Post by Walls on Sept 6, 2021 21:46:56 GMT -5
I told you. Don't do this. I told Him. Don't do this.
He did this.
You did this.
You
Did
This.
I warned all of you.
This is a story in two parts. An agent, manager and, most importantly, friend. The other side is a man, a monster. A warrior, a victim. But, really, let's face it... it's about a monster.
A scary, scary monster.
In.
William Payne sits in a corner on a chair. I wish it was that simple. He sits on a paint chipped metal folding chair. It is in the corner of white washed concrete walled room. He is bedraggled, sleep deprived, stress worn. His elbows are on his thights, holding up an arm that holds a hand that pinches the bridge of his nose. His exhausted eyes are suffered with ashen bags. His face torn with worry and concern.
I knew it. I knew He was going to come. I knew this was going to happen. I just knew it. I've seen this Kruger before and... oh God above this company is doomed and with their entrance into the XHF it's just a monster with more to feed on. Do you understand? DO YOU UNDER...
His voice raises... calms. But it's shaken.
...do you understand what you've done Black Hand? Does this company understand what they've unleashed in their selfish folly? The Alliance, the Black Hand, all these groups getting together to stop each other and not a single once stood up when it was Kruger's turn to face the punishment. Where was everyone. WHERE WAS EVERYONE?
Swipe.
A dark forest, dew fog lingering. You can smell the moist undergrowth, the mulch enrichened ground. And you can hair large feet crunching with a stoic weight upon it. Thick black boots tethered to what, even under black cargo pants, are obviously enormous. Anagalous to the tree trunks they walk through. Dragging behind, clutched in dirty work strengthened hands, is a shovel. The grating tune changing with dirt, root, and rock. Then it stops. It pauses. Then the hands lift the shovel out of view... and missile it back into the dirt.
Swipe.
I said it clearly. I warned you obviously. I told you His history and the lesson that is taught when He comes. But you ignored it, like everything the greatest single combatant on God's green earth does and says, you ignored it. You were drowning in your games, your snipes, your verbal attacks on each other. You were worried about screen time and falsehoods. You were worried about pretending you are a star, a king, an athlete, a threat to your opponents. You played your games, you acted your roles and you ignored Das Konig.
The deepest, most sympathetic of sighs.
You ignored that He won the Patriot Cup and defeated the greatest in this company. You kept pretending he was nothing, he didn't exist. Then, at a time when you finally had a chance, even four on one, you struck. And the rest of you let it happen. You promised it wouldn't. You organized for that very moment and let it happen and NOW YOU ARE... are going to cause the end of everything.
Swipe.
A deep hole. The thick bodied figure, draped in shadow, reaches into the deep hole. It lifts. With a thumb a dirty green rucksack appears. The hand brushes off a particular spot revealed initials.
K O
The bag is lifted up and slung across a continental back
Swipe.
I'm sorry. I really, really am sorry this is going to happen. Believe me. It keeps me up awake at night and when I am blessed to finally fall asleep it haunts my dreams. The nightmares are... bloody. So... I'm sorry with what is about to happen.
Swipe.
Hanging single light. Dirty, cracked mirror. Horror trope? Sure. A hand reaches into the dirty rucksack and pulls out two items. A rusty, dented bucket and a red piece of cloth.
This is not a trope. This is horror.
Swipe.
He is horror. He is here.
The End.
The Apocalypse.
The Extinction event.
Swipe.
A wide flat face, draped upon it a mask once white, now yellowed, but red from the top, stained in dripping blood red.
Swipe.
The Crimson Mask is here. Kruger Olejnik is gone.
Long live Das Konig...
...and now professional wrestling dies.
He did this.
You did this.
You
Did
This.
I warned all of you.
This is a story in two parts. An agent, manager and, most importantly, friend. The other side is a man, a monster. A warrior, a victim. But, really, let's face it... it's about a monster.
A scary, scary monster.
In.
William Payne sits in a corner on a chair. I wish it was that simple. He sits on a paint chipped metal folding chair. It is in the corner of white washed concrete walled room. He is bedraggled, sleep deprived, stress worn. His elbows are on his thights, holding up an arm that holds a hand that pinches the bridge of his nose. His exhausted eyes are suffered with ashen bags. His face torn with worry and concern.
I knew it. I knew He was going to come. I knew this was going to happen. I just knew it. I've seen this Kruger before and... oh God above this company is doomed and with their entrance into the XHF it's just a monster with more to feed on. Do you understand? DO YOU UNDER...
His voice raises... calms. But it's shaken.
...do you understand what you've done Black Hand? Does this company understand what they've unleashed in their selfish folly? The Alliance, the Black Hand, all these groups getting together to stop each other and not a single once stood up when it was Kruger's turn to face the punishment. Where was everyone. WHERE WAS EVERYONE?
Swipe.
A dark forest, dew fog lingering. You can smell the moist undergrowth, the mulch enrichened ground. And you can hair large feet crunching with a stoic weight upon it. Thick black boots tethered to what, even under black cargo pants, are obviously enormous. Anagalous to the tree trunks they walk through. Dragging behind, clutched in dirty work strengthened hands, is a shovel. The grating tune changing with dirt, root, and rock. Then it stops. It pauses. Then the hands lift the shovel out of view... and missile it back into the dirt.
Swipe.
I said it clearly. I warned you obviously. I told you His history and the lesson that is taught when He comes. But you ignored it, like everything the greatest single combatant on God's green earth does and says, you ignored it. You were drowning in your games, your snipes, your verbal attacks on each other. You were worried about screen time and falsehoods. You were worried about pretending you are a star, a king, an athlete, a threat to your opponents. You played your games, you acted your roles and you ignored Das Konig.
The deepest, most sympathetic of sighs.
You ignored that He won the Patriot Cup and defeated the greatest in this company. You kept pretending he was nothing, he didn't exist. Then, at a time when you finally had a chance, even four on one, you struck. And the rest of you let it happen. You promised it wouldn't. You organized for that very moment and let it happen and NOW YOU ARE... are going to cause the end of everything.
Swipe.
A deep hole. The thick bodied figure, draped in shadow, reaches into the deep hole. It lifts. With a thumb a dirty green rucksack appears. The hand brushes off a particular spot revealed initials.
K O
The bag is lifted up and slung across a continental back
Swipe.
I'm sorry. I really, really am sorry this is going to happen. Believe me. It keeps me up awake at night and when I am blessed to finally fall asleep it haunts my dreams. The nightmares are... bloody. So... I'm sorry with what is about to happen.
Swipe.
Hanging single light. Dirty, cracked mirror. Horror trope? Sure. A hand reaches into the dirty rucksack and pulls out two items. A rusty, dented bucket and a red piece of cloth.
This is not a trope. This is horror.
Swipe.
He is horror. He is here.
The End.
The Apocalypse.
The Extinction event.
Swipe.
A wide flat face, draped upon it a mask once white, now yellowed, but red from the top, stained in dripping blood red.
Swipe.
The Crimson Mask is here. Kruger Olejnik is gone.
Long live Das Konig...
...and now professional wrestling dies.