Post by Jansen Myrrh on Nov 14, 2019 20:24:19 GMT -6
Something has been eating at Anaquin Adams since she left Baton Rouge after challenging Reaper to a deathmatch. Something tugging at her very soul and she knew quite well what it was.
It was them.
They wanted to come out and play. After the last time they came out to play, Anaquin’s life was turned upside down, including covering not only on TMZ the webpage, but a segment on TMZ’s TV show as well. To say it was embarrassing would have been an understatement. She shook her head and knew that she needed to go find something to do get this out of her head.
She could handle Reaper. As the “Universal Superstar” not as Monster. As Monster she couldn’t go out before the show and greet the fans. She couldn’t sign autographs or take selfies. As Monster she would do the things she swore to herself at one time she would never do again.
No. She could never be the Monster.
In the meantime, what could she do to get her mind off the turmoil brewing inside of her? She’s done rock climbing, mountain climbing, skydiving, parachuting. What could she possibly do that ease that craving she has building up inside her?
They weren’t the only thing itching to come put and play as Anaquin’s daredevil persona is also wanting to heat up her adrenaline.
Or perhaps heating up is not what is needed. She pulls out her phone and pulls up some information and soon she is on a plane headed to Alaska.
Alaskan Airlines flight #3443 lands, Anaquin is looking out in awe of the change flying so far north has done to the climate. There is snow everywhere. She has already hailed an Uber to take her to her hotel as she walks down the ramp and into the airport. Say this for Anchorage, they have a mighty fine airport.
She takes the escalator down to the exit, bypassing the baggage claim because she only brought a carry-on bag with her. As she stepped out into the bitter cold, a young man was waiting there with her name on a placard and after verifying his credentials, she hopped into the car and off they went.
The next morning she woke up, got ready, went to the continental breakfast and then called for the same Uber to take her to the event that was taking place.
The Polar Plunge, they called it. It was all to raise money for charity and she was happy to take part. She checked in with her ID and then went to the waiting area where those participating would try and stay warm until it was their turn to plunge.
As she waited, someone next to her asked her if she’d done this before and she told them no and they proceeded to explain the event. A hole was cut into icy Goose Lake and jumpers from any experience jumped in. The more jumpers, the more money is made for the Special Olympics.
So, Anaquin watched as some jumped right in, some dipped their toes in and gave up. As she was trying to determine which she would do, her name was called much to the cheers who recognized her from wrestling. She gave a wave and dropped her robe, dressed only in her bathing suit and flip flops, she walked out onto the ice with her arms crossed in front of her chest as she watched her frozen breath with each exhale. As she got near the hole, she stepped out of her flip flops and placed her feet on the frozen cold.
And this was the moment she almost changed her mind, but with the crowd chanting her name, she looked up to them with a grin and took several paces back. She crossed herself and then carefully ran towards the hole and as she reached the edge, she flipped backwards and dived down into the cold Alaskan lake.
That night, after she took the longest, hottest shower she had ever taken in her life. She pulled on her nightgown and crawled into bed, only to be disturbed by a very odd dream.
Narrator: Chosen over all others by the immortal elders, the Gods among high, Anaquin Adams and her mentor travel the highways and byways of the land on a never ending mission to right wrongs and develop understandings and to seek justice for all.
Images of Anaquin Adams in the ring, greetings fans, shaking hands. But then, it appears that someone has swiped someone’s purse and heading for the doorway. Anaquin easily chases him down and returns the purse as the police take the thief in hand.
Narrator: In times of dire need, young Anaquin has been granted the power by the Immortals to summon awesome forces at the utterance of a single word:
Narrator: A word which transforms her into the most menacing of creatures, the most brutal of beasts and the most sinister of fighters.
The image of the Universal Superstar Anaquin Adams begins to change into something horrendous, disgusting and could only be conceived from the depths of Hades, but as she reaches her final form…
With a gasp, Anaquin Adams sits up in her bed, panting. A sheen of sweat glistens her brow as she shakes her head.
“What the hell was that?” she mutters as she crawls out of bed and heads into her bathroom to grab a drink of water.
“Are you sure this is the right way to go with my final wrestling match?” Anaquin asks as she stands in front of the forum of the Gods. “We haven’t seen Monster since last year and I haven’t had even an inkling that they desires to return,” she says as she looks from one elder to the next, hoping they wouldn't catch her in her lie. As they turn and begin to chatter among themselves but before they even finish their conversation, Hades, who is not at all interested in what they have to say clears his voice as he leans back in his chair, feet on the podium and chimes in.
“Anaquin Adams, surely you’ve seen the destruction that the Reaper has left in his wake? Shall I count the ways? War Queen Leah, Bruiser Maguire, Emily Blue… Skrabz?”
Anaquin interjects, “Skrabz was not a win for Reaper.”
Hades interrupts, “Merely a technicality, if you ask me. Had the match been allowed to continue I’ve no doubt that Reaper would have handled Skrabz without mercy.” Hades speech certainly seems well practiced, almost as if he’d been waiting for this moment for quite some time. “Do you not think that as the Universal Superstar” the result would certainly be the same? Why not enlist the legion MONSTER to assist you in your battle?”
Why, indeed, thought Anaquin Adams as she considered the proposal of Hades. The rest of the elders had silenced themselves as they listened to the words of Hades.
It was Apollo who speaks up now, “Certainly we can find a way to prepare Anaquin Adams for this match without enlisting the aid of… them.” Placing his hands on the podium, he leans over to look at the other elders standing around, “Hercules?”
Hercules yawns and shakes his head, “I’m more of a hand to hand combat guy. Surely there’s someone else?” He reaches up and brushes back his long hair and shrugs, “Besides, I’ve taught her everything I know that she’s capable of learning. It’s someone else’s turn.”
Anaquin scowls at the god, but bites her tongue as she looks back to Apollo, “Surely there’s some other way?” her eyes darting over to Hades who has a big fat smirk on his face.
Deep down, Anaquin knows that Hades is right. Could Anaquin Adams vanquish the Reaper as the Universal Superstar? A very unlikely maybe. But as the MONSTER, the changes are far better. But does she want to live through that trauma again? Does she want to allow herself to take that form when all it did was bring her bloodlust and insanity?
She recalls the days she spent in the Manchester asylum for the mentally unstable. Secured in a straight jacket. Her voice going hoarse from the screaming and the thrashing as she rammed herself repeatedly into the unmoving door. The nightmares that haunted her, taunted her and slowly stripped her away of every ounce of sanity that she had to spare. Their visits, their violent images that they filled her mind. Of her flesh being stripped from her, piece by piece until all that’s left is a puddle of blood.
Her body shuddered as the images flashed through her mind. She recalled sending a bloody Gray Zee into retirement. She recalls dowsing Gabriel Ohio in blood. She recalled it all, as if looking through a giant lens and seeing someone else doing those things in her stead. The legion that led her, finally had their fun and left her to once again return to being the “Universal Superstar” but she had always felt that they had never really left. That they were deep inside her just waiting for that moment when they would be needed again and their presence was growing stronger each and every day.
“They’re coming for you, aren’t they?” Hades’ voice breaks up Anaquin’s musings as she is awoken from her daydream. She smirks, “They are always there, I just don’t let them come out and play.”
“You’re cute that you think you can control them. If they truly wanted to, they could take control of you once again. But it would be so much easier if you just let them rather than fight them. You’ll need them for even a chance to beat the Reaper,” he responds as he drops his feet to the floor and stands up. The others sit by and watch the exchange, all except Zeus himself.
“Perhaps we should reconsider this option, Hades. The last time we let them take her, we almost lost her,” he says as he glances from side to side watching the others nod in agreement.
“I’m fairly certain the decision is up to her, Zeus,” he responds as Zeus scowls back at him, not happy with that response at all. Hades turns back to Anaquin, “Seriously, you’ve seen the carnage that he can do, Anaquin. The bodies that he has laid to waste on his way to the top of the MHW roster. And he wants you to be next. Are you really going to let your last professional wrestling match go down in a devastating loss to the Reaper?”
Hades is looking right at Anaquin, who glances over at the row of elders up on the pedestal as they look down at her to see what her decision will be here.
After a long silent moment where Anaquin is deep in thought, Zeus finally breaks the silence, “Anaquin. What have you decided?”
Anaquin’s gaze moves from Hades to Zeus and then back to Hades.
Scene shifts to Anaquin walking down the sidewalk in front of several stores in Hollywood, California and it appears she’s walking right into the wind as it blows her hair back. She looks up, and opens her eyes only this time they are burning red as the scene fades.
Anaquin Adams is waiting for her match at California Wrestling, sitting in the locker room at the Warehouse in Hollywood. She is itching to get this match going, but she is also antsy to get back to training for her final match. A deathmatch against MHW’s resident butcher, Reaper. He’s mowed down the competition. Left a trail of bodies. Anaquin has no intention of being the next body laid to rest. Fans are filing in and she should really be going out and doing a greeting, but she is itching to cut her promo.
The scene is an empty locker room where Anaquin Adams sits length-ways on a bench, head down as she faces the camera but with her head down. Her voice is low as she speaks.
“Lawyer. Your name isn’t important enough for me to recall. I know it begins with an A and have a number at the end and to be honest, that’s more than I care to know. The fact that you hang out with Tyke Index is enough for me to know your morals and values, but then you bring this beast that you call Reaper in and you watch it maul and maim and drive individuals from this sport that I love. I watched you try and put out the MHW Ultimate Champion and I was not going to watch any longer and now every nerve of my being is on fire with the knowledge that in just over a week, your Reaper and Anaquin Adams will go one on one in a Deathmatch.”
“Are you aware what a deathmatch is, lawyer? Do you know what your beast has signed himself up for? I have a history with these matches. I promise that it does not. You see a Deathmatch allows for the only finish, is the finish where someone cannot continue. There are zero restrictions. Bats, barbed wire, light tubes, ladders, chairs, thumbtacks, tables, you want to get in your fancy sports car and try and run me over, then go for it. There might be explosions, there might be electricity -- Lawyer, there are no limits in a deathmatch. It’s whatever an insane mind can come up with.”
“You might ask yourself if I’m admitting that I’m insane. I have my release papers from a Manchester institution where I was in a straightjacket for a long period of time. Check out the footage from TMZ where I escaped by punching out orderlies on my way out. I’m not just a little crazy, lawyer. I am certifiable. Your beast of burden may have walked through some normal wrestlers, but it has never faced someone as crazy, as violent and as blood thirsty as myself.”
“And of course, before you open your very expensive mouth to spew a few words back in my direction, before you tell me just how violent your Reaper is. Before you tell me how he’s going to break me like he’s broken the others. Am I getting your schtick down? Before you tell me how I’m just like everyone else who has attempted to step up to it. This is where you criticize me for not doing my homework? I can promise you that I’ve done my homework on both you and your thing there. But the question is, lawyer… have you?”
“For you see, what you fail to realize and MHW may be in error when they decide to publish the poster for this event, or tweet about this event or do any sort of publicity for this event they are calling Black Magic is that your Reaper will not be facing the “Universal Superstar” Anaquin Adams. Your creature there will be facing an entirely different Anaquin Adams.”
Anaquin starts to tremble as she slowly lifts her head, revealing the face painting of a very evil clown. But, looking closer it’s very easy to see that it’s not paint, not at all, but the pigment of her skin has changed. She rises from her seat and walks towards the camera. When her eyes flicker open, the bright red of her pupils appear and her voice has changed to something somewhat demonic, and as she speaks, blood spits out of her mouth and begins to drip down her chin.
“Your Reaper is facing a legion simply known as “Monster” and we are looking forward to tearing your Reaper limb from bloody limb from bloody limb. He will surely rest in pieces. Multiple pieces.”
“And if you think for one moment that we care one bit for the vessel she provides us, then perhaps you aren’t as smart as you say you are, lawyer. We only need to find another after this one is gone. We desire the blood. We desire the flesh. We desire the soul of your Reaper and we plan to take it all.”
She backs up a bit, shaking her head, “Stop. I never said anything about…” her normal voice is overshadowed by the demonic nature of Monster, almost as if multiple demons were speaking at the same time. “You let us out to play and play, we shall. And what a perfect setting than something called Black Magic. It’s surely a welcomed door to allow us to come and play. So, lawyer, bring your Reaper. We will take it to task and when it is finished.”
She steps even closer, getting a few drops of blood on the screen.
“It is truly finished.”
They laugh and they laugh until they’ve had their fill.
“So, lawyer, you go tell your Reaper. Tell it what we’ve told you. And if it truly wants to meet us at Black Magic, then on the eve of Black Magic, make you sure tuck it gently into bed in whatever dungeon you keep it in. Then tell it a bedtime story about how on the day of Black Magic, it faced the legion known as Monster. And Monster proceeded to rip his fucking head off of his body. The end.”
The sound of cackling is heard as the monster reaches over and swipes at the phone, sending it away as Anaquin’s voice is heard in the background asking, “What have I done?” and then it suddenly goes black.
Post by Aloysius Marcus Vance IV on Nov 23, 2019 1:18:06 GMT -6
No pomp and circumstance this time around. When the camera activates, it is allowing the world to stare right into the face of Aloysius Marcus Vance IV. His stare is calm and focused, the sort that he might have before a judge within the courtroom. When all the flowery language, earned arrogance and all else are stripped away, when it comes down to living up to the self-acquired monikers of Defender of Truth and Purveyor of Justice, this is the fourth-generation lawyer, full of pride and power, that the world is left with. This… is the dangerous half of Aloysius Marcus Vance IV, the one that shatters preconceived notions and leaves no doubt as to what’s what and what ain’t. This is the side… that drew in the Reaper.
”To answer your question: nothing that everyone else who stepped up to Reaper hasn’t already, Anaquin. Or Monster. Whichever you prefer.”
A faint, pregnant pause. No smirk, no smile. Just AMV in his element.
”Unlike most of you lot, I possess a modicum of respect. Enough to know someone’s name and call them by it. But that is a slight easily forgiven. Monsters, after all, aren’t people. They are things. They are poor attempts at using fear to control the masses, or otherwise giving excuses to the weak who cannot handle life like rational, intelligent adults. Have a shortcoming? Blame it on demons of the past. Didn’t achieve what you meant to? Some monster stole it out from under you. Trying to avoid penance for a crime? Some creature from within made it happen.”
A brow elevates. A reaction, perhaps, to an assumed response from the other side of the camera no doubt happening once this hits the airwaves. Said brow lowers and Aloysius shakes his head.
”Monsters are not real, Anaquin. I have referred to Reaper as a beast, a monster and more, yes, but from my lips those terms are hyperbole to boost the masked man and offer dramatic effect to the violence he willfully and directly invokes on any who dare stand before him. You call yourself a monster as an excuse. You don’t know what real monsters are. You’re a violent little girl with a shit attitude and no self-control. You will blame whatever happens at Black Magic, win or lose, on this perceived other half of yours, Anaquin, because you do not have the courage or control to be your own woman. I would say that that sickens me, but that would not be the truth. The truth is that it makes me sad.
You will forever be rigidly and unfalteringly defined by the lies you tell yourself about yourself. Whether we speak of wrestling, mixed martial arts or some other vocation. By challenging Reaper, by entering his world and interfering in his business, you think you have given yourself an out. It is called covering all the bases, spreading your bets. No one has beaten Reaper in that ring and it seems as if no one ever will. You are destined to lose, so why not attempt to ensure that if such does happen, you will not be lessened or looked down upon? I have to say that part of me is impressed with the intelligence of your plan, intelligence hidden behind a creamy layer of stupidity and a dash of fear that you claim does not even exist.”
Briefly, against the darkness surrounding him, beneath the source of illumination from above, Aloysius offers a bit of a smile. It is rather endearing, this man so typically full of braggadocio who spins words like a spider spins webs. It makes one think that there’s a caring human being under all that. And perhaps there is. In this case, it is another fleeting emphasis on just how little he thinks of the Universal Superstar.
”But you don’t get to have your proverbial cake and eat it too, young lady. That is not how the world works. That is not how REAPER works.”
AMV’s jaw sets and his usually-calm stare turns sharp.
”While your monster stays in a mirror backstage, my monster will be in that ring, waiting to show you some harsh truth. Crazy knows it’s crazy, Anaquin. You can either get help or use it as a crutch. Therein lies the difference between you and Reaper: you fight to control what you truly are. Reaper knows exactly what he is. And he EMBRACES it!”
The snarling visage of the fourth-generation lawyer is marred by distortions and static for a few moments...
”What I want is some goddamn answers! Where the fuck’s my boy?!”
The scene is now that of a police station. On one side of the desk, a very agitated, salt-of-the-earth looking fellow in a beaten trucker hat, old flannel shirt, jeans and dirty work boots. His face is lined and his hair is gray, but there’s vitality in him, and plenty of power from the looks of his stout build. A hard-working man. A man with a lot of predjudice in his being. On the other side of the table is a young detective, his suit a bit ill-fitting his tie loosened to relieve some unseen pressure. A cigarette dangles from one hand as he looks over a pile of black-and-white pictures strewn atop his desk.
”Why the hell ain’t you got people out there on this?!”
”I’m going to have to ask you, again, Mr. Morel, to calm down and lower your voice.”
The detective picks up one of the pictures, the view from over his shoulder showing a student athlete coming out of a locker room as well as someone in black. Going through each picture in turn, the flipping images becoming an equally-monochrome replay of the incident in question, the person in black walks up to the student and they engage briefly before she rams a stungun into his side, shocking him into unconsciousness. He drops, unconscious, as the person, a woman, picks up his bag and carries it off. Another figure, much larger than the first, drags the student out of sight. Back to the present, the detective tosses the picture back onto the table.
”Clearly there were two of them, but either because they’re masked or just staying too far from the camera for us to get a clear picture… we can’t tell who they are.
”Then get on some of that CSI or NCIS shit and find somethin’! Y’all and your computers can look up damn near anything these days! Start hackin’ shit!”
”Do you have ANY idea how unrealistic those shows are, Mr. Morel? The point is… we have people out there looking for your son. The best thing for you to do is stay calm and let us know if you hear anything yourself!”
Mr. Morel is about to launch into another tirade when someone else walks up. They’re standing behind the detective’s desk, purposely left a bit out of sight as Morel turns to them and calms just a bit.
”Perhaps I can be of assistance, Detective Haws. Mr. Morel, if you would come with me?”
The taller man’s manner and tone have an effect on Mr. Morel. Not enough to keep him from shooting Haws a smug dirty look, but enough to keep the volume down. Morel follows the other man out of sight and Haws takes a deep breath… and a long drag of his cigarette. He looks through the pictures again, mumbling to himself.
”Cocky little shit got what he deserved if you ask me.”
Thankfully no else hears that commentary as he snuffs the cig and downs the rest of the coffee in his mug as another detective walks up.
Larry looks to the pictures, shaking his head, then back up to Haws.
”I don’t like where this is going. That fucker has a sneaky look in his eyes and you know what happened in the last place he worked.”
”Not a damn thing good. But it’s above our paygrade. Best thing we can do is try to keep this shit from spiraling. Let’s get a move on.”
Both detectives nod and head out the door… the door shuts and, just like that, the lights go out. Not in the precinct, of course, but in general. Just roll with it.
A harsh lamp is turned on, pointed at the face of a familiar young man sitting in an old chair. To call it so simple implies that there’s choice in the matter, though. There is none for this guy. He’s duct taped heavily to the seat, his wrists tightly wrapped behind the back of the seat, his body molded to the chair with several more turns. His legs are likewise immobile with broad bands of silver winding about his ankles, below his knees and his thighs. He’s barely half-conscious but as it comes to him more and more he starts to jerk and yank against the bonds, growling and grunting.
All he accomplishes is making the chair jump and shift a bit, damn near dumping himself onto the dirty floor. He spots what we spot: a shadow moving toward him with a distinctly feminine shape. He wrenches further against the thick adhesive, trying to lunge at the shape in hopes of defending himself.
”Let me the fuck out of here, you crazy bitch! Do you know who the fuck I am?!”
”That’s why you’re here, shithead. Not so much who you are, but what you did. Now ditch the attitude before I forget that we need you conscious.”
A harsh crackling sound shuts him down as the woman holds the stunner she’d used to drop him in the first place dangerously close to his eye.
”Call me a bitch one more time and I’ll fry you until your nuts explode like popcorn. Get it?”
”When my dad gets hold of you-”
”We’ll take his fucking head off. Now… we brought you here to ask some questions. You can either be a hardass and get what’s coming to you anyway, or make it easy on yourself and answer honestly. I personally don’t care which. But HE does.”
”Who the fuck is ‘he’?!”
A massive shape in a metal mask comes into view as the young woman in the mask adjusts the light overhead. Revealed is not only the form of Reaper, but a tray of devices that would not look out of place in a nightmare about dentists, unnecessary surgery or torture porn. Only now does the facade of toughness fade, worry etching itself across the young man’s features.
”What the hell do you want?!”
For a moment, something other than anger or fear washes over the young man’s face. Reaper walks out from behind the tray and steps forward. He looms over the bound man, his form more than enough to block out much of the light. The woman in the mask, arms folded, stares as the student athlete blanches slightly; even with as much fire as he had in his gut, the sight of this metal-faced giant standing there was a bit terrifying. Then, Reaper’s gloved hand lashes out and catches him around the throat. Not squeezing, but holding tightly enough to let the young man know that it would only take a few muscles to make him VERY uncomfortable.
Or more so.
”Wh-What d-do you wanna k-know?”
”Several weeks ago. The downtown convention center near New Orleans. We want to know who attacked those two men.”
”Fuck makes you think I know ab-”
The acidic retort is never finished; Reaper squeezes enough to choke the remaining words out of the young man, leaving them as little more than a strained gurgle.
”That’s it. Piss him off.”
A touch upon Reaper’s arm from the young woman causes his grip to slacken, but that hand stays right where it is.
”I ain’t… ain’t no… rat!”
”No, just a dead mouse if you don’t stop trying to nut up. This isn’t some suspense movie or pulp TV show, you lying bastard. There’s no dramatic rescue coming and I am a lady of my word. Give me names or the big fella here is going to make you scream.”
”You ain’t got the balls!”
He spits at Reaper, and though nothing truly gets on the big man, the woman puts a hand to her covered lips and giggles too sweetly. Reaper, canting his head to the side a little, turns and reaches for something not on the tray. The young man sits, defiant, until Reaper turns with a 2x4 in his hands.
First the defiance melts away. A moment later, Reaper swings for the fences, bringing the processed wood plank hard against the right knee of the young man! That crack… sickening and sharp in the otherwise-quiet room… one has to hope that it is more wood than bone. But from the wailing and yelling of the athlete… chances are that it was equal, if not worse. The masked woman steps in, shoving a handful of cloth into the captive’s mouth as Reaper hands her a roll of duct tape. She winds a heavy layer around the athlete’s head, ensuring that he stays (mostly) quiet before tossing the rest aside.
”You didn’t want to talk, but eventually one of you will. Eventually… the sight of what we do to each and every one of you is going to trigger someone’s sense of self-preservation. Eventually, you will all understand that in this town, you do not FUCK with family. Especially ours.”
The muffled retort causes the young woman to backhand the man, a weighted glove on her hand causing that smack to hit like a fist. She turns to Reaper, who takes the half-cracked 2x4 and breaks it the rest of the way across BOTH knees of the semi-conscious young man, leaving him writhing and just about in tears from the pain. Again, there’s a clear smile beneath the mask as the woman turns to Reaper.
”I can take it from here, I will call you when I’m done. You… you’re not ready for this. Not yet. I can tell..”
How can she tell? That much is incapable of being determined. Reaper offers a slight nod and no resistance… turning around and leaving as the woman goes to the metal tray, taking up a razor-sharp scalpel and pointing it right at the wide-eyed athlete.
”I suggest you don’t flinch…”
Cut to static and distortion.
Suddenly, we are back to AMV once again. The solitary light that had been shining down gives way to the dim outline of his high-rise office as he walks to the wall and adjusts the dimmer. Not too much, though; the glow now resembles warm, soft candlelight. As expected, the office is empty except for the lawyer himself, though it would not surprise someone to find Reaper present in the shadows. Sort of a Batman thing he has going on.
”That will forever be the difference between Reaper and everyone else, Anaquin… yourself included. Reaper understands what you cannot. He knows how to choose his battles. He is cold, calculating and meticulous… none of which can be said for you. Let me ask you this, Miss Monster, since you seem so hellbent on trying to intimidate us over social media with all the subtlety of an 80s slasher flick: do you know what a real monster is?”
There is a long pause. AMV goes behind his desk, taking a key from his pocket to unlock it. He takes a picture out of one of the drawers within an antique frame and gazes upon it. In the shadows it is hard to gauge the nature of his expression. When he sits down, though, and turns on the lamp… we see a visage etched with sadness.
”A man who’s been pushed too far.”
Fingers tighten around the ornate frame, the picture shaking in Vance’s hands. He finally, after one last look and a long exhale, puts it back in his desk. Folding his hands, he keeps his head lowered as he speaks, shaking it back and forth.
”You’re no monster, Anaquin. You’re an overgrown brat with a chemical imbalance, an estrogen molotov cocktail looking for a way to make her anger issues work for her. Straitjackets, pills, electroshock and whatever other stories and treatments you might dredge up and tell the world about, half for sympathy and half for an excuse when you do not measure up… they don’t mean anything. So you spent time in a padded cell screaming at the pillows and buttons on your shirt while some overpaid lab coat stuck you full of holes and cheap cafeteria food, using you as nothing more than a guinea pig for the next designer drug so that some jackass from the suburbs doesn’t have to feel anxious… fucking spare me. That doesn’t make you a monster. It makes you a roided-up socialite with issues that you displace on anyone you step into the ring with.
Compared to Reaper, you do not measure up in any way. Size, strength, intimidation, ability, focus… none of it. You cannot touch him. Your ‘monster’ cannot touch him. Why?”
Running a hand through his dark brown locks, Aloysius looks up at the camera with a faint, sad smile on his face.
”Because he is JUSTIFIED.”
The final word is nearly shouted, as though Vance has to make a point as firmly, as loudly, as possible.
”But we don’t owe you an explanation to that reasoning. In time, everyone will know the reasons why. The first of those that the New Nightmare has been hunting is, by now, rueing the day that he ever allowed himself to be manipulated. He won’t have an excuse like you’ve cultivated for yourself, Anaquin, and it wouldn’t matter if he did. The life he knew is over, and that’s the price he pays and the debt that Reaper collects. Humans are the most dangerous creatures on the planet: they are fragile, creative, vindictive, violent and hedonistic. Anything that makes them feel good, anything that gives their life even fleeting meaning… they will try to take for themselves. No matter who it hurts or how many lives or dreams it destroys. That was his folly. That was the folly of all of them. And yours, too.
Reaper lives to end that ilk. You should take solace in the fact that, for now, you do not rate among the lot that he hunts. But you are still going to suffer. And at your very own game, too. There aren’t enough spaces on the table for you to stack your chips so as to offset the arm coming down to sweep them into our pile, Anaquin. Not your ‘monster’, not your departure and not this odd bit of goodwill you’ve earned from the MHW fans somehow. And don’t get your hopes up, taking this crusader-like description of Reaper and making you think that he’s some kind of hero that you can bring down.
Because heroes don’t do what Reaper does. They don’t have the fucking balls. Reaper is that man that has been pushed too far. He does not need a psychosis nor couch time with a quasi-doctor who asks him no less than seventeen times what he thinks when he just finished telling the motherfucker that four seconds ago. Are you catching on yet, Miss Monster?”
The door opens and closes. AMV does not look up, for truly he does not need to.
”Monsters aren’t real. Reaper is. Humans are the scum of this planet. Reaper is the light that will scour them from existence. Everyone can and will suffer in this miserable existence. Reaper will do something about it. Things the rest of the world only dreams of doing. Things you WISH you could.”
Reaper walks past the desk of AMV, walking to the window and, after a moment, leaning upon it with a gloved hand pressed against the glass. Vance turns his way after a few moments and inclines his chin in the big man’s direction.
Turning slightly toward the lawyer, Reaper takes a phone from his jacket pocket and tosses it to him. The moment Vance catches it, it starts to ring. Curious, he activates it and answers.
A few soft words on the other end. Vance, despite himself, goes a little pale.
”Was it really necessary to take it so far?”
Walking over about this point, Reaper reaches into his other pocket. He drops a cloth bag retrieved from it on the polished mahogany. It rattles softly, or rather the contents do, when it lands… and there’s a bit of a wet noise, too. Swallowing, Vance looks up at Reaper.
The masked man nods, and then there’s more from the person on the other end of the phone.
”Of course I’ll do what I can. Just… be careful, okay?”
The call ends and AMV, giving the pouch a wide berth, walks up to Reaper before standing before him while the New Nightmare fixes his glare on the camera. Even with the metal blocking things there’s a certain heat coming off the big man that’s palpable. As for AMV, any reservations he had moments ago are gone like the wind.
”Days, Anaquin. That’s all you have left. And after hearing what I just heard, seeing what I have just seen…”
He eyes that bag again, swallowing a lump in his throat before flashing his smirk at the camera again.
”...this Death Match you’ve demanded may become dangerously close to literal. One day, Reaper will taste defeat and when that day comes, unlike you and many others, he will face it with his head held high, knowing that he made the adversary fight themselves almost to death for a few moments' glory. But Black Magic will NOT be that day. No more warnings, no more posturing. See you in his nightmare, Annie.”
The feed cuts out on AMV and Reaper standing, waiting...
Deleted: Hey I read the rules and all that but is maybe someone up to guide me a bit throughout the start of my adventure here? much appriciated
Nov 18, 2019 16:44:14 GMT -6
Bruiser: We have two shows every other week in Ammo and ThrowDown as well as PPV's. The championship system works through a win/loss percentage and you have to have at least 5 matches to go for a title and 10 to go for the top title.
Nov 18, 2019 17:07:22 GMT -6
Bruiser: If there's anything else you need to know, contact Admin
Nov 18, 2019 17:07:52 GMT -6
Admin: I sent you a message
Nov 18, 2019 21:46:04 GMT -6
theefedpodcast: I was bored at work, reading through some fed news, Clicked on the latest Mile High Wrestling Show.... and saw an ad for MY PODCAST!? I LOVE YOU PEOPLE!
Nov 19, 2019 11:17:42 GMT -6
Admin: 💪💯💯 We love the podcast, brudda.
Nov 19, 2019 11:27:00 GMT -6
Nov 26, 2019 15:32:31 GMT -6
Deleted: If I have a secondary character that isn't really going to compete often shall I put them with my main or create a separate profile?
Nov 26, 2019 15:33:18 GMT -6
Jansen Myrrh: If they are going to accompany you to the ring, you can write them in as a manager. If not, you don't really need to list them.
Nov 26, 2019 15:47:03 GMT -6
Deleted: okay. thanks.
Nov 26, 2019 15:56:41 GMT -6
Deleted: Big fan of the results. I've started reading from the first posted show and plan on finishing them all by the weekend. This is some damn good shit.
Dec 23, 2019 10:09:28 GMT -6
Admin: Appreciate that 💪💯💯
Dec 23, 2019 10:45:55 GMT -6
Deleted: Props to the writing crew. These results are blowing me away. Great action, awesome promos, this is the kind of fed everyone should join. #KEGApproved (not like that means anything)
Dec 23, 2019 15:19:50 GMT -6
Deleted: Congrats to the MHW 2019 Award Winners!
Dec 30, 2019 11:17:47 GMT -6
Deleted: HAPPY NEW YEAR, AMIGOS!
Jan 2, 2020 11:29:05 GMT -6
Admin: Happy New Year, brudda 💪💯💯
Jan 2, 2020 11:31:08 GMT -6
theefedpodcast: Hey guys! Stevie and I are excited to play the game with everyone here!
Jan 9, 2020 7:12:24 GMT -6
Aloysius Marcus Vance IV: My Twitter is locked for some reason. So if I'm not active, that's why.
Jan 13, 2020 12:50:08 GMT -6