Post by bloodiedfox on Jan 31, 2023 16:24:27 GMT -5
This isn’t a good idea.
I don’t care.
Yeah, I noticed.
Brendan Harding wasn’t even bothering to look at Jack Gaines as he strode down the hospital corridor.
Between trying to start a fight at Dylan Black’s press conference and deciding that while he’s laid up in hospital with head trauma is the best time to confront your estranged husband about him arranging a tag title shot for us, you’re not exactly bullseyeing brainstorming right now.
Brendan turned on his heel and got right up in Jack’s face.
Jack, shut the fuck up, okay? You were insistent we use the match contract and try to win as some kind of feel good exercise for EVE killing several thousand people.
And?
And we lost.
Jack shrugged.
Yes, but at least we tried. Damn sight better than sitting around doing nothing.
Brendan simply shook his head and turned back around, carrying on down the corridor. He stopped abruptly after a few moments at the sight of a door laying in his path, ripped off its hinges. As Jack came up alongside him, he turned his head to look into a hospital room in disarray. A nurse and two security guards lay unconscious on the floor. There was no sign of a patient.
I did say this was a bad idea.
Bloodied Fox lay unconscious on a table. The rest of the room was too dark for much beyond that to be visible if anyone were watching. The pristine white figure of King Submaxiswear stood above him.
Still, hopefully now that’s out of your system we can get on with the real work. After all, I already have the sledgehammer…
A hulking figure emerged just enough from the shadows for its size to be discernible. Submaxiswear paid it no heed, instead retrieving from his jacket a glowing red gem. With reverential care he placed it on Fox’s chest, the impression of a smile beneath his masked visage as strands of light seemed to flow from it into the man’s chest.
…now I need the scalpel.
I don’t care.
Yeah, I noticed.
Brendan Harding wasn’t even bothering to look at Jack Gaines as he strode down the hospital corridor.
Between trying to start a fight at Dylan Black’s press conference and deciding that while he’s laid up in hospital with head trauma is the best time to confront your estranged husband about him arranging a tag title shot for us, you’re not exactly bullseyeing brainstorming right now.
Brendan turned on his heel and got right up in Jack’s face.
Jack, shut the fuck up, okay? You were insistent we use the match contract and try to win as some kind of feel good exercise for EVE killing several thousand people.
And?
And we lost.
Jack shrugged.
Yes, but at least we tried. Damn sight better than sitting around doing nothing.
Brendan simply shook his head and turned back around, carrying on down the corridor. He stopped abruptly after a few moments at the sight of a door laying in his path, ripped off its hinges. As Jack came up alongside him, he turned his head to look into a hospital room in disarray. A nurse and two security guards lay unconscious on the floor. There was no sign of a patient.
I did say this was a bad idea.
Bloodied Fox lay unconscious on a table. The rest of the room was too dark for much beyond that to be visible if anyone were watching. The pristine white figure of King Submaxiswear stood above him.
Still, hopefully now that’s out of your system we can get on with the real work. After all, I already have the sledgehammer…
A hulking figure emerged just enough from the shadows for its size to be discernible. Submaxiswear paid it no heed, instead retrieving from his jacket a glowing red gem. With reverential care he placed it on Fox’s chest, the impression of a smile beneath his masked visage as strands of light seemed to flow from it into the man’s chest.
…now I need the scalpel.