Huck. Huck's fine. I ain't no Mister.
Dill La'Roasta: Very enlightening for you refer to yourself in a more gender neutral formal manner, and I commend you for that, but I wanted to ask you about your past match, as well as your upcoming match. In your past match you faced Abbigail Dresden, Valora Salinas, and Takuma Sato in a four way wrestling match for the championship in which you clearly cheated to win. And in your upcoming tag match--
Huckleberry: No such thing as cheatin' in a Hell in the Cell match. Can't help it if a person's head happens to hit a monkey wrench. Accidents happen every day, know what I mean?
Dill La'Roasta: That sounds like a threat. Are you threatening me?
Huckleberry: Hell no! If I was threatening ya, I'd say, "Step off or I'll shine ya up so bad with an Indian Burn, you'll be crying Oh Shenandoah tonight on the jon all night long."
Dill La'Roasta: Aren't you concerned that fighting people who identify as women in a wrestling match might make you a poster child for toxic masculinity, white male privilege, and white nationalist supremicism? You are driving the General Lee for Christ's sake! Are you making a mockery of African American slavery.
Huckleberry: Yeah, so what? The South was going to free the slaves until the Northern War of Aggression stopped 'em from doin' it.
Dill La'Roasta: No, I think you got it backwards. The North freed the slaves, not the South.
Huckleberry: And Abe Lincoln was a Democrap, right? Look, if you want to find the sickle and hammer and swastika tattoos on me, you won't find any. Bald Eagles and Stars and Stripes, that's all I got. Valora Salinas on the other hand, I'm not so sure. I'm sick and tired of her walking around like she's the best thing that ever walked around without a pair of massive meatballs hanging between her legs. Dem Witchy Doctors can help'r fill the sadness void between her legs nowadays if'n she wants. They'll take her money, and somehow it's all legal. When I go down to the motel with a hired girl to fill her void, we get hauled into the station to spend a night behind bars, and I don't mean the kind that offer free drinks. Call that fair?
Facing the camera, the redneck rebel resorts to finger pointing. Three stooges behind him faint, triggered half to death.
Huckleberry: Funny that you mentioned cheating... let's talk about all the cheap shots those women nailed me with. I ought to file sexual harassment charges against both Valora Salinas and Abbigail Dresden for nailing me in the nuts so many times. And then I ought'ta take 'em to one of those high'r courts, and charge 'em with massive genocide against all the unborn children I could'v impregnated all my second cousins with. How am I supposed to check myself for testicular cancer when touchin' my luvnuts makes me too queezy to eat a Taco Bell burrito?
Dill La'Roasta: You are nothing more than a masturbating, disgusting pervert! I feel sorry that the rightful champion has to stoop so low to face you in a pointless tag-team match, only to be sexually molested by you and humiliated on national television. Your entire TV network should be pulled off the air, and you should be locked in jail permanently for the disgusting fraudster that you are!
A green bus with rainbows and weed decals on it pulls in alongside General Lee. The driver waves to Rose Johnston with a twisted twinkle in her eye. It's none other than her rival, M.O.X Sports reporter Holly Hudson. The folding door of the bus opens, and a truckload of dozens of heavyweight clowns funnel out impossibly from the narrow opening.
Huckleberry: WUT-IN-TAR-NAY-SHUN! This ain't the Marvel Universe Comic Con. Why'r all these mutants... oh... uh-oh!
The bus driver rolls down her window to taunt her rival from above.
Holly Hudson: Hope you don't mind Rose. I came to crash your party. Meet the refugees from the nuclear fallout zone of Los Angeles. Some of them weren't to happy when they found out their home-town hero, Valora Salinas was defeated by an untrained, inbred, white male nationalist. They're here to help set the record straight, and get their revenge.
A kid standing outside the bus with goggly eyes and a loose limp leg he is dragging pauses to drool. It puddles the pavement with an ongoing stream.
Huckleberry: They got some kind of a zombie infestation in LA, or somethin'?
Rose Johnston: Yes they do, but I don't think he's from the bus. Glandular problem.
One of the brutes from the bus, a purple-haired-people-eater tears a trash bin free of the concrete and rushes to ram Huckleberry in the gut. The runty hillbilly does a back-somersault, and monkey-flips the behemoth onto a pile of pubescent tweens behind him. The can flops over onto Dill La'Roasta, encasing him in a heap of Starbucks paper straws.
Following mutant one, a rock-chested giant man in a dress stomps out and grabs hold of Huckleberry's ankle. With a one-handed overhead swing, the thing slams Huckleberry into the pavement, and uses the bounce to throw him into a reverse overhead swing in the pavement on the other side. A third time, the she/he-hulk swings him up into the air, and a whole section of the crowd backs away for the incoming aftermath.
Huckleberry: Aiyeeeeeee!
Bleeding, bruised, and broken in all the wrong places, Huckleberry flies up into the air again, but this time Huckleberry flexes his ribs and positions his arms for an elbow drop. Somehow he manages to throw the momentum of the swing so that he lands a massively super-charged elbow drop onto the unsuspecting devil witch who tried to claw his eyes out earlier. Her striped socks curl back over her feet as if a house dropped on her.
The remaining X-gene mutants surround Huckleberry in a closing circle. Many of them touting dangerous weapons such as mace, needles, medical grade scalpels, genetically-modified gluten snack cakes, and eggs from hens that were not raised free-range.
Huckleberry: Mighty familiar. Feels like wur'n North Korea all over 'gain.
Huck reaches through the door of his car and grabs the radio mouthpiece to make a final distress call.
Huckleberry: Iron Fist, calling Iron Fist... mayday mayday! This is Barry White requesting back-up, on the double. I repeat! Barry White requesting backup at Times Square. If I don't make it out alive, tell my kids my ex-wife took everything in the divorce. Truth is I spent everything on my car, beer, and smokes. Lord forgive me! You can write that on my tombstone. You got all that? Over and out!
A lanky armed orangutan bearhugs Huckleberry, suffocating him between a pair of gravity burdened breasts.
Using what he learned in his last fight against Sato, he shakes his forearms to tone his fingers. However, instead of going for a debilitating nerve pinch, he plucks the armpit hairs out from underneath the beast, forcing it to release its grip in an instinctual shriek of pain. Huckleberry rolls around on the sidewalk in a fetal position with hands covering his ears as the shrieks become louder.
Sirens blare, and riot police now arrive on the scene spraying fumes of teargas into the crowd. Huckleberry sucks his thumb and rocks back and forth as four riot officers commence to beat him with bobbi clubs and kick him with steel toed boots.
Huckleberry: Momma! Make the nightmare end!
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