Revenge is Best Served Bloody (#1)
Apr 6, 2023 18:28:10 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Dave D-Flipz, and 4 more like this
Post by Jesse Jamester on Apr 6, 2023 18:28:10 GMT -5
“The Pillars of Violence are dead.”
Flashing into focus is the masked renegade reptile, the XHF’s own Murder Lizard, Jesse Jamester. His trademark scaly black mask with green highlight in the scales and cracks, as his dark brown beard is exposed where the mouth of the mask is cut out.
The bluest cold stare looks into the mobile phone as the video broadcasts live to the world.
“I admit, I was hesitant to be a part of any group when this all began. Semantics and history are what they are, I have never been a team player. Between the Syndicate and the Council, it has always been the quick answer to a bigger problem. Teaming up, it always ends poorly for my partners. Yet the Pillars found ourselves facing odds that seemed to need that unity. Oh Violent Night war games was the answer to this headache of a new generation’s wannabe-extreme athletes. That is, until this Pillars group and Oh Violent Night all became a corporate bastardization of our very violent origins.”
The camera lifts up and catches Jesse Jamester’s full size as the camera backs up to fit him in the frame. Jacked like never before, the XHF had never seen him this beefed up, easily ten or twenty pounds heavier since he was last active in the ring. His arms looking yoked up as he wears a black t-shirt that shows the crown of violence on a triceratops skull, with the words ‘King of Violence’ arcing the top of the crown and skull and repeating around the bottom to form a circle.
“I owe the Pillars nothing!
NOTHING!
No explanation, no sorry aye, no oh how you-doin, none of that! It’s because of the Pillars that I sat back and let a charade of hypocrisy exist. Like PRICE, a bone-a-fide pussy who rests on his laurels. He couldn’t even answer my challenge after the last Oh Violent Night.
PRICE, you’re nothing but a poser in my eyes. I saw you didn’t even have the gumption to enter the Rumble at an opportunity to get some revenge for me costing the Pillars their win at the last war games. Sad little man.
Yeaaah, that’s what PRICE and Spike Kane have in common. Two bone-a-fide bitches that couldn’t overcome what I am, so they tuck their tail and head home. Violence is not your forte fellas, it’s not even in your DNA, it’s just a label they stuck on the marquee because you were teaming with me.
Well what do I really have to say that hasn’t been said before. Nothing, let’s move on. You’re irrelevant here anyway.”
The camera turns with Jesse as he walks forward and pulls on a rope that brings down the barbed wire weapons that he had assembled with Clyde for the GUNS XHF 20th birthday bash match.
All sitting there on a piece of plywood that has anchors on each corner. Jesse runs a hand over the roll of barb wire, a look of malicious satisfaction in the toothy bearded smile appears.
“Ahhhh, but this right here — this, I am sure you remember Dylan.”
Lifting the barbed wire up, Jesse clips a piece from the roll and holds it firmly in his right hand. Blood is seen dripping from the closed fist as the Murder Lizard begins to wrap it around his right arm, causing more infliction on himself as the barbs pierce his tattooed skin.
“With this wrapped around my arm I put you in the Nightmare Lock. I showed you Dylan… I showed you what makes you inferior, and make me — the King of Violence.”
Walking through the open barn doors on his Calgary, Alberta homestead, Jesse stands at the edge of the gravel ramp just where the barn opens. Above him, the barbed wire noose hangs with a string hanging from its end. Reaching in his pocket, the Murder Lizard pulls out a lighter and ignites the string. Sizzling like a firework wick, the string fizzles all the way up to the noose’s circular opening and lights the sparks to spell out “Dylan Black” in the center.
“This one is reserved for you Dylan, for what you caused to happen from that little favor you asked of me in Egypt. The eye I got for you did a number on me that I can’t even begin to explain. You wanted to be human again, to be whole again, and I did you the favor that nearly made me lose my fucking mind Dylan! Where were you during that anyway? Where were the Pillars when I was trapped in the basement of the Scourge being made to look like a fool with some imposter out there running around as me?!
NOWHERE DYLAN!
Not one of you gave a fuck to even look, to ask, to check in… send a postcard or a gift basket aye.
You know how that feels?
No.
You didn’t care. For you had used me, used me to get your precious X*Crown championship once again. Just like you used your super friend-enemy Zoran Sainovic. It’s always all about Dylan Black isn’t it?”
Anger rising in the voice of the Murder Lizard is as obvious as the darkness setting in as the sun nears its descent for the evening over the barn.
“Dylan, once I figured out how to break the curse of that Egyptian orb, I realized how much I let slide with the Pillars of Violence. What I let you all get away with while using my name as a launching pad to find relevancy again.
At every turn (teeth gritting) at every match along the way, it was I who was always left in the back, no matter what I had done…
No opportunities to challenge for the X*Crown came my way!
After I proved myself, both Spike and Black took turns with the X*Crown championship. But neither of you had the balls to defend against the King of Violence!”
Jesse pulls the barb wire noose hanging from the barn down, and grips it with his already bloody hand. Lifting it up to the camera, Jesse stares through the opening where the fire that spelled Dylan’s name has finally died out. With his cold blue eyes staring through the name, the barbed wire noose framing his scaly demonic mask to make one hell of a serial killer book cover.
“This year's Rumble, I make it my mission to take out any and all of the thirty plus entrants that stand in my way. When it comes to those final two members left, it will be you and I standing opposite one another.
Dylan Black, mono-y-mono with his Violent reckoning, Jesse Jamester.
I’m going to split your wig open and throw you over the top rope. I'm going to take the only thing that matters to you away, the X*Crown championship.”
With a wink, he steps forward and pushes his mask through Dylan’s name, dissolving it on impact.
“After the bell tolls and I have your precious gold, I’m going to wrap this noose I made for you around your neck and hang you from the top rope for the whole world to see.”
Seething in his delivery, Jesse’s emotions were as violent as his intentions.
“Maybe then (pause) you’ll get a taste of what I endured for the last six months. This was your doing Dylan, it was your favor that caused this — but I promise, it will be by my hands that it ends. Count your days Dylan. This Rumble I bury your career, and your legacy will fade…
To black.”
Flashing into focus is the masked renegade reptile, the XHF’s own Murder Lizard, Jesse Jamester. His trademark scaly black mask with green highlight in the scales and cracks, as his dark brown beard is exposed where the mouth of the mask is cut out.
The bluest cold stare looks into the mobile phone as the video broadcasts live to the world.
“I admit, I was hesitant to be a part of any group when this all began. Semantics and history are what they are, I have never been a team player. Between the Syndicate and the Council, it has always been the quick answer to a bigger problem. Teaming up, it always ends poorly for my partners. Yet the Pillars found ourselves facing odds that seemed to need that unity. Oh Violent Night war games was the answer to this headache of a new generation’s wannabe-extreme athletes. That is, until this Pillars group and Oh Violent Night all became a corporate bastardization of our very violent origins.”
The camera lifts up and catches Jesse Jamester’s full size as the camera backs up to fit him in the frame. Jacked like never before, the XHF had never seen him this beefed up, easily ten or twenty pounds heavier since he was last active in the ring. His arms looking yoked up as he wears a black t-shirt that shows the crown of violence on a triceratops skull, with the words ‘King of Violence’ arcing the top of the crown and skull and repeating around the bottom to form a circle.
“I owe the Pillars nothing!
NOTHING!
No explanation, no sorry aye, no oh how you-doin, none of that! It’s because of the Pillars that I sat back and let a charade of hypocrisy exist. Like PRICE, a bone-a-fide pussy who rests on his laurels. He couldn’t even answer my challenge after the last Oh Violent Night.
PRICE, you’re nothing but a poser in my eyes. I saw you didn’t even have the gumption to enter the Rumble at an opportunity to get some revenge for me costing the Pillars their win at the last war games. Sad little man.
Yeaaah, that’s what PRICE and Spike Kane have in common. Two bone-a-fide bitches that couldn’t overcome what I am, so they tuck their tail and head home. Violence is not your forte fellas, it’s not even in your DNA, it’s just a label they stuck on the marquee because you were teaming with me.
Spike….
Well what do I really have to say that hasn’t been said before. Nothing, let’s move on. You’re irrelevant here anyway.”
The camera turns with Jesse as he walks forward and pulls on a rope that brings down the barbed wire weapons that he had assembled with Clyde for the GUNS XHF 20th birthday bash match.
All sitting there on a piece of plywood that has anchors on each corner. Jesse runs a hand over the roll of barb wire, a look of malicious satisfaction in the toothy bearded smile appears.
“Ahhhh, but this right here — this, I am sure you remember Dylan.”
Lifting the barbed wire up, Jesse clips a piece from the roll and holds it firmly in his right hand. Blood is seen dripping from the closed fist as the Murder Lizard begins to wrap it around his right arm, causing more infliction on himself as the barbs pierce his tattooed skin.
“With this wrapped around my arm I put you in the Nightmare Lock. I showed you Dylan… I showed you what makes you inferior, and make me — the King of Violence.”
Walking through the open barn doors on his Calgary, Alberta homestead, Jesse stands at the edge of the gravel ramp just where the barn opens. Above him, the barbed wire noose hangs with a string hanging from its end. Reaching in his pocket, the Murder Lizard pulls out a lighter and ignites the string. Sizzling like a firework wick, the string fizzles all the way up to the noose’s circular opening and lights the sparks to spell out “Dylan Black” in the center.
“This one is reserved for you Dylan, for what you caused to happen from that little favor you asked of me in Egypt. The eye I got for you did a number on me that I can’t even begin to explain. You wanted to be human again, to be whole again, and I did you the favor that nearly made me lose my fucking mind Dylan! Where were you during that anyway? Where were the Pillars when I was trapped in the basement of the Scourge being made to look like a fool with some imposter out there running around as me?!
NOWHERE DYLAN!
Not one of you gave a fuck to even look, to ask, to check in… send a postcard or a gift basket aye.
You know how that feels?
No.
You didn’t care. For you had used me, used me to get your precious X*Crown championship once again. Just like you used your super friend-enemy Zoran Sainovic. It’s always all about Dylan Black isn’t it?”
Anger rising in the voice of the Murder Lizard is as obvious as the darkness setting in as the sun nears its descent for the evening over the barn.
“Dylan, once I figured out how to break the curse of that Egyptian orb, I realized how much I let slide with the Pillars of Violence. What I let you all get away with while using my name as a launching pad to find relevancy again.
At every turn (teeth gritting) at every match along the way, it was I who was always left in the back, no matter what I had done…
No opportunities to challenge for the X*Crown came my way!
After I proved myself, both Spike and Black took turns with the X*Crown championship. But neither of you had the balls to defend against the King of Violence!”
Jesse pulls the barb wire noose hanging from the barn down, and grips it with his already bloody hand. Lifting it up to the camera, Jesse stares through the opening where the fire that spelled Dylan’s name has finally died out. With his cold blue eyes staring through the name, the barbed wire noose framing his scaly demonic mask to make one hell of a serial killer book cover.
“This year's Rumble, I make it my mission to take out any and all of the thirty plus entrants that stand in my way. When it comes to those final two members left, it will be you and I standing opposite one another.
Dylan Black, mono-y-mono with his Violent reckoning, Jesse Jamester.
I’m going to split your wig open and throw you over the top rope. I'm going to take the only thing that matters to you away, the X*Crown championship.”
With a wink, he steps forward and pushes his mask through Dylan’s name, dissolving it on impact.
“After the bell tolls and I have your precious gold, I’m going to wrap this noose I made for you around your neck and hang you from the top rope for the whole world to see.”
Seething in his delivery, Jesse’s emotions were as violent as his intentions.
“Maybe then (pause) you’ll get a taste of what I endured for the last six months. This was your doing Dylan, it was your favor that caused this — but I promise, it will be by my hands that it ends. Count your days Dylan. This Rumble I bury your career, and your legacy will fade…
To black.”
The video fades out to black.
Knock, knock, knock!
“DELIVERY!” boasts a voice outside on the porch.
The door opens to show a DHS delivery driver with a dolly that has a giant box on it. Scratching his beard, Jesse looks at the box and back at the delivery man, then back at the box.
“Sign here please,” asks the delivery man as he extends his hand with a clipboard in it.
“Uh, sure,” replies Jesse as he takes the pen and signs the bottom line. “Who is it from?”
“It just says Anonymous for the shipper’s name. I can tell you it’s from Japan, if that helps any,” responds the delivery driver as he takes the signed paperwork and clipboard back.
Jesse motions for him to leave it on the porch and nods as the driver hauls the dolly down the steps and back to his truck. Looking at the package with curiosity, Jesse lifts it up and lugs it in to the kitchen table.
Grabbing a knife from his back jean pockets he cuts the edge tape that seals the packages top when the phone rings.
Ringgg! Ring! Ring!
Placing the knife down on the table, he answers the old house phone with attached to the wall.
“Hello?” answers Jesse in a peculiar voice. It was not common for him to get calls on this number, not ever since his son made him familiar with mobile phones.
“HELLO?” repeats Jesse before he hears a click.
“Bastards,” says the Calgary resident before hanging up the phone.
Noticing the packaging sticker with the sender’s name, ‘AnonyMous’ is spelled out, but with the ‘M’ much bigger than the rest of the name and in red.
Opening the box, Jesse’s eyes bulge and within a moment he is dashing for the door!
Tick… tick… tick…
The door swings open as he leaps off the porch and shoulder rolls to his feet, running as fast as he can.
KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
An explosion that would make Michael Bay blush launches the Murder Lizard off his feet and sends his house up in flames!
Pieces of debris fall all over the Alberta property acreage as Jesse rolls over some thirty to forty feet from the house, slapping his shirt to put out the flame that caught him.
“Motherfucker!”
Singing beard and the cold blue eyes stare on as the Calgary Alberta home that had been his life’s work goes up in smoke. While the Barn remains safe behind Jesse some thirty or so feet back. It was the family heirlooms and pictures, wrestling trophies and accolades, along with memories that were burning to the ground before him.
Pulling his mobile out of his left side pocket. Holding it up to his face to unlock it, Jesse taps a few times before lifting it to his ear.
“I need a plane ticket to Japan for tomorrow,” are his first words. “Yeah that’s fine.”
Nodding as he looks on at the flames before him, sirens are heard in the distance.
“You know what, GUNS hasn’t booked me in a long time — cancel my contract and get me a new one for J-ROK. Might as well have a place to work while I figure this all out. No, no, not over the phone, I’ll tell you more when we meet in Japan,” says Jesse to someone over the phone.
“Tell the owner I’m beginning my tour of violence with his company, whether he likes it or not,” claims Jesse before he hangs up and stands up.
Within moments the driveway has fire trucks barreling up it. A crew of men empty out of each of the Alberta volunteer fire trucks and begin prepping to put out the raging fire.
“I don’t know who did this, but Japan isn’t going to be the same after I’m done with it.”
To be continued...
