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Post by Deleted on Oct 16, 2019 16:30:50 GMT -6
DateOctober 16th, 2019 LocationShieldmaidens Clubhouse in New Orleans, LA Time8:34AM StatusOff Camera The scene opens to Becca “Bruiser” Maguire fast asleep with her head resting on the large meeting table, photos and documents regarding Marchand litter said table along with several empty bottles of beer. The door leading out of the room opens and in walks Shieldmaiden’s President, Alex “Bullet” Carbajal who sighs and shakes her head when she notices her sleeping sister before making her way over to her.
BulletBex? ¿Estás despierto? Bruiser suddenly lifts her head, breathing in rapidly as she awakes from her slumber and looks over to Bullet.
BruiserOh… hey, Ale… She yawns and stretches before rubbing her eyes.
BruiserWhat time is it? Bullet glances at her watch.
Bullet8:35… Bruiser lets out an elongated sigh and leans back in her chair.
BruiserShit… Sorsh is probably worried sick… She looks down at the paperwork in front of her and shakes her head before she begins to pile it all back up.
Bullet¿Que es esto? Looking down at the paperwork again, Bruiser sighs a second time.
BruiserSome stuff I managed to get a hold o’ regardin’ Marchand. Tryin’ to figure out how I can find him after what he did to Allie. Guess I must have been up all night tryin’ and got fuckin’ nowhere. She buries her face into her hands in frustration. As she scans the paperwork, Bullet can’t help but be struck by the sight of how much of it there is.
BulletWhere did you get it all? This looks like everything the Twins have found and what Zombie could find on her end as well… BruiserThat’s where… I asked Crash and Burn for everythin’ they had… same with Zombie. I just… thought that maybe I could find somethin’ they missed… She slams the pile of paperwork onto the table in anger.
Bruiser...and it’s all been a waste o’ fuckin’ time! Bullet nods and then takes a seat next to Bruiser.
BulletThe first I heard of him was when he came here to talk to me and threatened to have me deported. It was not long after 30-30 talked about him like he was the Bogeyman of Los Tombos. You will probably not find anything that they have not unless he wants you to. Bruiser folds her arms on the table and shakes her head.
BruiserI know that I’ve been actin’ like a fuckin’ bitch to ya’ll lately… but I just can’t stop thinkin’ about this shit. We all thought my sister was bein’ selfish, killin’ herself and leavin’ RJ Jr without a mother… only to find out that piece o’ shit forced her to kill herself. She strokes both hands through her long, ruffled dirty blond hair.
BruiserI just wanna fuckin’ scream, ya know? I want to just end the bastard once and for all. Not just for me… but for all o’ us. Bullet nods understandingly.
BulletEntiendo… pero… She exhales heavily.
BulletMarchand has threatened many of us. He has threatened to deport almost my entire family. He has taunted Jack about her family’s substance history and threatened to make trouble for her sister because she is on probation. He is why RJ and Widow went nomad and I know he threatened to have others removed from this country as well, your wife and her sister among that number. I know it is infuriating, but we cannot allow him to take over our lives. We cannot allow him to be the cancerous tumor or drug that we chase like a bad high. Robbie John needs you and he needs you whole. He needs you present and he needs you to not end up in prison for pushing vendetta. Sorsh needs you to help keep her head on with all that is happening with her. We need you but even if all of that is put aside, you need to allow other things to take priority for you. You have only just gotten your career back, if this continues to cloud your mind, you will get yourself hurt bad in the ring again and this time, you might not come back. You cannot allow him to do that to you! ¿Entiendes? Bruiser looks at Bullet and nods slowly.
BruiserAye… I know… She reaches into her jeans pocket and pulls out her cell phone and notices several missed calls and text messages from her wife.
BruiserFuck. Looks like I might be in the fuckin’ dog house with Sorsh. I’m a damn idiot for lettin’ this shit take over my life. Glancing back down to the paperwork and to the empty bottles of beer, Bruiser sighs yet again.
BruiserI’ll get this shit cleaned up and get my ass back home… hopefully I can make it up to Sorsh and Robbie John. Bullet glances at her watch again.
BulletThey’ll be here soon. Sorsh is to work out with Jack this morning. Eef will probably be the one to watch little RJ if you have not contacted them. BruiserI’ll go anyway… I’ve lost enough time bein’ able to play with my son when I was stuck in a fuckin’ wheelchair… I ain’t losin’ anymore time. Thanks, Ale. Bruiser pats Bullet on her shoulder as she stands to her feet and begins to clear the table as the scene fades.
 DateOctober 16th, 2019 LocationMaguire Residence in New Orleans, LA Time12:04PM StatusOff Camera The scene re-opens as we see Becca “Bruiser” Maguire crawling along the floor of her home, after a few moments it becomes apparent to the reason why she’s doing this as lying on his back in the middle of the lounge is her son, Robbie John Jr. He’s looking around the room, kicking his legs when Bruiser pops into his line of sight.
BruiserBoo! RJ Jr giggles as he reaches out and manages to grab a tiny fistful of Bruiser’s hair.
BruiserAhh… ya’ll got my hair! Her son giggles even harder.
BruiserI’mma get them toes! I’mma get ‘em! She pretends to nibble on the babies toes which causes Robbie John to release his grip on her hair as he continues giggling which in turn causes Bruiser to laugh as well.
BruiserI love ya so much, Robbie John. Picking him up, she lies down on her back and while holding him looks as if she’s bench pressing him and whenever their faces are close enough, Bruiser kisses him.
BruiserYa such a lil’ cutie, ain’t ya? Yes ya are… oh yes ya are… As Bruiser continues to play with her son, she fails to notice that her wife has returned from her morning workout with Bandit.
BruiserI just want ya’ll to know that Mommy is sorry for not givin’ ya the attention ya’ll deserve lately. I love ya’ll and Mama Sorsh… and don’t ya ever forget that, aye? Ya’ll and Mama Sorsh have been the best things to ever happen to me and I don’t wanna lose either o’ ya. PsychoAye, an’ we dinna wanna bae losin’ ye tae nuttin’, Lass! Bruiser and little RJ Jr look towards the direction of Psycho standing in the doorway.
BruiserLook, Robbie John… Mama’s home… She puts RJ Jr down on the floor onto his stomach, facing Psycho.
BruiserYa’ll wanna try and do what I was showing you how to do earlier? Come on! Crawl to Mama! Look… like this! Bruiser then gets onto her hands and knees and crawls towards her wife before turning back to their son.
BruiserCome on, Robbie John… you can do it! Psycho watches and her jaw drops as RJ Jr begins to crawl towards them.
PsychoBegorra! He bae movin’ on his own then! Bruiser picks him up in her arms and stands up beside her wife.
BruiserGood lad, Robbie John! She turns to Psycho and kisses her on the cheek.
BruiserI’m sorry for how I’ve been lately, babe. I’m glad that the both o’ us have just been able to witness our son’s first time crawlin’... I don’t wanna potentially miss any o’ his firsts. Psycho steps over to them and takes them both in an embrace.
PsychoI’m sorry if I bae makin’ ye fael like ye had tae go it alone, Bex. I dinna maen tha tae happen. BruiserTrust me, ya’ll didn’t do that. I just got caught up in it all and… I just want justice for Allie, ya know? Looking back at their son, Bruiser sticks out her forefinger, allowing RJ Jr to wrap his tiny little hand around it.
BruiserBut as important as wantin’ justice for my sister is… I lost sight o’ what else is important to me… that bein’ the two most important people in my life. Ya’ll and Robbie John. PsychoI would probably be a li’l mad if it was me sister or brother as well, Lass… BruiserAye… anyway… how about ya’ll go and enjoy a nice relaxin’ bath while RJ Jr and I whip up somethin’ to eat? Psycho can’t help but smile.
PsychoAye, tha sounds like a plan tae me… Bruiser nods and gives her wife another kiss on the cheek before she heads into the kitchen and Psycho heads upstairs to run herself a bath as the scene fades.
DateOctober 16th, 2019 LocationMaguire Residence in New Orleans, LA Time07:56PM StatusOn Camera The scene re-opens as we find Becca “Bruiser” Maguire already sitting in the chair facing the camera. On the table in front of her, instead of a bottle of beer as we are used to seeing, is a bottle of water. Anyone who had seen Bruiser over the past few days would have known and seen how tired, angry and frustrated she was, and how much alcohol she had consumed. But this was a different Bruiser, this one was fresh, focused and determined.
BruiserFirst things first, unlike the rest o’ the opponents ya’ll have taken on since arrivin’ here, I’m actually gonna address ya Reaper, not ya’lls manager. And I’m doin’ that for several reasons. One, coz I ain’t facin’ AMV, I’m facin’ ya’ll. And two? Coz o’ the fact ya don’t speak, I’ll take that as ya’ll acceptin’ my wish to not be referred to by my full first name that I hate, which ya manager can’t seem to gimme that same courtesy. Grabbing the bottle of water, she unscrews the cap off it and takes a swig of the clear liquid.
BruiserDespite what ya manager believes, Reaper… I didn’t go after ya because I think that ya’lls is a steppin’ stone for me. Naw. I went after ya’ll for a few reasons… one o’ them bein’ that ya took somethin’ from me in ya debut, that bein’ the Mile High Cup… which, by the sound o’ AMV, he believes it’s worthless. He also says that ya’ll obliterated every single person involved in that match… but ya’ll know that ain’t true, don’t ya, Reaper? Naw see… what ya’lls esteemed manager fails to mention is that out o’ every single competitor involved in that Battle Royal, I was the only one with the balls to go toe to toe with ya… which is funny considerin’ I was the only fuckin’ woman involved in the match. Even Ripley, who managed to get a few shots in on ya only went for ya in self-defense. AMV can call me a fool for goin’ after ya unprovoked… not just during the Battle Royal but also at the followin’ ThrowDown. But o’ course he’d say that. He fails to realize that just coz you’re a big, tough badass dude… this business is all about gettin’ in the middle o’ that rin’ and beatin’ the ever lovin’ fuck outta each other. I am a fighter, Reaper… ya’ll are well aware o’ that fact and I don’t care how big or how tough ya are, I’ll take the fight to whoever is in my fuckin’ way! Leaning forward, she clasps her hands together and rests her elbows on her thighs.
BruiserYa buddy seems to assume a lot about ya’ll… coz ya don’t seem like the kinda guy who likes to have conversations… even off camera with ya manager. Maybe ya can’t speak and ya’ll is a mute. I don’t know. But if that is the case, then that just further makes me wonder if what AMV is sayin’ about what ya’ll think… if it’s even the truth. Do ya’ll really think that the Mile High Cup trophy is pointless? Do ya’ll really think that I went after ya’ll coz I wanna use ya as a steppin’ stone? Do ya’ll really not think o’ the truth o’ the matter that thus far since ya’ll debuted in Mile High that I have been the only one who has surprised ya with how much fight I’ve thrown at ya? Bruiser chuckles and shakes her head.
BruiserI know that me askin’ ya’ll these questions is futile… coz ya little sharp dressed mouthpiece is just gonna fuckin’ answer my questions for ya and claim that they’re the answers ya’ll would give. Despite the fact that I don’t give a flyin’ fuck about what AMV says, naw, I wanna know what ya’ll think… I wanna know what ya’ll want to say. Coz here’s the thin’, Reaper… at ThrowDown, it ain’t AMV who matters to me… it’s yaself. She takes another drink of her water before setting the bottle back down on the table.
BruiserYa’ll are the one that matters to me coz it’s ya’ll who I’m steppin’ into that rin’ with next weekend in a Hardcore match. And aye, I get it… I know that everyone on the Mile High roster… probably a lot o’ the fans too are expectin’ me to be leavin’ the AT&T Center in a fuckin’ bodybag. And I understand why they’d all be thinkin’ that… ya body is a weapon all on it’s own… so who the fuck knows what will happen if ya’ll get ya hands on a weapon. But I’ll reiterate, lad… I’m a fuckin’ fighter. I have fought my entire fuckin’ life just to have a wrestlin’ career! But nothin’ ever keeps me down, and as much as ya little friend says that ya’ll will be what puts me down for good, both o’ us know that ain’t true. Bruiser smirks and nods into the camera.
BruiserI respect ya, Reaper… which is more than I can say about AMV. No matter what kinda shite spews from his mouth, I believe that ya’ll respect me too. I know that ya’ll know that ya in for the biggest fight o’ ya fuckin' life come October 27th. Ya’ll know that at ThrowDown 25, no matter what ya’ll throw at me… I’m gonna keep gettin’ back up and I’m gonna keep fightin’. Not because I’m a fool like AMV thinks, not because I have a fuckin’ death wish… naw… because I’m a mother... fuckin’... fighter! She cracks her neck from side to side, followed by her knuckles.
BruiserI know I’m in for the fight o’ my fuckin’ life as well… and I know AMV is gonna likely brin’ up how dangerous ya’ll can be when the use o’ weapons are legal… but ya’ll will understand just how dangerous I can fuckin’ be usin’ a weapon as well. I’m gonna fuckin’ throw everythin’ at ya… includin’ the kitchen fuckin’ sink! Coz no matter how big and how tough ya might be… when steel, wood, concrete or barbed wire meets flesh? Flesh always fuckin’ loses! So I’ll be seein’ ya next weekend, Reaper… coz I don’t give a fuck what AMV says, I’m fuckin’ showin’ up and I’m takin’ the fight to ya… and unlike every other opponent ya’ll have had so far? I know I can fuckin’ beat ya… and I plan on doin’ just that! Grabbing the bottle of water, Bruiser gets to her feet and then disappears off camera and after a few brief moments, the camera cuts off ending the scene. |
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Post by Deleted on Oct 24, 2019 20:11:01 GMT -6
It is a familiar locale, though perhaps a bit less so without strewn bodies, bloodstains, police tape and suits and uniforms milling about within an obscene audience of rubberneckers. There’s plenty of people moving past, but few are actually seeing this loading area as a destination. Cars ride by, slow due to all the pedestrians and finding that just-right parking spot, but for the most part, the area is calm. Even with a tall, black-swathed, masked monster smack dab in the middle of it all. Reaper walks in the open, in the daylight, and most people don’t even give him the time of day. They do give him a rather wide berth, though, so that’s something.
The thing is, he’s not really doing anything other than standing there, his head seemingly lowered to stare at the weather-worn concrete. After a bit, though… moments that see him pace about and peruse the path before him, the New Nightmare stops and takes a knee, lowering with some effort. Pulling a leather glove from his right hand, revealing flesh marked with many a line, scar and trail of black as well as vestiges of some ink, the monster runs his fingertips over the concrete, a spot darker than the others. When his flesh alights there, his entire body goes rigid for a moment.
”You knew ‘em?”
An older woman walks up, a few grocery bags in one hand, the other holding a phone which she now lowers as she stands within touching distance of Reaper. The masked man does not look up, though his head is noted to turn slightly.
”Can’t say I care much for most of ‘em. Buncha homophobic scum lookin’ to make trouble. It ain’t a good world to be different in. But the kid… he didn’t deserve none of that. He was just there settin’ up for a performance or some-such. That’s what they say, anyhow. Not that they’re sayin’ much.”
An older, grandmotherly type, this one. She rattled on in a raspy yet sweet tone, pausing to pocket her phone and take a drag from the Marlboro hanging from her lips. Not the most ladylike way to get cancer, but hey…
”Can’t imagine ya care much ‘bout them slime.”
Reaper allows a single shake of his head, getting back to his feet. As he dusts himself off, the woman looks at him a bit more closely, adjusting thick glasses. For a moment it appears that she recognizes him...
”Damn these things. Need a new prescription.”
...but in the end, she continues on her way, leaving Reaper looking after her, head tilted to the side just a bit. A few moments later, Aloysius Marcus Vance IV walks up to his client, looking around as subtly as he can before speaking to Reaper in as quiet of a tone as can be mustered without drawing undue attention.
”Thought we talked about how bad of an idea it was to be around here right now, man. I mean, those fuckers are still lurking and you know the dogs are sniffing around, too. Seriously… I can only do so much.”
Reaper, popping his neck, turns to stare down at AMV. The lawyer returns his look, but stays low-key despite feeling the masked man’s stare boring into him. Figuratively speaking.
”Anyway, now that I found you, we have a meeting to get to. The one I told you about a few days ago.”
His hands clench briefly as Reaper replaces his glove, the leather creaking with the motion of those large, scarred, human-crushing paws of his. Seeming to take this as a form of response, AMV tries to placate the monster, taking a step back with hands raised, palms out.
”I know you don’t like it, but it’s the only path open to us. Now come on.”
There is an audible snarl from behind the mask, causing AMV to tense up even further. But after a few moments, Reaper storms off in the direction indicated by his lawyer and Vance, relieved at least slightly, follows after him. Once they’re out of sight, the view once again restored to something resembling normalcy. From here, the scene opens up in a bar… and to call it a dive might be generous. The furniture is rickety and the clientele wouldn’t know what the hell ‘clientele’ meant if they heard it. Rednecks and dregs, hard-workin’ and light-thinkin’, lookin’ for a good time in a place that’s too wrong even for Johnny Cash to sing about.
You get the picture.
And of course that’s the spot where one would find Reaper because… well… he isn’t just going to shack up and Club Fifi and knock back a couple flutes of mimosa or some shit. The mug might not be totally clean and the beer is probably past its expiration date, but the New Nightmare doesn’t seem to care as he sits silently at the bar amongst all the carousing and hollering, a large mug before him, half-empty, and his metallic mask lying on the notched, scratched counter itself. The bartender is giving him the eye from across the way, naturally, but the big man is oblivious to what’s going on around him. Almost.
”’Ey, you been watchin’ the news, Ricky?”
”Whassat?”
”The damn news, dipshit! Ya hear ‘bout that little queer bastard got curb-stomped over by the arena?”
”Fuck I care about some faggot?!”
Reaper’s head moves imperceptibly at the tone of the conversation a little further down the bar. The motion reveals some facial hair on the chin of the New Nightmare, the angle of the glow showing flecks of gray in it. But little other than that, even in terms of profile, is visible.
”Thought one o’ yer boys was in on that or some shit?”
The view pans around a bit, showing a fellow in a trucker hat that has grease and God-knows-what-else staining it, draped in flannel and torn denim, sucking on a brown bottle a few seats down while his buddy, packing a half-bald mullet, puts down a few gulps of his own before slamming the half-empty container down on the bar.
”What, ya mean ol’ Dickie? Yeah, and ya seen the state of him lately? Got three of his teeth knocked out and is drinkin through a fuckin’ straw!”
”He got that done to him by that fairy?!”
”No, dipshit, by the fuckin’ brick shithouse what tried to break things up! They put his ass in the hospital too, though. Ain’t no motherfucker walkin’ God’s green earth got the nuts to stand up to ten motherfuckers what’s on a fuckin’ mission!”
”Amen to that!”
A noisy clink of glasses leads to two heavy thumps against the counter as the men call for another round.
”Another round for me an’ Ricky, Jack!”
”Make it a double!”
”Comin’ up, Lance.”
Reaper, listening to the conversation, has a deathgrip on his mug. As it carries on, the glass remains halfway between the counter and his lips, shaking a little in his gloved clutch. As Jack puts down a couple fresh bottles down for Ricky and Lance, he sees the big man sitting there in a trance and walks down, albeit tentatively.
Another round-”
At that moment, the glass in Reaper’s hand cracks… and breaks into pieces. Shards and chunks fall to the counter amid a puddle of beer. Reaper’s grip had tightened to the point of actually breaking the heavy mug for some reason. The man himself barely reacts save to glance down at the bar, then to pick up his mask, shoving it into the front pocket of the old black hoodie he’s wearing. The bartender stands there, stupefied, as Reaper pulls a twenty from his jeans pocket and drops it on the counter, turning to go.
”Fuck did that come from?! Think ya own the place, muscles?!”
”Jesus, Ricky, don’t start another fight! Took enough trouble with the wife just to get her to let me out of the house without a fight after last time!”
Not paying the drunks any mind, Reaper continues on his way to the door without looking back, hands in his pockets. There’s a bit of rowdy laughter from behind him, some of it nervous where Lance is concerned. Ricky, on the other hand…
”What, can’t take a joke, hoss? Or was it all the queer talk? You got a soft spot for them fairies, big ‘un?”
One swig of his beer later, Ricky is on his feet and taking a few steps toward the door, still not getting a reaction out of the big man. As the New Nightmare steps out into the misty night, a deep breath comes from him that leaves a puff visible in the air. Reaching into his rear pocket, he takes out a cell phone and starts to make a call when the door is knocked open behind him and Ricky shoves him from behind. Almost dropping his phone, Reaper pauses a moment and puts it back in his pocket as he slowly turns around… right into a right hand from a clearly-agitated Ricky who isn’t used to being ignored in his none-too-subtle requests for a brawl. He squares up after, does the drunk, continuing to try and bait Reaper, never mind the fact that the punch barely shook the monster.
”Come on, fucker! I threw the first shot for ya! Now take one back so I got a reason to drop y-”
The rest of the sentence never leaves Ricky’s mouth as Reaper lunges with startling alacrity, driving his skull into the bridge of Ricky’s nose. The drunk stumbles, blinks a few times and drops to the wet concrete like a sack of cement. Tossing his head back, throwing the hood off with it, the shadowed form of Reaper looms over the unconscious Ricky as the door is thrown open to show Lance, Jack and a few others out to see what the commotion is. Reaper lifts his head and stares at them for a moment before turning around and walking away down the darkened street without a word. Lance looks after him as Jack peers around the less-drunk patron as Ricky starts to groan from below.
”You, uh, want me to call the cops or somethin’?”
Lance quickly shakes his head, trying to drag Ricky back to his feet, clearly agitated.
”Fuck that. Just help me get this asshole inside. Shit, his head’s busted open, too! I told his ass-”
And the door slams shut behind them…
*Cameras On*
...leading to another door opening by the hand of Aloysius Marcus Vance IV. He walks into the room in a tailored black suit, not a thread out of place, and a crimson tie with a golden scythe pin upon it. A few steps in and he stops, awaiting a taller, darker, more intimidating form to enter behind him. That of… Reaper. The door shutting behind the monster with a wave of his massive gloved hand has the sound and ferocity of a gunshot, making the windows elsewhere rattle and a smirk curl into view on the lips of the fourth-generation lawyer known to some as AMV. He moves on past the camera, Reaper following, and makes his way to a simple projector aimed at a wall screen on the opposite wall. Taking up the remote, AMV twirls it dexterously between his fingers as Reaper takes a spot on the other side of the device, staring into the camera.
”Rebecca Maguire, from the very beginning I, the Purveyor of Justice, the Defender of Truth, have asked only one question of you… and even with weeks to ponder and pontificate, bereft of any manner of cajoling on my part, you have failed to produce a satisfactory answer. And that, quite simply, is why?”
The sound of creaking leather emits as Reaper clenches his hands into fists, then releases again. The gesture, simple as it is, makes AMV grin.
”And one would think that after being knocked down a peg or two at Mile High Spectacular 2, and then watching fools like Erin Blue and Leah, bless them, run up against the wall of flesh and fury that is the New Nightmare, while tasting quite a bit of wrath yourself, that you would come to understand that the answer to this question is positively meaningless. You see, it is a question that HAS no answer. It has no justification. Regardless of your thoughts and feelings or anything else bouncing around the vacuous noggin of yours, by now you should understand this. But I suppose that vest you put on every morning before you hop on your electric tricycle and try to play the bad bitch, like so much cheap hair dye, has done something to your brain.
Because you keep… fucking… coming!”
Despite the snarl with which the words are delivered, AMV maintains his grin. Reaper? He only nods, just a little… which has more emphasis than anything the lawyer has let loose so far.
”You don’t get props for going up to the biggest, baddest beast in the prison yard and slapping him in the face, Rebecca, which is the equivalent of your so-called assault on my client. It’s barely foreplay, and trust me… you ain’t Reaper’s type. It doesn’t make you look tough and it damn sure doesn’t label you as some indomitable badass for all of Mile High to fear. It just makes you look stupid. And the headaches you had for days after that weak jumping you tried at the following show should have told you that, but… well… perhaps you need another look so that the phantom pain hopefully triggers something in your bone bowl.”
With the click of the remote, the lights in the room go out and an image jumps from the projector to the wall, showing Maguire locked in the 1,000 Screams of Reaper. A closer shot, made with another button press, shows a reddened face and eyes not exactly looking straight ahead. Limp arms, lowered posture… all from two monstrous hands pressing against the sides of her head like a hydraulic press not even RoboCop could reverse… much less a freaking Terminator.
”Is this what you want, Rebecca? Is a fancy tin trophy really worth this to you? Is having to get a handicapped sticker for the Vespa you’re gonna be downgraded two after Reaper twists your spine like an accordion worth it? Because that’s what you’re headed for. But before we get too far into why this glorified tantrum of yours is such a bad idea, let’s make something clear:
Reaper isn’t interested in what you have to say. He doesn’t care about your motivations and reasoning. You claim that you’re going to talk to him, not me, but from the moment the first disrespectful syllable left your gaping maw, you were already tuned out. Reaper does what he does without words; he speaks with his fists and they tell tales of violence that would make George R.R. Martin cringe. The Mountain That Rides would piss his pants at the sight of Reaper bearing down on him. Khal Drogo would apologize for breathing his fucking air. Do you get the picture there, cupcake? Should I dumb it down a little more? Use less pop culture references? Because, truly, I don’t think I can make it any simpler. He’s already told a few chapters worth of violence here with too many pages wasted on you. And yet you STILL want more.
Enough… that not only did Rober Mack in his infinite wisdom and patience give you a match, but he made it hardcore. Now, I could pontificate on and on about how this just puts you in Reaper’s wheelhouse, talking about all the evil things he could do with the plunder they usually stock in the arena beneath the ring, in closets and God-knows-where else. But… why? Any fool who has seen him work knows that that is a given! No, the real story here, I think, is the real reason Mack put you into a match without rules against the New Nightmare. Do you want to know why that is?”
Another click, another series of images… one for each press of the button. Previous wars of this nature from Mile High are put on display… weapons-laden examples of crushing brutality involving many stars, past and present… several including the Shieldmaidens and even current members of the Coven, such as Solomon Cain. A few prominently displace the recent violence between the two groups, something that makes Reaper shake his head… boredly? It’s hard to say. He seems to have little interest, glancing first, then turning back to the camera, which AMV has never taken his eyes off of.
”Because he has it inside his head that he needs you, that you’re important somehow based on your alliance with the Maidens and the battle you’re having with the Coven. He sees money and ratings in that, as does that skin-topped nitwit Ricky Stanton. And since he knows full well that you’re walking into an execution against Reaper no matter the stipulations, at the very least by making it anything goes you have an out. You can step up later talking about how standard rules would have let you win, perhaps claiming unfairness from the boss for making you fight this monster at my side in such a fashion despite your actions prior all but screaming for it.
Ah, but you’re a fighter, right? This isn’t personal despite your thinking that that cup was yours which makes you want a slice of the monster as revenge. This isn’t a way to try and get yourself back in title contention, either, because there’s no way it could even if you win. Why? Because Reaper isn’t even in contention for gold. His purpose is grander… beyond anything that happens in the ring. All these matches do is allow him to stay sharp for when the time for true vengeance is nigh. What does that mean? Nothing you need to concern yourself with. You can keep talking till you’re blue in the face about the reasons why, making assumptions about the relationship about Reaper and I among other things. But here’s the rub, Rebecca: it wouldn’t matter if you knew. It wouldn’t matter if anyone knew, because the knowledge wouldn’t save them. Fish are born to swim. Birds are born to fly. Reaper is born to destroy. And so they do.”
Shaking his head a little, AMV lowers it a little.
”The only reason you’ll come through this able to live and fight again is because that’s how Reaper wants it. And I don’t care to ask him why, because if that’s what he desires, it’s what he will have. I facilitate his career and his rise through the ranks as necessary and give him the freedom to do what must be done to see his quest reach the proper conclusion. By the grace of a higher being he has seen fit to allow this despite my grating on him from time to time and looking out for his best interests, something he does not much care about at this point.”
Another telling nod from the New Nightmare, which seems to make AMV relax. Albeit slightly.
”But by the time this is done, Rebecca, you’re going to wish you were still teaching the young pups how to get it done in the ring. You’ll wish you never heard of Mile High Wrestling, Reaper or Aloysius Marcus Vance IV. And really… is that what you want? Do you want to let your fellow Maidens down against the Coven? Do you really want to step up to this beast over here who so far as been nothing short of merciful to you? Tempting fate can only happen for so long before it flips your switch and you go swirling down the bowl to the underworld and right now that finger is hovering, waiting on a damn reason.
You don’t know anything, Maguire. You don’t know that you can beat Reaper. You don’t even know if your future will be an ambulatory one after ThrowDown. That’s how dire your situation is right now. So… you’ll forgive me if I don’t think much of your verbal wrath or if Reaper doesn’t deem you worthy of a word or two. Because, well, we’ve heard so much of the same from Leah and Erin and the rest in the Battle Royale that… it’s sort of white noise at this point. If you win, you win. Smart money says you won’t, but wrestling IS an unpredictable sport. What isn’t in question is that you’ll leave that ring with a shorter career ahead of you and scars that will last a long time… win or lose. While Reaper? He’ll walk away and into the next fight like he always does.
It will take your absolute best to survive Reaper, Bruiser, much less hold him down for three seconds. And he won’t lose a drop of sweat running over you like a steamroller squashing a sleeping bag full of blueberries. This is a mismatch. It is a massacre. And you asked for it.
Remember that.”
Projector off, lights up, and a sunglasses-wearing AMV leaving the room. Reaper, going up to the camera, grabs it and directs it right at his face. A single, stern shake of his head is given before the device is shoved aside, the feed cutting to static.
*Cameras Off*
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