What do I Want? [Rumble RP1]
Apr 2, 2020 1:52:09 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Ryan, and 1 more like this
Post by Dylan on Apr 2, 2020 1:52:09 GMT -5
We open on a replay from Sol Fa. The last few minutes of that infamous Texas Deathmatch. The two focal points of the replay are Dylan carving the letters "D.B." into Daisuke Tokugawa's chest, and Dylan hanging Tokugawa from a dock. The shot freeze frames, Daisuke stops swinging and Dylan stands there, bloodied. Triumphant. We fade to black.
???: Do I have everybody's attention now?
We open on Dylan, sitting cross-legged in a dark room. His hair half-dangles over his face, his visible eye closed for a brief moment before it opens. He flips his hair back, stitches and staples gracing his forehead and the side of his face. He smirks briefly, before pain sets in and he grabs the side of his face. He grimaces, before looking off to one side and muttering quietly.
Dylan: Fuck...
He leans off camera and picks up a water bottle (logo censored out because he's not endorsed, unfortunately) and a bottle of painkillers (logo also censored out
). He throws a pill down the hatch and follows it up with some water, before sliding them both back off camera. He sits himself in a more upright position, looking right into the hardcam.
Dylan: Whew! *sigh* Nothing like a little bit of pain, a sharp sting to invigorate me before I get down to business! Alright, as you saw in the previous clip, yes. That was me. I carved my initials into a man's chest, and I hung him out to dry. Literally. I'd say that's a statement well made. Grabbed peoples attention, and put my name in headlines.
He leans in.
Dylan: However, there are still people out there who have no idea who the heck I am! For those of you who are uneducated, don't pay attention to anything outside your own little, COVID-19 free social distanced bubble, or are just downright imbecilic idiots, allow me to have the pleasure of introducing myself.
He clears his throat.
Dylan: My name, is Dylan Black. Some call me The Anomoly, with two o's not two a's. Some have called me a bounty hunter, a sensation, a reaper, to name a few of my lesser-know nicknames. Some even go as far as to call me a choke artist. Perhaps that holds weight. But what you...
Dylan points directly into the hardcam.
Dylan: ...will call me is the Messiah of Mayhem. The Violent Madman. The Artist who Chokes his Victims? Is that a little much? Yeah. Messiah of Mayhem will do just fine. I currently reside in Japan, working for J-ROK. I have a notoriously awful winning streak, except for when I once donned a pretty cool mask. I'm the XHF's resident Iron Man, I lasted almost 5 hours in 2018's Rumble and nobody will take that shit away from me. Oh, and I'm in the 2020 Rumble too.
He claps his hands together.
Dylan: There, now nobody needs to do research on me. Just a Quibi on who I am.
He grins, before grasping the stitches on his face.
Dylan: Why haven't these painkillers kicked in yet?
Dylan pulls out a pocket watch, yes those still exist. It's been only a few minutes? He sighs, and pockets it again.
Dylan: Now, people are already flooding with vignettes and videos, "It's my time to win the Rumble," "Welcome to the Steve Awesome comeback tour," and "Hi, I'm Anthony Caffrey and I'm going to rehash a blog by last years winner in an attempt to one-up the competition."
He rolls his eyes.
Dylan: Sloppy seconds are just that, sloppy. But Caffrey, nice to see you remember me. How've you been? Still hanging on to "I bEaT AnOmOly! DyLaN IsN't As GoOd As AnOmOly!"
He rolls his eyes again, harder and whiter? You see more of the white part of his eyes.
Dylan: For half a second I almost expected a colder greeting. That, did put a smile on my face. Anyway, now that it's April 2nd, we can all stop the jokes. None of you are winning. A more superior wrestler, a technological genius, a stellar high-flyer is going to be walking out of the dome- er, the barge. Swimming off the barge? With the X*Crown. And that man, is absolutely... positively...
He grins.
Dylan: ...Not going to be me.
Dylan feigns a shocked expression, now not feeling the effects of his fight last Saturday. He makes the expression more elaborate; elongated gaping "O" mouth, wide eyes that are semi-rolled back into his head. A slight curl into his upper lip when his face reforms into its normal position.
Dylan: I can hear those of you feigning surprise at home now, what's this you say? Someone, entering the Rumble with no intention to actually win? The hell is this?
He scoffs.
Dylan: Relax. While the X*Crown has value, the key to stardom, yadda yadda, that's not what I'm here for. Look at this.
Dylan reaches into another pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper with words hastily scrawn onto it. No, names. Mistress Discipline. Steve Awesome. Chris Card. One that's heavily crossed out, looks like it might begin with a B?
Dylan: Look at this! 43 unique, different, original names and gimmicks and personalities! 43 people, not counting myself, in the Rumble. And that doesn't even factor the possibility of secret entrants! Who knows what's in store! But while everyone is seeing 40+ people they get to run over for a stupid, shiny... honestly beautiful looking belt... NO, I must not tempt myself! While everyone else sees personal gain and glory, I see bodies. I see people who I can walk up to, and punch them straight in the mouth just because.
He cracks his knuckles on his left hand, and spends a moment oiling his right hand. His robotic appendage twitches and moves around, almost flawlessly like if it were human.
Dylan: I'm not in the Rumble for the title, but hell that's just a nice side piece to get should I be the last person standing. I'm in it because I want to make something of all of you like I did to Daisuke! I want to hurt people! That is my goal, THAT is what I DESIRE! I wish to make people suffer and feel pain, using everything within the limits to my advantage! And trust when I say I will hurt everyone who gets in my way. Not because I want to win, but because I think it's really funny to make you cry out in pain.
Dylan: I've probably reiterated enough how much I don't want to win. But why? Winning, when you're as good as me, is easy. I'm quoting that from Sir Winsalot's unwritten biography. Assuming he lives up to that name. No, because in my career, I've wasted my time attempting to, and occasionally achieving, really dumb goals. FWA Heavyweight Champion? Kinda did that? Tag Champ? Done. X*Crown Champ? Not quite. Beat Caffrey? No chance in hell? Beat Seth Dillenger? That was funny. I aspired for goals that were just out of my own weight class.
He sticks his tongue out, rolls his eyes back, and grabs his own throat.
Dylan: I choked. I kept climbing up, only to fall flat just shy of my highest aspirations. So, why aim to win, to dominate a division and conquer people when I can just... cause pain? Suffocate their hopes away with my newfound favorite weapon, as showcased at Sol Fa. Use my robotic fist to pound them to a pulp. Taking the Blacklight, my signature bat, and smashing their faces in until the meat pile left is bloody, puffy, and oozing goo. Break a few bones, snap some bodies in half.
Dylan shakes his head.
Dylan: Look, all I'm trying to say is I don't care how many people share the ring with me; whether it's one, 10, or all forty-something I will make you pay in pain.
Dylan stands up, pulling himself together. He stretches himself out, a few semi-audible pops heard. He smiles and waves at the camera.
Dylan: You've been warned I'm coming. If you were smart, you all would stay home. Not so I can easily win, but so I don't kill each and every one of you. Good luck, because if you're in the ring with me, you're fucked. Beware Dylan Black. Beware the Messiah of Mayhem.
???: Do I have everybody's attention now?
02-04-20
Undisclosed Location in Japan
A Dark Room
We open on Dylan, sitting cross-legged in a dark room. His hair half-dangles over his face, his visible eye closed for a brief moment before it opens. He flips his hair back, stitches and staples gracing his forehead and the side of his face. He smirks briefly, before pain sets in and he grabs the side of his face. He grimaces, before looking off to one side and muttering quietly.
Dylan: Fuck...
He leans off camera and picks up a water bottle (logo censored out because he's not endorsed, unfortunately) and a bottle of painkillers (logo also censored out
). He throws a pill down the hatch and follows it up with some water, before sliding them both back off camera. He sits himself in a more upright position, looking right into the hardcam.Dylan: Whew! *sigh* Nothing like a little bit of pain, a sharp sting to invigorate me before I get down to business! Alright, as you saw in the previous clip, yes. That was me. I carved my initials into a man's chest, and I hung him out to dry. Literally. I'd say that's a statement well made. Grabbed peoples attention, and put my name in headlines.
He leans in.
Dylan: However, there are still people out there who have no idea who the heck I am! For those of you who are uneducated, don't pay attention to anything outside your own little, COVID-19 free social distanced bubble, or are just downright imbecilic idiots, allow me to have the pleasure of introducing myself.
He clears his throat.
Dylan: My name, is Dylan Black. Some call me The Anomoly, with two o's not two a's. Some have called me a bounty hunter, a sensation, a reaper, to name a few of my lesser-know nicknames. Some even go as far as to call me a choke artist. Perhaps that holds weight. But what you...
Dylan points directly into the hardcam.
Dylan: ...will call me is the Messiah of Mayhem. The Violent Madman. The Artist who Chokes his Victims? Is that a little much? Yeah. Messiah of Mayhem will do just fine. I currently reside in Japan, working for J-ROK. I have a notoriously awful winning streak, except for when I once donned a pretty cool mask. I'm the XHF's resident Iron Man, I lasted almost 5 hours in 2018's Rumble and nobody will take that shit away from me. Oh, and I'm in the 2020 Rumble too.
He claps his hands together.
Dylan: There, now nobody needs to do research on me. Just a Quibi on who I am.
He grins, before grasping the stitches on his face.
Dylan: Why haven't these painkillers kicked in yet?
Dylan pulls out a pocket watch, yes those still exist. It's been only a few minutes? He sighs, and pockets it again.
Dylan: Now, people are already flooding with vignettes and videos, "It's my time to win the Rumble," "Welcome to the Steve Awesome comeback tour," and "Hi, I'm Anthony Caffrey and I'm going to rehash a blog by last years winner in an attempt to one-up the competition."
He rolls his eyes.
Dylan: Sloppy seconds are just that, sloppy. But Caffrey, nice to see you remember me. How've you been? Still hanging on to "I bEaT AnOmOly! DyLaN IsN't As GoOd As AnOmOly!"
He rolls his eyes again, harder and whiter? You see more of the white part of his eyes.
Dylan: For half a second I almost expected a colder greeting. That, did put a smile on my face. Anyway, now that it's April 2nd, we can all stop the jokes. None of you are winning. A more superior wrestler, a technological genius, a stellar high-flyer is going to be walking out of the dome- er, the barge. Swimming off the barge? With the X*Crown. And that man, is absolutely... positively...
He grins.
Dylan: ...Not going to be me.
Dylan feigns a shocked expression, now not feeling the effects of his fight last Saturday. He makes the expression more elaborate; elongated gaping "O" mouth, wide eyes that are semi-rolled back into his head. A slight curl into his upper lip when his face reforms into its normal position.
Dylan: I can hear those of you feigning surprise at home now, what's this you say? Someone, entering the Rumble with no intention to actually win? The hell is this?
He scoffs.
Dylan: Relax. While the X*Crown has value, the key to stardom, yadda yadda, that's not what I'm here for. Look at this.
Dylan reaches into another pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper with words hastily scrawn onto it. No, names. Mistress Discipline. Steve Awesome. Chris Card. One that's heavily crossed out, looks like it might begin with a B?
Dylan: Look at this! 43 unique, different, original names and gimmicks and personalities! 43 people, not counting myself, in the Rumble. And that doesn't even factor the possibility of secret entrants! Who knows what's in store! But while everyone is seeing 40+ people they get to run over for a stupid, shiny... honestly beautiful looking belt... NO, I must not tempt myself! While everyone else sees personal gain and glory, I see bodies. I see people who I can walk up to, and punch them straight in the mouth just because.
He cracks his knuckles on his left hand, and spends a moment oiling his right hand. His robotic appendage twitches and moves around, almost flawlessly like if it were human.
Dylan: I'm not in the Rumble for the title, but hell that's just a nice side piece to get should I be the last person standing. I'm in it because I want to make something of all of you like I did to Daisuke! I want to hurt people! That is my goal, THAT is what I DESIRE! I wish to make people suffer and feel pain, using everything within the limits to my advantage! And trust when I say I will hurt everyone who gets in my way. Not because I want to win, but because I think it's really funny to make you cry out in pain.
Dylan: I've probably reiterated enough how much I don't want to win. But why? Winning, when you're as good as me, is easy. I'm quoting that from Sir Winsalot's unwritten biography. Assuming he lives up to that name. No, because in my career, I've wasted my time attempting to, and occasionally achieving, really dumb goals. FWA Heavyweight Champion? Kinda did that? Tag Champ? Done. X*Crown Champ? Not quite. Beat Caffrey? No chance in hell? Beat Seth Dillenger? That was funny. I aspired for goals that were just out of my own weight class.
He sticks his tongue out, rolls his eyes back, and grabs his own throat.
Dylan: I choked. I kept climbing up, only to fall flat just shy of my highest aspirations. So, why aim to win, to dominate a division and conquer people when I can just... cause pain? Suffocate their hopes away with my newfound favorite weapon, as showcased at Sol Fa. Use my robotic fist to pound them to a pulp. Taking the Blacklight, my signature bat, and smashing their faces in until the meat pile left is bloody, puffy, and oozing goo. Break a few bones, snap some bodies in half.
Dylan shakes his head.
Dylan: Look, all I'm trying to say is I don't care how many people share the ring with me; whether it's one, 10, or all forty-something I will make you pay in pain.
Dylan stands up, pulling himself together. He stretches himself out, a few semi-audible pops heard. He smiles and waves at the camera.
Dylan: You've been warned I'm coming. If you were smart, you all would stay home. Not so I can easily win, but so I don't kill each and every one of you. Good luck, because if you're in the ring with me, you're fucked. Beware Dylan Black. Beware the Messiah of Mayhem.
[Cut to black.]
