The Death of Hyperion, Pt.1 (Supremacy)
Jan 20, 2018 19:34:52 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer and Robbie A like this
Post by Hyperion on Jan 20, 2018 19:34:52 GMT -5
It’s a difficult feeling to describe, the feeling of complete freedom, the thrill of open air and wind whistling past your ears. The feeling of power beneath you, as if you are astride a ferocious beast, a mythological dragon. Screaming down the road, flying low at 100 miles per hour, the roar of the beast pumping your heart faster, racing forward and leaving the world behind…
The rush of the ride is what got James Knox addicted to bikes. He tinkered with his father old Triumph, playing with the bike when his absent father was downing copious amounts of booze, or sleeping during working hours at home. His upbringing wasn’t conventional; wrought in fear, anger, frustration and mostly embarrassment. A failed man, birthed two sons who despised him and wanted nothing to do with him or his family name. A mother, despite her best efforts in raising the two kids, refused to leave the abusive husband, and chose to stay and suffer than to try something new. These decious lead the boys on a rocky road, teenage years filled with rebellion, crime, trouble. Attention was starved at home, but on the streets they could get as much as they wanted. Two big boys, raised in foreign lands to their birthright. Looking different than classmates, standing bigger than most adults, and as intimidating as wild hounds, the Knox brothers lead a cruel life of bullying, stealing and carved their own names into the whispers of the streets.
Flash forward a few more years, and the underworld of gang life had adopted the two men. One leading a small band of Harley riding hoodlums, the other a chain gang selling their wares on the corners of New York, from herb and powders, to flesh. Separate mindsets, separate lifestyles but both had one ultimate goal in mind...power.
As the years gained on them, the two best friends slowly grew apart, their childhood lives forgotten and their new ill-gotten reputations exceeding all else. One would go on to conquer the world of motorcycles, dive bars and brass knuckles. The other became a mogul, running an empire of drugs, prostitution and violence. Their paths separated for good, James Knox running the prestigious Greek Gods MC based in the Bronx, his younger brother taking over territories further south and expanding his reach from state to state. His fate is not known, the life of James Knox has lead us to this point, but his brother is now only a myth, a name spoken in fear or threats...Tommy Knox.
-I see the memories of your former life still roam freely in your mind…-
~That’s none of your business...and stay out of my head, freak.~
-Mistaken again...you reside within my vessel, but your mind and mine are as one. Your memories are entwined with mine own.-
~Yeah? Well you just focus on Greek bitches and grapes, and stay the fuck out of my thoughts.~
The roar of the engine grows, the wind catching him on the shoulders and chest...tearing a path of chaos through the quiet and still night, James Knox twists his throttle to the limit, his beats beneath him exploding in terrifying war cries. The sound of his beloved prize, his proudest posssesion...a 1084 Harley Davidson, Fat-Boy model. Sprayed all black on the tank and fenders, the chromed out pipes and bars gleaming in the nights sky, and the rumble of eighteen hundred cubic centimeters of sheer power quake the silence. The single main lamp blasts a blinding glow ahead of him, its luminescence catching bugs and dust normally invisible in the nights light.
~I bet they didn’t have this back where you’re from?~
-No, we rode stallions to battle, war horses raised to be fearless in conflict...but I must agree with you, this is a spectacular beats.-
~This girl has been between my legs since the ‘90’s. Only lady I loved.~
-That statement is hard to believe…-
~Sad but true.~
As the cold air flows over him, his tattered leather jacket flaps in the wind, his second waistcoat over that embroidered with a back patch of his former motorcycle club...the Greek Gods MC. Cruising at a steady pace, his hair blows in the wind behind him, trailing like a flickering flame. His fingerless leather gloves crunch as the leather contracts and tightens in his grip.
-If we had these steeds in battle, we would have turned the tides of war much earlier.-
~If you had bikes in ancient Greece, you wouldn't have been fighting at all. You would have been riding and enjoying the rush. Here, watch this…~
With that a long curving bend approaches, the pale glow from the thirty year old headlamp catching it’s curves and contours. Squealing the brakes a little, Knox squeezes the front brake, his right fist slowly curling around the metal arm. He slows the vehicle gradually, the front dipping as he does so. Entering the bend he bends to his right, not enough to merit a sharp turn but enough for everything to appear at 45°, whizzing past faster as he turns the world beneath him. He switches his stance, straightening up momentarily before banking left into the apex of the bend. As he exits the curve into straight road, looming ahead of him like a trail to the unknown he changes gears, clutching the iron lever in his left hand and kicking down the gear peg with his left boot. Dropping down a level the bike screeches on his exit as his cranks the throttle fully, the bike lurching forward with all four thousands RPM’s beneath his ass, the iron dragon galloping forward at increasing speeds.
~That right there, is a thing of beauty!~
-A powerful steed indeed!-
~Nothing better than an American made Harley engine, a stiff frame and an open road to rip up.~
-You speak so passionately about your vessel yet seem unperturbed about your future in the professional world. You seem do disregard the very notion of placing your name in history.-
~This again? Look man...I didn’t choose you, I need ask for you, but here you are. It’s been a fun ride, we’ve both learned a lot but get it straight...I’m not a wrestler, and neither are you. Just forget about that place.~
-How can you think nor say such a foolish thing. We have combined in the most unusual of circumstances, however I believe there is a reason for doing so. I have been REBORN in your image! Does this not enthrall you with fascination, or the concept of where this might lead us?-
~Hyperion man, listen...you appeared from nothing, showed up one day and now I’m stuck with you. Neither of us asked for it, but yet here you are. I’m not a wrestler, any more than you are. It was a fun idea, Bodhi convinced you it was your destiny, your higher purpose. But that was all bullshit. None of it was true, none of it was real.~
-Real? Don’t you see what we have achieved, don't you see how far we’ve come? We are at the edge of victory, the very end of a perilous and dangerous journey. This is our purpose! This is our destiny!-
~Destiny? To go to some match and fight off a bunch of other performers, other entertainers? Dude listen to yourself...whether you have a golden belt or a golden crown makes no difference...it’s not just me. And I hate to be a broken record here, but you are not real. The very fact I keep talking to you is even crazy!~
-Knox you have mistaken this for; -
Ignoring the voice in his head and drowning out all noise completely, Knox triggers the throttle once more, tearing a line through the nights sky. Gaining rapidly on a slower moving vehicle ahead, Knox leans left to overtake it and speeds up. The two glowing lights of an oncoming car trigger a chemical release in his brain...concern. Seeing the gap closing in, he twists the handle further, cranking it to its limits as the bike growls forward. He passes the slower moving vehicle, but the oncoming car is already upon them. Banking hard, he swings his body to the right, shifting the heavy bike back into the correct lane and narrowly avoiding both the oncoming vehicle, and the slower one behind him.
~Whew! What a fucking rush!~
-I feel my heartbeat racing...this thrills you? This is your desired excitement?-
~Fuck yeah it is! Nothing to remind you how alive you are than putting it on the line!~
-This is insanity.-
~I’m talking to an imaginary God in my mind, telling me to go wrestler a bear...I’m cool with insanity.~
-Knox you must reconsider this decision, you cannot leave it all behind, you cannot run from what we have become.-
~Hype, listen man...you don’t control me. You don’t own me. This is my life, and I am in control. I don’t care about X*Crown’s, World Championships or whatever the fuck the Church is...I’m going back to my brothers in New York, and I am taking my place in the Greek Gods MC. And that’s all there is to it.~
-We left that world behind, that realm is not for us anymore...please, remember why we are here.-
Flashing memories fill his mind, as James Knox remembers those events that leads him to right her and right now. As enforcer of his bike club, Road Captain, his duty was simple- make sure the deals go smoothly. However on one unfaithful day, that plan changed. Meeting with a rival club, he was introduced to a white haired mistress named Bodhi, who was marketing her new psychedelic drug...Steam. Spoken highly of and promising to be ‘the next big thing’, it was his duty to test it. However, side effects were unknown and it brought out a new side of him, a second side if you will...a dormant subconscious naming itself Hyperion. The drug deal was a set-up, his own club trying to kill him off along with the competition, but that same white haired woman saved his life...only he was a passenger in his own body. This new mind, this new persona of ‘Hyperion’ was driving. Intermittent changes of control peppered with various events of violence, carnage and fear riddle him with doubt, and the stronger personality took over completely...Hyperion became the dominant one, and Knox a spectator from the sideline. Following her lead, Knox could only watch as Hyperion became a known name in a new world, the world of professional wrestling. Battling names across the board, from Nelly Angel to Jason Justice, and now to Michael Storm and Bobby Barratt, this Hyperion build an empire for himself. Reintroducing his religion of ancient Greece to the world of 2017, and amassing a fantastic following of devout zealots, the subliminal mind or voice in his head had become what he always wanted...ultimately powerful. However, when looking in the mirror it was still his face appearing, still his features and motions, and that was all it took to spur a revolution...James Knox was not going to a be a prisoner in his own body anymore, and it was time to take the power back.
~...so tell me more about ancient Greece…~
-Why waste my breathe, you do not believe it anyhow.-
~No, but it is nice to hear the ramblings of a madman.~
-Hmph, you bask in this glory that you have returned control to your hands, yet you fail to see the very reality in front of you...riding this iron stallion away from our domain is foolish, and leaving our world behind will get us nothing but further suffering.-
~Nah, see when we get back to New York my old MC will take me back with open arms. They think I’m dead. Me, James Knox. They see some idiot on screen calling himself Hyperion and they think their friend has lost it, that their Captain has gone soft. I’ll rock up again on my bike, they’ll kneel down and honor me back. Just you wait and see.~
-Our kingdom is behind us, not ahead. We have built so much…-
~The Church? Those morons will be fine, that freak Ezriel can run that show. As for that clubhouse, Sirens is in my name. Bodhi’s insurance money all went into it, so no matter what I’m sitting on a pretty penny.~
-...I feel like this is a mistake. This errand, this voyage to return to your roots...this will all be in vain.-
~Hype, sadly for you I don’t give a fuck. So just sit back and shut the fuck up.~
-The crown is there for the taking, for us to finally become a King again!-
~Crown? Man, get a fucking grip. That match is a joke. Did you pay attention to the line up? That Kanyon guy is a ‘roid monkey, all buffed up and erratic. He thinks he can hold onto his belt, his crown or whatever the fuck it is? Let him. He’s nothing, just some overpaid actor who wouldn’t last a minute in a bar brawl.~
Knox aggressively changes gears, jumping the bike forward slightly.
~Then you have a blow-in of unknown faces, some kids nobody knows of from some shitty business up in Washington or somewhere. There is even two chicks on the card...two women versus a fucking bear! Yeah, a God-damn bear!~
-The owners of this arena must like to put on a spectacle for the audience…-
~Dude, no way am I fighting a bear to please some acne-ridden fat losers in the crowd. I’d do a straight up fist fight with some of the guys, one or two of them would be a good match. I’ve seen that Rob Arnold guy fight, he’s a mean brooding son of a bitch, and I like his style. Some dude named Price too, a big deal from way back when. These guys are old school, tough nuts I’d like to crack...but not in a ring, in front of cameras.~
-The spectacle of the battle is what matters, as the roars or jeers from the crowd will pump your heart and drive you on. We MUST return, for my rebirth was not predicted only to have me wasting away in a tavern, speaking with inbreds or simpletons.-
~Yeah? Well then die and rebirth yourself in someone else’s head then. ‘Cos I ain’t going back...a fucking bear. What were they thinking…~
He turns another bend, leaning into it as normal but something changes, something shifts...he almost loses balance but manages to straighten out on the exit of the turn. Again, his shoulder tweaks, his right arm moving involuntarily.
~What the...is that you??~
-You MUST turn back, James Knox. We cannot leave, this is my destiny. I was reborn to be the rightful King once more, and this crown must sit atop my brow.-
~You ARE nuts man. Go back to fight that old man Storm again? Or some wannabe superhero in a hood, a vigilante? And did you not hear me when I said they have a fucking bear??~
As the bikes rolls along, along twitch from Knox’s shoulder, this one with much more reaction. The bike swerves, almost close to the edge of the street.
~Hype, I’m not playing here. I am going home to New York, and I am done with that fucking wrestling shit.~
-Knox, I have struggled and fought you enough, and now I simply ask you...turn back. Now!-
Once more a shove from inside, this one moving Knox on his saddle and almost ejecting him from his seat. He grabs the throttle of the bike to steady himself, the weight of the two-wheeled charging vehicle unsteady beneath him.
~Hype! Dude, we’re doing 80! What the fuck!~
-Will you heed my words, and my order? Will you return me to my domain?-
~...fuck you.~
-Then you leave me no choice but to fight.-
~Dude, another jerk reaction like that and you’ll kill me...kill US!~
-I would rather depart to the heavens than be a prisoner in the mind of a fool.-
As Knox tries to hold control of the bike, his inner turmoil seems to struggle against him, his body making involuntary motions and jumps. The bike sways beneath him, and the wind seems to grow angry, as sideways gusts catch him off guard, blowing his hair across his face. He left arm swings out wildly, banking the bike to the left and into the oncoming lane. Coming towards them in the distance, the loud booming horn of a Mack truck blows loudly, signalling his approach...but Knox is unable to control his bike, or his body.
~Knock this off Hype, you’ll kill us!~
-...you were already dead to the world. You should have stayed that way…-
~Hype! What the fu; ~
Swaying wildly on the bike, Knox and his subconscious go to war, his vision blinded by images and flashes...memories. He recalls hiding in his room, his brother close by his side as they cower in a wardrobe, the screams of his mothers suffering from the next room. His father's voice, drunk and angry, and the sounds of flesh on flesh stings their ears…
Another flash, this time of his brothers in arms, his fellow ‘Greek Gods’, as the MC rolls through town terrorizing and tormenting a peaceful neighbourhood. Images of them recklessly swerving their bikes, kicking off wing mirrors of cars, jeering at pedestrians…
One more flash, of him standing in a locker room, dressed in a golden suit of armor, laughing at his own appearance. Imposing as the fan favourite Hyperion, commanding another mans army to attack and destroy, and reaping the rewards of a bluff. Another image of Bodhi approaching him in that same locker room, concerned and worried for her friend...foolish girl, this was all her doing. All her reasoning. Bringing him to Ohio, setting him up with an alter ego, a persona...pushing him further and encouraging him to wrestle...she fooled Hyperion, but now Knox. He memorizes of exacting her punishment, his pent up frustration exploding as he finally regains power of his own body, the sound of her screams and cries as he mercilessly beats her down into the floor…
~You fucking psycho, stop!~
-...my name...is Hyperion…-
The oncoming truck reaches the bike, colliding with it and Knox head on...almost. Swerving in time, Knox drags the bike back into the correct lane and narrowly misses the truck, as it roars past screaming from its horn loudly. However the jerk reaction slips the bike from under him, as he careens into the shoulder of the road and loses the bike from under him. Hitting the tarmacadam street at aggressive speed, Knox slams down hard on the pavement, his breathe escaping his lungs completely, with none returning. He tumbles and barrel rolls along the road, as his bike leaves him in a cloud of sparks and screeches. Rolling and bouncing, his body batters against the road thudding harder and harder until he finally collides with a barrier to the side...and everything goes black. James Knox’s lifeless body lays crumpled on the side of the street, his Harley some distance away spilling its oil and gasoline onto the road.
Everything is dark, cold, silent...
The rush of the ride is what got James Knox addicted to bikes. He tinkered with his father old Triumph, playing with the bike when his absent father was downing copious amounts of booze, or sleeping during working hours at home. His upbringing wasn’t conventional; wrought in fear, anger, frustration and mostly embarrassment. A failed man, birthed two sons who despised him and wanted nothing to do with him or his family name. A mother, despite her best efforts in raising the two kids, refused to leave the abusive husband, and chose to stay and suffer than to try something new. These decious lead the boys on a rocky road, teenage years filled with rebellion, crime, trouble. Attention was starved at home, but on the streets they could get as much as they wanted. Two big boys, raised in foreign lands to their birthright. Looking different than classmates, standing bigger than most adults, and as intimidating as wild hounds, the Knox brothers lead a cruel life of bullying, stealing and carved their own names into the whispers of the streets.
Flash forward a few more years, and the underworld of gang life had adopted the two men. One leading a small band of Harley riding hoodlums, the other a chain gang selling their wares on the corners of New York, from herb and powders, to flesh. Separate mindsets, separate lifestyles but both had one ultimate goal in mind...power.
As the years gained on them, the two best friends slowly grew apart, their childhood lives forgotten and their new ill-gotten reputations exceeding all else. One would go on to conquer the world of motorcycles, dive bars and brass knuckles. The other became a mogul, running an empire of drugs, prostitution and violence. Their paths separated for good, James Knox running the prestigious Greek Gods MC based in the Bronx, his younger brother taking over territories further south and expanding his reach from state to state. His fate is not known, the life of James Knox has lead us to this point, but his brother is now only a myth, a name spoken in fear or threats...Tommy Knox.
-I see the memories of your former life still roam freely in your mind…-
~That’s none of your business...and stay out of my head, freak.~
-Mistaken again...you reside within my vessel, but your mind and mine are as one. Your memories are entwined with mine own.-
~Yeah? Well you just focus on Greek bitches and grapes, and stay the fuck out of my thoughts.~
The roar of the engine grows, the wind catching him on the shoulders and chest...tearing a path of chaos through the quiet and still night, James Knox twists his throttle to the limit, his beats beneath him exploding in terrifying war cries. The sound of his beloved prize, his proudest posssesion...a 1084 Harley Davidson, Fat-Boy model. Sprayed all black on the tank and fenders, the chromed out pipes and bars gleaming in the nights sky, and the rumble of eighteen hundred cubic centimeters of sheer power quake the silence. The single main lamp blasts a blinding glow ahead of him, its luminescence catching bugs and dust normally invisible in the nights light.
~I bet they didn’t have this back where you’re from?~
-No, we rode stallions to battle, war horses raised to be fearless in conflict...but I must agree with you, this is a spectacular beats.-
~This girl has been between my legs since the ‘90’s. Only lady I loved.~
-That statement is hard to believe…-
~Sad but true.~
As the cold air flows over him, his tattered leather jacket flaps in the wind, his second waistcoat over that embroidered with a back patch of his former motorcycle club...the Greek Gods MC. Cruising at a steady pace, his hair blows in the wind behind him, trailing like a flickering flame. His fingerless leather gloves crunch as the leather contracts and tightens in his grip.
-If we had these steeds in battle, we would have turned the tides of war much earlier.-
~If you had bikes in ancient Greece, you wouldn't have been fighting at all. You would have been riding and enjoying the rush. Here, watch this…~
With that a long curving bend approaches, the pale glow from the thirty year old headlamp catching it’s curves and contours. Squealing the brakes a little, Knox squeezes the front brake, his right fist slowly curling around the metal arm. He slows the vehicle gradually, the front dipping as he does so. Entering the bend he bends to his right, not enough to merit a sharp turn but enough for everything to appear at 45°, whizzing past faster as he turns the world beneath him. He switches his stance, straightening up momentarily before banking left into the apex of the bend. As he exits the curve into straight road, looming ahead of him like a trail to the unknown he changes gears, clutching the iron lever in his left hand and kicking down the gear peg with his left boot. Dropping down a level the bike screeches on his exit as his cranks the throttle fully, the bike lurching forward with all four thousands RPM’s beneath his ass, the iron dragon galloping forward at increasing speeds.
~That right there, is a thing of beauty!~
-A powerful steed indeed!-
~Nothing better than an American made Harley engine, a stiff frame and an open road to rip up.~
-You speak so passionately about your vessel yet seem unperturbed about your future in the professional world. You seem do disregard the very notion of placing your name in history.-
~This again? Look man...I didn’t choose you, I need ask for you, but here you are. It’s been a fun ride, we’ve both learned a lot but get it straight...I’m not a wrestler, and neither are you. Just forget about that place.~
-How can you think nor say such a foolish thing. We have combined in the most unusual of circumstances, however I believe there is a reason for doing so. I have been REBORN in your image! Does this not enthrall you with fascination, or the concept of where this might lead us?-
~Hyperion man, listen...you appeared from nothing, showed up one day and now I’m stuck with you. Neither of us asked for it, but yet here you are. I’m not a wrestler, any more than you are. It was a fun idea, Bodhi convinced you it was your destiny, your higher purpose. But that was all bullshit. None of it was true, none of it was real.~
-Real? Don’t you see what we have achieved, don't you see how far we’ve come? We are at the edge of victory, the very end of a perilous and dangerous journey. This is our purpose! This is our destiny!-
~Destiny? To go to some match and fight off a bunch of other performers, other entertainers? Dude listen to yourself...whether you have a golden belt or a golden crown makes no difference...it’s not just me. And I hate to be a broken record here, but you are not real. The very fact I keep talking to you is even crazy!~
-Knox you have mistaken this for; -
Ignoring the voice in his head and drowning out all noise completely, Knox triggers the throttle once more, tearing a line through the nights sky. Gaining rapidly on a slower moving vehicle ahead, Knox leans left to overtake it and speeds up. The two glowing lights of an oncoming car trigger a chemical release in his brain...concern. Seeing the gap closing in, he twists the handle further, cranking it to its limits as the bike growls forward. He passes the slower moving vehicle, but the oncoming car is already upon them. Banking hard, he swings his body to the right, shifting the heavy bike back into the correct lane and narrowly avoiding both the oncoming vehicle, and the slower one behind him.
~Whew! What a fucking rush!~
-I feel my heartbeat racing...this thrills you? This is your desired excitement?-
~Fuck yeah it is! Nothing to remind you how alive you are than putting it on the line!~
-This is insanity.-
~I’m talking to an imaginary God in my mind, telling me to go wrestler a bear...I’m cool with insanity.~
-Knox you must reconsider this decision, you cannot leave it all behind, you cannot run from what we have become.-
~Hype, listen man...you don’t control me. You don’t own me. This is my life, and I am in control. I don’t care about X*Crown’s, World Championships or whatever the fuck the Church is...I’m going back to my brothers in New York, and I am taking my place in the Greek Gods MC. And that’s all there is to it.~
-We left that world behind, that realm is not for us anymore...please, remember why we are here.-
Flashing memories fill his mind, as James Knox remembers those events that leads him to right her and right now. As enforcer of his bike club, Road Captain, his duty was simple- make sure the deals go smoothly. However on one unfaithful day, that plan changed. Meeting with a rival club, he was introduced to a white haired mistress named Bodhi, who was marketing her new psychedelic drug...Steam. Spoken highly of and promising to be ‘the next big thing’, it was his duty to test it. However, side effects were unknown and it brought out a new side of him, a second side if you will...a dormant subconscious naming itself Hyperion. The drug deal was a set-up, his own club trying to kill him off along with the competition, but that same white haired woman saved his life...only he was a passenger in his own body. This new mind, this new persona of ‘Hyperion’ was driving. Intermittent changes of control peppered with various events of violence, carnage and fear riddle him with doubt, and the stronger personality took over completely...Hyperion became the dominant one, and Knox a spectator from the sideline. Following her lead, Knox could only watch as Hyperion became a known name in a new world, the world of professional wrestling. Battling names across the board, from Nelly Angel to Jason Justice, and now to Michael Storm and Bobby Barratt, this Hyperion build an empire for himself. Reintroducing his religion of ancient Greece to the world of 2017, and amassing a fantastic following of devout zealots, the subliminal mind or voice in his head had become what he always wanted...ultimately powerful. However, when looking in the mirror it was still his face appearing, still his features and motions, and that was all it took to spur a revolution...James Knox was not going to a be a prisoner in his own body anymore, and it was time to take the power back.
~...so tell me more about ancient Greece…~
-Why waste my breathe, you do not believe it anyhow.-
~No, but it is nice to hear the ramblings of a madman.~
-Hmph, you bask in this glory that you have returned control to your hands, yet you fail to see the very reality in front of you...riding this iron stallion away from our domain is foolish, and leaving our world behind will get us nothing but further suffering.-
~Nah, see when we get back to New York my old MC will take me back with open arms. They think I’m dead. Me, James Knox. They see some idiot on screen calling himself Hyperion and they think their friend has lost it, that their Captain has gone soft. I’ll rock up again on my bike, they’ll kneel down and honor me back. Just you wait and see.~
-Our kingdom is behind us, not ahead. We have built so much…-
~The Church? Those morons will be fine, that freak Ezriel can run that show. As for that clubhouse, Sirens is in my name. Bodhi’s insurance money all went into it, so no matter what I’m sitting on a pretty penny.~
-...I feel like this is a mistake. This errand, this voyage to return to your roots...this will all be in vain.-
~Hype, sadly for you I don’t give a fuck. So just sit back and shut the fuck up.~
-The crown is there for the taking, for us to finally become a King again!-
~Crown? Man, get a fucking grip. That match is a joke. Did you pay attention to the line up? That Kanyon guy is a ‘roid monkey, all buffed up and erratic. He thinks he can hold onto his belt, his crown or whatever the fuck it is? Let him. He’s nothing, just some overpaid actor who wouldn’t last a minute in a bar brawl.~
Knox aggressively changes gears, jumping the bike forward slightly.
~Then you have a blow-in of unknown faces, some kids nobody knows of from some shitty business up in Washington or somewhere. There is even two chicks on the card...two women versus a fucking bear! Yeah, a God-damn bear!~
-The owners of this arena must like to put on a spectacle for the audience…-
~Dude, no way am I fighting a bear to please some acne-ridden fat losers in the crowd. I’d do a straight up fist fight with some of the guys, one or two of them would be a good match. I’ve seen that Rob Arnold guy fight, he’s a mean brooding son of a bitch, and I like his style. Some dude named Price too, a big deal from way back when. These guys are old school, tough nuts I’d like to crack...but not in a ring, in front of cameras.~
-The spectacle of the battle is what matters, as the roars or jeers from the crowd will pump your heart and drive you on. We MUST return, for my rebirth was not predicted only to have me wasting away in a tavern, speaking with inbreds or simpletons.-
~Yeah? Well then die and rebirth yourself in someone else’s head then. ‘Cos I ain’t going back...a fucking bear. What were they thinking…~
He turns another bend, leaning into it as normal but something changes, something shifts...he almost loses balance but manages to straighten out on the exit of the turn. Again, his shoulder tweaks, his right arm moving involuntarily.
~What the...is that you??~
-You MUST turn back, James Knox. We cannot leave, this is my destiny. I was reborn to be the rightful King once more, and this crown must sit atop my brow.-
~You ARE nuts man. Go back to fight that old man Storm again? Or some wannabe superhero in a hood, a vigilante? And did you not hear me when I said they have a fucking bear??~
As the bikes rolls along, along twitch from Knox’s shoulder, this one with much more reaction. The bike swerves, almost close to the edge of the street.
~Hype, I’m not playing here. I am going home to New York, and I am done with that fucking wrestling shit.~
-Knox, I have struggled and fought you enough, and now I simply ask you...turn back. Now!-
Once more a shove from inside, this one moving Knox on his saddle and almost ejecting him from his seat. He grabs the throttle of the bike to steady himself, the weight of the two-wheeled charging vehicle unsteady beneath him.
~Hype! Dude, we’re doing 80! What the fuck!~
-Will you heed my words, and my order? Will you return me to my domain?-
~...fuck you.~
-Then you leave me no choice but to fight.-
~Dude, another jerk reaction like that and you’ll kill me...kill US!~
-I would rather depart to the heavens than be a prisoner in the mind of a fool.-
As Knox tries to hold control of the bike, his inner turmoil seems to struggle against him, his body making involuntary motions and jumps. The bike sways beneath him, and the wind seems to grow angry, as sideways gusts catch him off guard, blowing his hair across his face. He left arm swings out wildly, banking the bike to the left and into the oncoming lane. Coming towards them in the distance, the loud booming horn of a Mack truck blows loudly, signalling his approach...but Knox is unable to control his bike, or his body.
~Knock this off Hype, you’ll kill us!~
-...you were already dead to the world. You should have stayed that way…-
~Hype! What the fu; ~
Swaying wildly on the bike, Knox and his subconscious go to war, his vision blinded by images and flashes...memories. He recalls hiding in his room, his brother close by his side as they cower in a wardrobe, the screams of his mothers suffering from the next room. His father's voice, drunk and angry, and the sounds of flesh on flesh stings their ears…
Another flash, this time of his brothers in arms, his fellow ‘Greek Gods’, as the MC rolls through town terrorizing and tormenting a peaceful neighbourhood. Images of them recklessly swerving their bikes, kicking off wing mirrors of cars, jeering at pedestrians…
One more flash, of him standing in a locker room, dressed in a golden suit of armor, laughing at his own appearance. Imposing as the fan favourite Hyperion, commanding another mans army to attack and destroy, and reaping the rewards of a bluff. Another image of Bodhi approaching him in that same locker room, concerned and worried for her friend...foolish girl, this was all her doing. All her reasoning. Bringing him to Ohio, setting him up with an alter ego, a persona...pushing him further and encouraging him to wrestle...she fooled Hyperion, but now Knox. He memorizes of exacting her punishment, his pent up frustration exploding as he finally regains power of his own body, the sound of her screams and cries as he mercilessly beats her down into the floor…
~You fucking psycho, stop!~
-...my name...is Hyperion…-
The oncoming truck reaches the bike, colliding with it and Knox head on...almost. Swerving in time, Knox drags the bike back into the correct lane and narrowly misses the truck, as it roars past screaming from its horn loudly. However the jerk reaction slips the bike from under him, as he careens into the shoulder of the road and loses the bike from under him. Hitting the tarmacadam street at aggressive speed, Knox slams down hard on the pavement, his breathe escaping his lungs completely, with none returning. He tumbles and barrel rolls along the road, as his bike leaves him in a cloud of sparks and screeches. Rolling and bouncing, his body batters against the road thudding harder and harder until he finally collides with a barrier to the side...and everything goes black. James Knox’s lifeless body lays crumpled on the side of the street, his Harley some distance away spilling its oil and gasoline onto the road.
Everything is dark, cold, silent...
