Post by Jesse Jamester on Jul 11, 2021 23:54:41 GMT -5
“A sacrifice for the Blood God of Extreme, a Messiah mangled, and a Nightmare tested. Blood, guts, and victory never tasted so sweet.”
Sitting backstage after the Birthday Bash at GUNS goes off air; fifteen minutes from the announcer finished the last sentence. Leaned back on a chair, head busted up, sporting the crimson mask that his competitors were. Jesse Jamester had found himself on the other side of the columns tonight.
Barbed wire spike holes all throughout his chest and exposed body parts. The right arm wrapped in tape looked more like a stained apron at a doctor’s office after surgery, and his unmasked face looked like he’d just taken part in Rob Zombie’s newest horror flick. A gruesome display for the winner of a deathmatch, and one that came with every price tag that it embellished it would.
“Brutality. That is what I just went through… At the price of feeling anything for that piece of shit Spike Kane, I give it up to both men tonight. That was the war I promised I would bring, and you brought me yours fellas. There isn’t a damn thing I’ll apologize for, so don’t be looking my way like I owe you a damned thing. It was all left out there (pointing to the ring), and more,”
Spitting blood on the floor, Jesse Jamester is handed a bottle of whiskey from Clyde from the side of the frame. Spinning the top off, it rolls onto the floor, and Jesse takes a hearty swig of five seconds before he sets the bottle down on his knee.
“Now I gotta go back to Canada, and whoop some guys ass named Steve Awesome. Oh, and Billy Fowler, apparently he’s a bastard and proud of it. Yeah, two new opponents for me… (Pauses) Make no mistake about it guys, the mess you see before you is not a weakness you will capitalize on. NO! This right here is the face of man who finally woke the fuck up and is more dangerous than ever!”
Standing from the chair, Jesse's body still glistening with tic tacs and sweat, blood, and bruises. Most of his left shoulder looked like it had been exposed to the sun or fire as the skin showed burnt hair.
“The self proclaimed Face of the Franchise comes to Northern Pro and tries to take MY SPOT? You got another thing coming Steven! I’ve seen you around, I’ve seen what all the hype is about, and bless your ability, it aint enough for good ole’ Jesse to be worked up in a frenzy about -- NO! But Billy Fowler, the Bastard, well that one I have to be cautious around. You see, Billy comes with friends, and like so many times before in my checkered NPW history, I know exactly what the numbers game is! So if The Bastard wants to let his friends get involved, I’ll make them pinata number one and number two! Swing for the fences, and bust them sumbitches up just like I did Dylan Black and Spike Kane tonight!”
Show them that we are just starting our reign as King again!
The words rolled off his tongue like he was speaking to the camera, but the inner conversation was now more present than ever before. Instead of the neck and shoulder jerking and the turning of his face, whatever lingered in his mind causing these self-dialogues, seemed to be unified within Jesse. At least, it appeared so from the way he was handling it.
“Tonight I felt the chains come off. I felt the weight of my world slip off my shoulders as I drove the heads of men into submission. It didn’t unhinge me, no, it completed me… It made me feel whole again. All this time, I’d been holding back an urge, suppressing my ability to fit within the ring for admiration and accolades… Well it’s fuckin’ time I take what I think is MINE! The King of Violence leaves GUNS with a new found purpose, and unfortunately for the men at the top of the food chain -- it means you’re on borrowed time!”
Spitting on the floor, Jesse leans out to grab the camera, angling it at his bloody mess of a face, where the only color besides blood that could be seen was his blue piercing dagger eyes.
“I’ll take down big bastard Fowler, and show Stevey how un-awesome he really is. For a long time I catered to men who wanted to stand amongst giants and call themselves champions. Men who fought for no reason but their own personal gain. Now it’s just me who I fight for. My son, he will recover and make his way back to Honor in due time. But for me… I’m ready to tear the ladder of Northern Pro in half and show the rankings that what they took as a Jurassic joke -- is no laughing matter! It’s time thee King of Violence caves the Canadian border in with the war machine, and runs rough-shot on everyone who gets in my way!”
Slapping the camera out of the way, it sees Clyde standing on the left wearing his Hannibal Lecter leather style mask. The behemoth took up the whole frame, as Jesse straightens out the camera.
“Canada is about to witness an Era of Violence like it’s never seen before. Business is about to get bloody boys. From yours truly, signed -- King of Violence, the real double J.”
Marking the lens with his finger, the camera now has a bloody X on it as Jesse Jamester throws a towel over his head and walks off. The sound of his boot soles slapping the concrete is the last thing we hear.
Sitting backstage after the Birthday Bash at GUNS goes off air; fifteen minutes from the announcer finished the last sentence. Leaned back on a chair, head busted up, sporting the crimson mask that his competitors were. Jesse Jamester had found himself on the other side of the columns tonight.
Barbed wire spike holes all throughout his chest and exposed body parts. The right arm wrapped in tape looked more like a stained apron at a doctor’s office after surgery, and his unmasked face looked like he’d just taken part in Rob Zombie’s newest horror flick. A gruesome display for the winner of a deathmatch, and one that came with every price tag that it embellished it would.
“Brutality. That is what I just went through… At the price of feeling anything for that piece of shit Spike Kane, I give it up to both men tonight. That was the war I promised I would bring, and you brought me yours fellas. There isn’t a damn thing I’ll apologize for, so don’t be looking my way like I owe you a damned thing. It was all left out there (pointing to the ring), and more,”
Spitting blood on the floor, Jesse Jamester is handed a bottle of whiskey from Clyde from the side of the frame. Spinning the top off, it rolls onto the floor, and Jesse takes a hearty swig of five seconds before he sets the bottle down on his knee.
“Now I gotta go back to Canada, and whoop some guys ass named Steve Awesome. Oh, and Billy Fowler, apparently he’s a bastard and proud of it. Yeah, two new opponents for me… (Pauses) Make no mistake about it guys, the mess you see before you is not a weakness you will capitalize on. NO! This right here is the face of man who finally woke the fuck up and is more dangerous than ever!”
Standing from the chair, Jesse's body still glistening with tic tacs and sweat, blood, and bruises. Most of his left shoulder looked like it had been exposed to the sun or fire as the skin showed burnt hair.
“The self proclaimed Face of the Franchise comes to Northern Pro and tries to take MY SPOT? You got another thing coming Steven! I’ve seen you around, I’ve seen what all the hype is about, and bless your ability, it aint enough for good ole’ Jesse to be worked up in a frenzy about -- NO! But Billy Fowler, the Bastard, well that one I have to be cautious around. You see, Billy comes with friends, and like so many times before in my checkered NPW history, I know exactly what the numbers game is! So if The Bastard wants to let his friends get involved, I’ll make them pinata number one and number two! Swing for the fences, and bust them sumbitches up just like I did Dylan Black and Spike Kane tonight!”
Show them that we are just starting our reign as King again!
The words rolled off his tongue like he was speaking to the camera, but the inner conversation was now more present than ever before. Instead of the neck and shoulder jerking and the turning of his face, whatever lingered in his mind causing these self-dialogues, seemed to be unified within Jesse. At least, it appeared so from the way he was handling it.
“Tonight I felt the chains come off. I felt the weight of my world slip off my shoulders as I drove the heads of men into submission. It didn’t unhinge me, no, it completed me… It made me feel whole again. All this time, I’d been holding back an urge, suppressing my ability to fit within the ring for admiration and accolades… Well it’s fuckin’ time I take what I think is MINE! The King of Violence leaves GUNS with a new found purpose, and unfortunately for the men at the top of the food chain -- it means you’re on borrowed time!”
Spitting on the floor, Jesse leans out to grab the camera, angling it at his bloody mess of a face, where the only color besides blood that could be seen was his blue piercing dagger eyes.
“I’ll take down big bastard Fowler, and show Stevey how un-awesome he really is. For a long time I catered to men who wanted to stand amongst giants and call themselves champions. Men who fought for no reason but their own personal gain. Now it’s just me who I fight for. My son, he will recover and make his way back to Honor in due time. But for me… I’m ready to tear the ladder of Northern Pro in half and show the rankings that what they took as a Jurassic joke -- is no laughing matter! It’s time thee King of Violence caves the Canadian border in with the war machine, and runs rough-shot on everyone who gets in my way!”
Slapping the camera out of the way, it sees Clyde standing on the left wearing his Hannibal Lecter leather style mask. The behemoth took up the whole frame, as Jesse straightens out the camera.
“Canada is about to witness an Era of Violence like it’s never seen before. Business is about to get bloody boys. From yours truly, signed -- King of Violence, the real double J.”
Marking the lens with his finger, the camera now has a bloody X on it as Jesse Jamester throws a towel over his head and walks off. The sound of his boot soles slapping the concrete is the last thing we hear.
