Chapter Two: Return to the Game. Part Two.
May 20, 2021 16:25:19 GMT -5
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Post by Deleted on May 20, 2021 16:25:19 GMT -5
From his rooftop vegetable garden overlooking Bankhead, he watched through an antique collapsing brass spyglass.
After all, there was technically nothing in his agreement with Alyssa that said he wouldn’t go back to Atlanta periodically. He just wouldn’t get directly involved. He’d continue to wrestle for Northern Pro Wrestling as promised. Everyone would be happy, and alive. That last part was especially important.
After all, Bankhead needed him, if only in presence. Perhaps he would pop up every so often just to remind the people he was out there. That he was watching.
To remind any would be criminals that there were indeed consequences to their actions. He’d done something positive, he kept telling himself that. But, on the other hand, Alyssa needed him too.
Caught up within this crazy world because of him, he never should have fallen for her. Love was a luxury he simply couldn’t afford.
Now, because of his selfishness, she was in debt to them and they’d made it obvious that her role would be that of his shadow. She was in the crowd the night he won the NPW Openweight Championship, and again when he defeated Jonnie Valentine. Now, with his first defense of his new crown looming on the horizon much like the setting sun, he almost expected to see his old lover.
Then he saw it. Past the fires of the dumpster, as the flames danced upon the breeze, the blazing orange of the fire gleamed as they caught the width of the dagger’s blade. Taking the setting sun’s hue, the blade seemed poised to burst into flame at any moment.
As he attempted to examine it, a few things were immediately apparent. It was simple in appearance, expertly crafted, perfectly balanced and well forged. Yes, he knew this weapon well. It was one of ‘theirs’
She had been here. Esmeralda Von Krauss. A more recent signing to NPW than even himself. No doubt, after polluting and poisoning the last promotion unfortunate enough to have acquired her ‘services’.
He refused to believe that her sudden appearance as an active competitor was not somehow linked to his own re-emergence. After what that succubus took from him, he’d never stop hating her.
The systematic way she orchestrated the individual sexual assaults of both him and his former fiancé was vile beyond what even he thought that witch capable of. He wasn’t sure he could mentally handle another such occurrence.
Truth be told, the Bankhead Boogeyman existed, at least in part, because of the unhealed trauma from those nights. She took away his right to choice, then proved he couldn’t always save those he loved. Those lesson, though hard learned, changed him.
He was older now, angry…but oddly focused. He knew this Kuma would give him a fight. Anyone bold enough to name themselves after a grizzly bear had better bring the ferocity. He just hoped Esmeralda kept her distance, at least until the match was over. Though, one day he’d need to face his devil in a red dress.
She’d made a rare mistake in leaving it behind, he’d need to collect it to be sure.
He’d know for sure the moment he laid hand to pommel, it was a weapon equally adept in close quarters or, if needed, thrown. It was the weapon of a professional. A high quality tool, but nothing more. It could mean only one thing though, without a doubt…‘they’ were here.
Once a judge himself, he was more than familiar with their ways.
The Justices trained you, they broke you, remade you into a weapon. In return, you gained a life debt. Your life was theirs.
There was one way out. One way to return to your life. Trade, the souls of the wicked, for your own.
‘One hundred to one’ was the motto of the judge, technically the judge only gathered the evidence and relayed the verdict. The Justices did the actual rendering of the verdict. But more than that, the Judge also played the role of executioner.
Not many made it alive. One hundred sentences carried out, the rumour was that it was actually impossible, but the Justices allowed someone to accomplish it once per generation just to keep the morale of the judges healthy.
The tales were long and varied of judges who had defied the odds and made it out. Back to civilian or ‘civi’ life. He himself had been one such tale. His path had been noted for being particularly short and exceptionally brutal. Now they had finally found their loophole, their loose string that, when pulled…brought him back under their control…albeit temporarily.
He was wondering how it all related. His stint as The Bankhead Boogeyman, returning to the ring, Alyssa, NPW, Gus, the Openweight Championship Tournament. Was it all related? Or had years or living just outside the reach of an organization like ‘Justice’ finally dissolve his kind into paranoia?
The scuff of a shoe perked his ears, “How long did it take them to find me?” He asked knowing it was likely hours.
“Not long.” Came her reply. Her voice was as soft as the passing wind.
Turning his head, he could see she was plainly dressed. Jeans and a simple blue V neck t-shirt to take advantage of the late spring warmth. She still looked great to him, a welcome distraction from whatever ‘Justice’ was up to.
“Be careful Alyssa, they’re grooming you…” Before anything else could potentially flow from his mouth she jumped upon his words.
“For what?” She asked, again her voice little more than a whisper…
He waited, unsure if he should even bother with his warning. “To be my handler.”
After all, there was technically nothing in his agreement with Alyssa that said he wouldn’t go back to Atlanta periodically. He just wouldn’t get directly involved. He’d continue to wrestle for Northern Pro Wrestling as promised. Everyone would be happy, and alive. That last part was especially important.
After all, Bankhead needed him, if only in presence. Perhaps he would pop up every so often just to remind the people he was out there. That he was watching.
To remind any would be criminals that there were indeed consequences to their actions. He’d done something positive, he kept telling himself that. But, on the other hand, Alyssa needed him too.
Caught up within this crazy world because of him, he never should have fallen for her. Love was a luxury he simply couldn’t afford.
Now, because of his selfishness, she was in debt to them and they’d made it obvious that her role would be that of his shadow. She was in the crowd the night he won the NPW Openweight Championship, and again when he defeated Jonnie Valentine. Now, with his first defense of his new crown looming on the horizon much like the setting sun, he almost expected to see his old lover.
Then he saw it. Past the fires of the dumpster, as the flames danced upon the breeze, the blazing orange of the fire gleamed as they caught the width of the dagger’s blade. Taking the setting sun’s hue, the blade seemed poised to burst into flame at any moment.
As he attempted to examine it, a few things were immediately apparent. It was simple in appearance, expertly crafted, perfectly balanced and well forged. Yes, he knew this weapon well. It was one of ‘theirs’
She had been here. Esmeralda Von Krauss. A more recent signing to NPW than even himself. No doubt, after polluting and poisoning the last promotion unfortunate enough to have acquired her ‘services’.
He refused to believe that her sudden appearance as an active competitor was not somehow linked to his own re-emergence. After what that succubus took from him, he’d never stop hating her.
The systematic way she orchestrated the individual sexual assaults of both him and his former fiancé was vile beyond what even he thought that witch capable of. He wasn’t sure he could mentally handle another such occurrence.
Truth be told, the Bankhead Boogeyman existed, at least in part, because of the unhealed trauma from those nights. She took away his right to choice, then proved he couldn’t always save those he loved. Those lesson, though hard learned, changed him.
He was older now, angry…but oddly focused. He knew this Kuma would give him a fight. Anyone bold enough to name themselves after a grizzly bear had better bring the ferocity. He just hoped Esmeralda kept her distance, at least until the match was over. Though, one day he’d need to face his devil in a red dress.
She’d made a rare mistake in leaving it behind, he’d need to collect it to be sure.
He’d know for sure the moment he laid hand to pommel, it was a weapon equally adept in close quarters or, if needed, thrown. It was the weapon of a professional. A high quality tool, but nothing more. It could mean only one thing though, without a doubt…‘they’ were here.
Once a judge himself, he was more than familiar with their ways.
The Justices trained you, they broke you, remade you into a weapon. In return, you gained a life debt. Your life was theirs.
There was one way out. One way to return to your life. Trade, the souls of the wicked, for your own.
‘One hundred to one’ was the motto of the judge, technically the judge only gathered the evidence and relayed the verdict. The Justices did the actual rendering of the verdict. But more than that, the Judge also played the role of executioner.
Not many made it alive. One hundred sentences carried out, the rumour was that it was actually impossible, but the Justices allowed someone to accomplish it once per generation just to keep the morale of the judges healthy.
The tales were long and varied of judges who had defied the odds and made it out. Back to civilian or ‘civi’ life. He himself had been one such tale. His path had been noted for being particularly short and exceptionally brutal. Now they had finally found their loophole, their loose string that, when pulled…brought him back under their control…albeit temporarily.
He was wondering how it all related. His stint as The Bankhead Boogeyman, returning to the ring, Alyssa, NPW, Gus, the Openweight Championship Tournament. Was it all related? Or had years or living just outside the reach of an organization like ‘Justice’ finally dissolve his kind into paranoia?
The scuff of a shoe perked his ears, “How long did it take them to find me?” He asked knowing it was likely hours.
“Not long.” Came her reply. Her voice was as soft as the passing wind.
Turning his head, he could see she was plainly dressed. Jeans and a simple blue V neck t-shirt to take advantage of the late spring warmth. She still looked great to him, a welcome distraction from whatever ‘Justice’ was up to.
“Be careful Alyssa, they’re grooming you…” Before anything else could potentially flow from his mouth she jumped upon his words.
“For what?” She asked, again her voice little more than a whisper…
He waited, unsure if he should even bother with his warning. “To be my handler.”