Combat Fatigue (BoB)
Oct 22, 2022 16:49:25 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Jesse Jamester, and 1 more like this
Post by bloodiedfox on Oct 22, 2022 16:49:25 GMT -5
It's funny really; the reaction to my appearance at the press conference for the Battle of Britain is a microcosm of everything my time in the XHF has been. I speak honestly, from the heart, and all I get is snide mockery. I acknowledge the human cost of all this and the response isn't empathy but fucking 'emo kid' cliches that were stale a decade ago.
Though we hear Bloodied Fox's voice, he is not what the camera shows. Rather it glides slowly across a collection of ballistic gel dummies. To the head of each one is stapled a cut out of a different face. As each is seen, a theme quickly becomes apparent: each is an entrant in the Battle of Britain. Well, with one exception...
Except for Kalmin Watts. You actually seem to be a decent human being. Not sure why you're in this industry given that, but oh well. I'll do my best to spare you my frustrations.
That would explain why the other eighteen 'participants' are joined by a dummy with the applied likeness of Ron DeSantis.
It's not that there's even someone I specifically despise in the match to focus on. Even Lady Godfrey Sinclair barely registers for my hatred. Honestly she's more pathetic and pitiable than contemptible, pining endlessly and fruitlessly for her rambling hobo overlord. The rest of the field is divided between people I've fought and beaten before and people I barely know. Neither prospect quickens the pulse.
The camera is slowly pulling back away from the targets now.
Lord Dominicus? Beaten him, and the contempt he feels for W:UK isn't going to change that.
Spike Kane? Beaten him, multiple times. And no Spike, this is not me ignoring your achievements and abilities, this is me tired of you talking yourself up only for me to slap you down yet again.
Marty Donovan? Corporate whore who soiled himself at the first sign of Zoran flashing steel.
Primal? Hairy moron.
Zolotach? Lunatic.
Rat Bastard? Fuck, I thought Gaines had killed you in the Hardcore title tournament in JROK. Guess you're too pickled to die.
As for the rest, I see nothing to impress me. Some rich prick who treats people like shit. Some guy doing the silent angry foreigner shtick. Lady who did the Olympics or something. God, I don't know who half these people are and no-one seems to have made a list. Some of those faces stuck up over there are guesses. Probably pretty unwise to get an exact line up, but to be honest...
...Cue the fucking “ha ha someone expressed a genuine emotion other than rage!” bullshit...
...I don't fucking care. I've reached a point where I'm numb and this is all a fucking blur of bullshit. What I'm hoping, so fervently it borders on prayer, is that I step into that ring and the fog clears and I can feel the elation and thrill that wrestling used to give me. That the people can believe in me and I can believe in them and together something good can happen. I want to win the Battle and the war for once.
The camera has now come back far enough that it is behind Fox, viewing the dummies over his shoulder.
The rest of you should probably do whatever you can to ensure that doesn't happen. After all, there tends to be only one fate for those who don't win in battle...
He brings up into view an assault rifle. Smoothly he sets stock to shoulder and opens fire into the dummies, the extended magazine emptying high calibre bullets. The dummies are torn into by the hail of fire, leaking red fluid from the impacts. Only when the rifle clicks empty does Fox let it fall to clatter on the ground. The camera cautiously circles him to display his dispassionate face.
Death.
Though we hear Bloodied Fox's voice, he is not what the camera shows. Rather it glides slowly across a collection of ballistic gel dummies. To the head of each one is stapled a cut out of a different face. As each is seen, a theme quickly becomes apparent: each is an entrant in the Battle of Britain. Well, with one exception...
Except for Kalmin Watts. You actually seem to be a decent human being. Not sure why you're in this industry given that, but oh well. I'll do my best to spare you my frustrations.
That would explain why the other eighteen 'participants' are joined by a dummy with the applied likeness of Ron DeSantis.
It's not that there's even someone I specifically despise in the match to focus on. Even Lady Godfrey Sinclair barely registers for my hatred. Honestly she's more pathetic and pitiable than contemptible, pining endlessly and fruitlessly for her rambling hobo overlord. The rest of the field is divided between people I've fought and beaten before and people I barely know. Neither prospect quickens the pulse.
The camera is slowly pulling back away from the targets now.
Lord Dominicus? Beaten him, and the contempt he feels for W:UK isn't going to change that.
Spike Kane? Beaten him, multiple times. And no Spike, this is not me ignoring your achievements and abilities, this is me tired of you talking yourself up only for me to slap you down yet again.
Marty Donovan? Corporate whore who soiled himself at the first sign of Zoran flashing steel.
Primal? Hairy moron.
Zolotach? Lunatic.
Rat Bastard? Fuck, I thought Gaines had killed you in the Hardcore title tournament in JROK. Guess you're too pickled to die.
As for the rest, I see nothing to impress me. Some rich prick who treats people like shit. Some guy doing the silent angry foreigner shtick. Lady who did the Olympics or something. God, I don't know who half these people are and no-one seems to have made a list. Some of those faces stuck up over there are guesses. Probably pretty unwise to get an exact line up, but to be honest...
...Cue the fucking “ha ha someone expressed a genuine emotion other than rage!” bullshit...
...I don't fucking care. I've reached a point where I'm numb and this is all a fucking blur of bullshit. What I'm hoping, so fervently it borders on prayer, is that I step into that ring and the fog clears and I can feel the elation and thrill that wrestling used to give me. That the people can believe in me and I can believe in them and together something good can happen. I want to win the Battle and the war for once.
The camera has now come back far enough that it is behind Fox, viewing the dummies over his shoulder.
The rest of you should probably do whatever you can to ensure that doesn't happen. After all, there tends to be only one fate for those who don't win in battle...
He brings up into view an assault rifle. Smoothly he sets stock to shoulder and opens fire into the dummies, the extended magazine emptying high calibre bullets. The dummies are torn into by the hail of fire, leaking red fluid from the impacts. Only when the rifle clicks empty does Fox let it fall to clatter on the ground. The camera cautiously circles him to display his dispassionate face.
Death.