Blood Is Meaningless (CTC RP #2)

[Raiden Ishimori]

The loud, rough tones of “Cuidado” by Linkin Park can be heard as the camera opens up to what appears to be the private gym space for The Harbingers, though notably empty save for attendant in Hunter Storms as he’s actively doing curls with the forty pound weights in hand with a blank stare in the mirror he’s facing. Sweat is visibly cascading from his forehead and down his face, a sign that he’s been doing other parts of his workout regiment. Grunts escape him as the strain gradually becomes more and more on his arms though he isn’t showing any immediate signs of halting his current exercise as he pushes through the pain in his arms. The door to the gym space opens up on the far right of the shot, revealing Kingsley Solomon, dressed in his usual navy colored suit, to be the newest entrant to the room as he closes the door behind him. The SCCW co-owner paces his way over to The Harbinger of Destruction, posting up by the edge of the mirror, hands sliding into his pants’ pockets. Storms head soon cranes over in his direction, giving him a small nod of acknowledgement before setting the weights down on the nearby rack.

With a long exhale, Storms moves to take a seat on one of the nearby benches, draping a towel around his neck as he looks up at Kingsley.

Storms: “You’ve come to discuss something?”

Kingsley: “Kinda sorta. What gave it away?”

Storms: “You normally don’t really speak to me outside of business affairs.”

Kingsley: “Oh don’t be so serious now. We’ve been friends for how long by this point? Three going on four years….or something close to that?”

Storms simply shrugs in turn, wiping up some of the sweat that’s reached his jaw.

Storms: “Anyways…shoot.”

Kingsley: “Straight to business then, eh? Alright. To at least preface my arrival down here, it’s mainly to see how you’re holding up given what’s at stake over these next few weeks. The remainder of the Gold Rush, Night of Champions, and the trials that are bound to follow regardless of the results. Cross is pulling for you by the way. He believes you got the tenacity to do the double come Sunday.”

Storms faintly chuckles to himself.

Storms: “I’m surprised at times that he still values the friendship we forged all those years ago, but, at the same time, I do have him to thank for helping me get off the ground back when we wrestled in PAW before going across the pond to the UK. That latter venture…could’ve gone better but it is what is. Not every chapter is a good chapter.”

Kingsley: “Heh…spoken like a true veteran of the squared circle.”

A brief snort escapes Storms as he keeps tending to getting his face cleaned up.

Storms: “Anyway, to answer your concerns…I won’t lie, it’s a lot to have resting on my shoulders right now. So little time left in the tournament and such a fine line is keeping me and the others separated from heading to the finals again.”

Kingsley: “Thing is, your last two opponents are the ones that pose the greatest threat to you, especially considering one of them is hot on your heels.”

Storms: “Then I’ll do what I normally do when times like this start to get tough: Give them a reminder on why I’m a force to be reckoned with. Doesn’t matter if I’m in some tag team match or pure singles, I fuck everyone up. People can beat me, but not without their head spinning and having their ears be left ringing from the punishment I gave them. You christened me The Harbinger of Destruction for a reason, Kingsley.”

Kingsley: “That I did, didn’t I? In any case though, if you’re not feeling a hundred percent going into the tag match, you know we have associates who can provide assistance to help level the playing field if need be.”

Storms: “Won’t be necessary. I can hold my own and if anything, Daigo can always start first in that match-up. Even with Dusty Deacon standing on the other side of the ring, that old man is bound to run out of gas sooner rather than later considering he ain’t his younger self anymore. Daigo can exploit that and run circles around his wrinkly ass.”

Kingsley can’t help but let out a small chuckle of his own. It was uncommon to hear his fellow Harbinger pull out his humorous side, even if the puns or jokes were rather amateur level but at least it showed he had some kind of heart in there.

Kingsley: “Suppose that’s fair enough. I know for a fact though that come next month, should you and Daigo win, you’ll be taking a trip down the Strip with Raiden to visit Cross, and Brayden too actually since they’re using DTF’s place temporarily for shows, so….be a pretty filled cast if things ultimately work out for you lot.”

Storms: “Then I’ll make sure things do.”

Kingsley: “Heh, I don’t doubt it. Anyway, I’ve some more calls to make before the scheduled time arrives for Sunday. If you need anything in the meantime, just holler for Orion or someone and they’ll do what they can.”

Storms: “Aye.”

The two exchange a light fist bump before Kingsley takes his leave from the gym space, leaving the brutish Harbinger by himself once again as he leans back against the wall for a moment’s time, still catching his breath. After a few minutes, Storms pushes himself up to stand with a grunt rumbling in his throat, adrenaline having worn off and the soreness in his upper body now setting in from the extra strain he put it through.

Storms: “Night of Champions…a time I’m rather familiar with given I’m going into similar circumstances. Last year was the same scenario: Went in with the best record in the Gold Rush, and then came out as World Champion when it was all said and done. One of the best moments of my life was reaping all the rewards in front of me with the World Championship, winning the Gold Rush, and then winning the main event of Gambler’s Fortune to cap off that entire run. Now this year is almost the exact same thing except…there’s a little added kick to it. Something extra special to make the occasion more appetizing than another World title shot. This time? I get to be in my element even more so than ever when the night arrives.”

He chuckles to himself as he begins pacing around the room.

Storms: “Marty and Deke…you poor bastards. You went into this division without that much of a plan and yet you’re champions as it currently stands…but I hope that euphoria isn’t something you’re planning on chasing to the end of time. Matter of fact, I think Deacon would rather be chasing Marty away from his daughter instead rather than being made to wrestle alongside the one man whose guts he can barely, just barely, stand for the sake of his own daughter. Personally I would’ve already split faster than Nelly Angel’s momentum in MCCW but who knows, maybe the old guy will actually heed it and make the occasion that much easier for Daigo and I! Treat myself to a nice shower afterward and then be chilling in style and gold on the plane ride back to Sin City.”

Storms loosely takes hold of the towel around his neck, lightly pulling on both ends of it as he keeps pacing around.

Storms: “But of course, knowing how a dad has to please his daughter, we’re gonna have to deal with the Full Metal Jacket reject anyhow. Though the question still remains: Are your bonds when it comes to this business really that strong since winning the belts…or is the reluctance that you still hold onto in order to keep those rusted chains between you and Marty still in passable condition? When it comes to working together on that side of the ring, I would expect someone like you to know the importance of teamwork in this kind of effort knowing your background, Deacon. Does the timeless quote of, ‘Blood is thicker than water’ ever come to mind for the two of you? Maybe it has, and given Deacon’s preferential treatment in CAR, he’d rather only have to deal with his little Ollie rather than put up with the guy who makes even Patrick Star look smart at times. Back to the quote though, allow me to expand upon it for those who know or don’t know the entirety of it: ‘The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.’”

Storms casts a glance at the camera, letting the words sink in for a few moments.

Storms: “The blood of the covenant…is thicker, than the water of the womb. Chosen bonds, forged over time, are stronger than those bonds with family. Why is that? I’ll tell you why. In the case of family, sure, it’s cool and what to be part of a team and you do your thing, do your art, your craft, whatever. The problem with that though, is the personal conflict that can bloom, corrupt, and spread like wildfire to start burning bridges and make everything that you all worked for just crumble into pieces right before your eyes and watch the ashes get scattered to the winds. There’s no hope for recovery, no second chance, no nothing. Who else is going to pick you up from the ground, brush the dirt off you, and tell you everything is gonna be okay? It won’t be family…and this is something I’ve known for a long, long time since my days in the Global Wrestling Alliance, as shitty as it was.”

He shakes his head, pausing in his tracks.

Storms: “Those weeks after one of the most painful injuries I incurred in my career…they opened up my eyes to what it’s like being with people who have the same or similar outlooks as you, and forging those bonds with them was a valuable life lesson. We prospered as a unit, made waves within the tag team division, and hell, my best friend in that group became a World Champion several times over to cement his legacy as one of the very best. I was taught a lot of things in the years we wrestled together…and now here I’ve been in the likes of J-ROK and Sin City passing along what knowledge he gave to me so that others may prosper.”

Storms holds up a hand in front of his chest, clenching it into a fist.

Storms: “And prosper they have. Raiden…Daigo…Kingsley…we’ve all made each other better ever since we united under a single banner in J-ROK and have dominated everywhere we went because of the bonds we forged, tempered, and continue to build on with each passing day. That is what makes us such a lethal threat everywhere we go, and it’s what makes us more than worthy of being the tag team champs. Where they once fell in their pursuit, I am here to correct that mistake on the second go and see that everything is made right for this occasion. We’ve long since had our eye on this particular prize and it’s about damn time we got to claim a seat at the table.”

His fist tightens more, knuckles briefly turning white before it unclenches and goes lax.

Storms: “Take these words of advice you two: Forget about making Ollie happy. Instead, worry about the fact that she is going to be in tears once we’re done stomping you into the ground six feet under and then you’ll have to find a way to make it up to the one person that’s responsible for even keeping you two together in that Get Along shirt you two share. Hopefully you can bribe Deacon after the loss and make him forgive you for making his daughter cry, Marty. Believe me, last thing you want is a father’s rage to be raining down on your ass but in this case…I hope it does happen to just put the icing on the cake.”

Storms lets out a small chuckle, turning to the camera with his arms folding across his chest.

Storms: “Sunday is going to mark another milestone in The Harbinger’s agenda as the family we’ve come to be over these last few years. You know, a family that isn’t tearing itself apart and trying to smear one another’s blood on the walls to justify their own separate agendas. We’ve conquered one global scene in the past year…and now it’s time to stand atop another one by canceling out Marty and Old Man Deke. The division needs a team that’s going to bring some real prestige and real class to it other than the Disney Plus’ version of Keeping Up With The Kardashians because if I’m to be honest, this reign of theirs is just a special in the program, and it’s all it has ever been destined to be since Off The Wagon fell off their cart.”

The Harbinger turns and starts making his way to the door.

Storms: “Destruction and Chaos are going to burn bright for all to bear witness to in the coming days, and afterward…it’s about time Sin City started getting treated like the threat that it is. Odds are stacked against you gentlemen…and you don’t have the winning hand on the river.”

With the last remark, Storms goes about muting the volume in the gym space for the time being and turning off the lights as he pulls the door open, taking his leave as the camera fades to black.