|
|
Post by Admin on Jul 4, 2018 16:18:46 GMT -6
"Pretty" Ricky Stanton vs ForgeRoleplay Limit: 2 Roleplay Deadline: Wednesday, July 11, 2018 @ 2AM Central Time |
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Jul 6, 2018 10:21:58 GMT -6
[Screen fades in with the following words…]
Then speaks the last king, he looks in the hills / He looks under his hands and holds his head; / But a dreadful blow goes cold to his heart / Like the knife or the key, that chills the knuckle. / "These are three demons that walk on these hills / May our Lord, who rules all the world, show us the quickest way out! / My heart bends with fright like a reed, / Each finger of my hand grows weak with fear. / I'm forcefully afraid of our fate; / Let us quickly flee, therefore. / I can give no counsel but worry. / These devils will make us cower / For dread lest they shut each escape.
[The scene reopens with “Pretty” Ricky Stanton sitting on a throne….]
PRS: You know, over these past couple of weeks I’ve been a very, very, busy man. I was in Japan earlier this week working with Kamikaze Pro, but I had just enough time to cut a quick video just for you Forge. I honestly don’t know why I’m even doing this. I make more money than you. I live better than you. You’re the epitome of a wanna be champion, but more of a bottom feeder. You think that Sheildmaiden is able to be your crutch to the top of the mountain when at any minute I can take them out like a Thanos snap.
But we’re here. You’re hellbent on facing me and beating me because I challenged your words. You see, I’ve come across guys like you all the time. You were those kids that deserved to get your ass beat in the grocery store when you acted up, but you didn’t get it. Then you grow older and you think that you can say what you want when you want and not be challenged.
But oh boy, you crossed the wrong man for that. I would honestly thinking that you would scale back when I told you that Olivia was one of mine but you didn’t. You kept at it. That’s when I realized that you were nothing more than a forgotton king in a land ruled by a crabbish woman. Tell me Forge why, why is it that after all this time you’re not the Mile High Champion? Is it because you’re just not good enough to keep your head in the game? You’re a blunt force object, not thinking man Forge I think you know that.
Candi is allowed to be where she is because YOU’VE ALLOWED IT TO BE. That’s right. She has ruled MHW from the top and you’re ruling it from the valley. How DUMB CAN YOU BE??? How long will you stare up at the castle walls and wonder? FOREVER. Because you don’t know when to fight. You’re fighting everyone. That’s right. I shouldn’t be on your radar but I am. And you know what? You shouldn’t be on mine.
But as of late, I’ve enjoyed your noise. Some people collect cars. Others have houses. Oh wait, THOSE ARE MY FRIENDS AT MY LEVEL SORRY. Nonetheless, you’re no different than those items. You see, this has become like, like a hobby. There, I’ve said it. You’re a hobby. You’re something to do when I’m bored. I mean, how can I take you….YOU…. seriously when I own the Network the fed, the one you work for, is on? I have so many other things to put my mind to and yet, we’re here, and we’ll be here till the end of Rising. Maybe then you can move on. Maybe then you will feel as if you’re ready to dethrone that rugged raunchy queen.
And you will be ready, because I’m going to break you. I’m going to have you sliding down that cage in your own blood questioning your life. I’m going to raise your battered face to your wife and blow her a kiss. I’m going to stomp your head so far into the ring that your face will leave an impression that rivals the Shroud of Turin.
You consistently laugh at danger because you’ve never truly encountered it. You’ve had conflicts. You’ve had spats. You’ve never really been in any danger Forge. But let me tell you…bring the camera close.
[Camera pans close to Ricky’s face]
PRS: Forge….you’re in danger. You’re facing….the most powerful…the most unrestricted…the most unsympathetic opponent in all of MHW. You’ll never face a guy like me again…..I gave you a chance to back out. You’ve always had that option….you know, call it a day and continue with your championship desires. But now, it’s too late. Now the way is about to be shut. You’re going to have to win this one for sure.
I have nothing to lose in this match. The only thing I gain is making you my example of what happens when YOU CROSS THE BOSS OF BOSSES. I’m going to take GREAT PLEASURE in watching you break. AND YOU WILL BREAK. Because you don’t have no off button. You have no stop button. You’re just gonna keep coming and I’m going to keep beating you until we reach that point in the match where your body begins to give in to the pain, the suffering. You’re about to go to a place that you’ve never been Forge. A place where time doesn’t exist, where contracts and deals don’t exist. Where your opponent holds all the keys. You’ve never been THERE Forge. I CAN STOP THE MATCH WHEN I WANT. I CAN EXTEND IT. HELL, I BOUGHT THE DAMN CAGE TO HAVE THE MATCH! Do you THINK for a second my whole intention in this match is just to win? (laughs) NO, no Forge. That’s like, the last thing on the Pretty Boy’s list of things to do next week. Win…what a construct. No, I want you to look up at me with blood coming down your eyes from being raked by the cage…you know, when you hit it with your face…and I want to see you for what you are.
Just…another…man.
And I want you to see me for what I am...authority.
And when I see that look in your eyes, then I’ll be done. Because you’ll get it then. Just remember Forge, there are only two lights on when the match begins: The one above the ring…and ME. There are only two lights.
[The camera pans out as Ricky drinks his wine. We discover he’s sitting inside of the cage that will host their match….]
-Fade to black-
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Jul 8, 2018 9:47:56 GMT -6
> …
> ...
> Playing video “file009.wma”...
> ...
> Date: 07/06/18
> Time: 6:18pm, Central
> Location: New Orleans, Louisiana
> ...
> Scene: Twisted Steel Auto Detailing & Repair, Private Workshop
> …
> Starting...
It starts with darkness, as most things tend to… as the universe itself began, in fact. Then the soft scraping of metal on metal, with which comes brief specks of quickly-fading light. One of these dots of defiance eventually catches the hissing emissions and a flame bursts into being, a light in the void. The intensely-hot extension of heat and strength is put to cold, unforgiving metal and it is by this force and the hand of its wielder that the steel becomes… something more. From behind his armor of heavy layers of metal and synthetics, through a visor of smoky glass that hides the intensity of his stare, near as powerful as the flame in his hands, the massive figure bends metal and, indeed, fate… to his very will. The metal glows and becomes malleable to his manipulations, woven around itself and shaped into a semblance of the perfection that is ultimately desired. Wire-like strands attached via heat and force to a sturdy, pipe-like pole, linked over and over and over again to withstand the hundreds of pounds of force soon to be slamming against it thanks to the hands of two entrapped beasts.
Very soon, in fact. Mere nights way if we are being true. On a hot evening in Phoenix, Arizona, the metal monstrosity of entrapment and promised pain, being brought to life by one of the very men who intends to step into it, will be put to the ultimate test.
The view cuts somewhat suddenly from this violently-artistic endeavor, though, to an area outside the workshop where members of the Chrome Dragons mill about and handle their duties around the garage. The crew is on the extended side, though, in order to compensate for Forge having other matters demanding his attention. His daughter, Shanna, is handling the office stuff while putting her considerable charm to use through talking customers into a few extra bells and whistles for their rides. Connor, on the other hand, is manning the vans, doing pick-ups and deliveries to and from the garage. On second glance, it seems that there’s a couple new prospects floating around, following the orders of Khary and Kyojin, be it toward actual work or just fetching things. Prospecting, you see, is not unlike being in the military… or even training to be a wrestler. You get the crap jobs, running ragged for those above you in order to teach you your place and toughen your hide for when the real work happens. The rewards come, but only for the strong.
”’Ey, Dragon Princess!”
Goldie pokes his head through the door separating the main office from the garage, the whirring, clicking and banging of the others’ efforts coming through as he grins at Shanna behind the desk. She looks up at the blonde-haired biker and offers a sweet smile, head tilted to the side a bit.
”One day, Gregory Steven Richards, that nickname is going to get old.”
Goldie winces… the way anyone would when they hear their full name spoken aloud. Especially by a woman. He finds his grin soon enough, though.
”But, c’mon… it’s perfect! The beautiful daughter of the President of the Chrome Dragons… you’re practically royalty!”
Shanna rolls her eyes, but maintains her kind smile.
”What can I do for you, Goldie?”
”Checkin’ to see if we got any calls from Mr. Bryce yet today. He’s overdue.”
Checking through the messages pinned to the nearby board, Shanna shakes her head slowly.
”Nothing yet. Is that why daddy is so agitated and having extra people on shifts? To get something ready for this Bryce person?”
”Nah, that’s somethin’ else altogether, princess. That’s somethin’ personal. Not entirely club business, y’see. It’s dominatin’ his time, though, hence why he’s got us all workin’ along with the prospects and your lovely self. And your bro.”
The flirting is nothing new to Shanna, and she should be immune. But some pink rises to her cheeks nonetheless, making Goldie grin a bit wider.
”You do realize I have a boyfriend, right? Laying on all this charm…”
”Compliments are free, princess. I ain’t tryin’ to make time. But it IS man’s duty to seek out and admire beauty in all forms, and a gentleman should always tell a lady when she is shining like a star.”
And pink becomes red in a hurry. Shanna’s gaze shifts a little after a moment, one of her brows quirking before she looks back to Goldie with her smile smiling become a grin of sorts.
”Well, you truly are a gentleman. Talk like that would have most girls swooning… maybe even myself.”
”Now don’t go tellin’ me like that! If I see an opening, I tend to go for it. I’m bold like that, see? An eagle swooping down to snatch a fish from the water, or a tiger pouncing on a gazelle!”
”Or a coyote chasing a road runner.”
And just like that, all the color drains from Goldie’s face. Looming behind him is Forge himself, removing his thick gloves and tucking them into the belt of his heavy apron, staring down at Goldie from above. Shanna giggles and goes back to her typing while Goldie tries to swallow the baseball-sized lump in his throat.
”Just… ah… jus’ checkin’ to see if Bryce called, boss.”
”And?”
”No-Nothin’ yet…”
”He’s pushing his luck. And so are you.”
Gulping again, Goldie dares to turn around. Forge stares at him for a moment, smirking, then jerks his head in the direction of the garage. Relieved to have an out, Goldie scampers off and Shanna barely holds in more giggling as Forge shakes his head.
”Little bastard swears he’s fuckin’ Casanova or some shit.”
”Aww, it’s okay, Daddy! He’s sweet!”
Lifting a brow as he stares down at his daughter, Forge pauses before retorting.
”He’s a numbnut.”
States Forge matter-of-factly.
”Loyal to the club, a hard worker, good at bringing in new business and even funny sometimes. But still a fuckin’ numbnut.”
”Don’t worry. I’m not interested in him.”
The over-protective father side of Forge collides with the desire to not want to be domineering over his children and ruin the relationship they have in Forge’s head. So, rather than immediately replying, he takes a breath and grabs one of the shop towels from the nearby rolls, cleaning some of the grime off his face. As he does so, Shanna looks up from the computer again and peers at something curious on his brow.
”You never did tell me what that scar was about, Daddy.”
”It’s from the night your mother and I first got together.”
”MOM did that to you?!”
Forge was unsure of what he found more funny as he bellowed out a good belly laugh at Shanna’s reaction: that his daughter’s first thought was that Robi was the one who notched his brow… or that he could actually see that being the case! When he got control of himself, though, he shook his head. He starts to relate the story to her, with Shanna’s eyes getting wider and wider as he goes until...
”That’s… that’s from someone’s tooth?!”
”Yep. Took it right out of his stupid fuckin’ head.”
”Because he called Mom a name and slapped her on the ass?”
”More or less. What are you more surprised by? What cause the wound or what I did to the little bastard?”
”I’m surprised that you didn’t kill him!”
That was a reality check for sure; Forge wasn’t sure whether he should be pleased with his daughter for somewhat sharing his thoughts on honor and putting people down who deserved it… or worried that she was starting to sound like a prettier combination of both him and Robi. But there is little time to dwell on the matter as Goldie pokes his head in the door, scrupulously keeping his eyes on Forge.
”Boss! Bryce is here! You, uh… you might wanna come get a look at this!”
By the tone, Forge can tell that something isn’t kosher. Shanna seems to note the change as well, looking up at her father and taking on a more serious tone.
”Should I call Connor?”
”Yeah. And when he gets here, the two of you head home and stay there until me or your mom call. Understand?”
”Yes, sir.”
She picks up the phone to do just that as the sound of squealing tires and shouts sound from elsewhere. Multiple car doors open and close as Forge, snarling, follows Goldie out to the yard. The cordless phone nestled between her ear and shoulder, Shanna locks the doors leading to and from the office and gets back behind the desk, speaking quickly when the other end of the call picks up.
”Trouble, Conner! Get back here and pick me up!”
A few loud pops sound outside, along with more yells… then a sudden fade to black.
> ...end of video playback...
> ...
> Playing audio “file009a.wma”...
> ...
> Date: 07/07/18
> Time: 1:19am, Central
> Location: Undisclosed
> ...
> Starting...
”Bryce, you better start fucking talking or shit’s gonna get bad for you in a fucking hurry! You drew those misogynistic, race-baiting motherfuckers to my place of business?! Where I got fresh fish and my motherfucking children on the damn clock?! Did you even BOTHER to think or what?!”
”J-Just let me explain! Please!”
”TALK!”
”L-Look… after the last set of races, those Pride guys tried to start some business with my people! They… they didn’t know about their reputation, I swear!”
”YOU do know!”
”I wasn’t there! I was out of the damn country meeting with Takama-san, trying to fix things there like you wanted!”
”Cool it a little, boss. Makin’ Bryce here shit himself ain’t gonna help anything.”
”The Pride, Khary! On our goddamn doorstep!”
”I hear what you’re sayin’, Trent. I do. We oughta be thankful VP wasn’t here, though. We might not be free to have this charming fuckin’ conversation otherwise.”
”V… VP?”
”Don’t fuckin’ concern yourself with it, Bryce. You say the Pride horned in on your business and you came back to that. You told ‘em no and they’ve been startin’ shit since, to the point havin’ you too damn scared to come out of your house. When you finally get up the nuts to come here, they followed you. That’s what you’re tellin’ me?”
”Exactly!”
”You didn’t consider picking up a phone? We have lines for this shit, man.”
”They were tapping the lines! You think I got to where I am by not knowing when something’s wrong?!”
”Those fuckheads aren’t smart enough for shit like that. They can’t see past their stupid fuckin’ agendas. What do you reckon, Khary?”
”...Marchand?”
”Who?”
”Maybe. Where the fuck is Goldie?!”
”Here, boss! Sorry it took me so long!”
”What’s the word?”
”The rats fuckin’ scattered and whoever didn’t slip got hauled in by the cops. Far as they’re concerned, the Pride started this shit and no one on our side is in the crosshairs. For now, anyway.”
”Then… then that’s that?”
”Don’t be dense. Those assholes will be on the streets again in a day or less. If I were you, Bryce, I’d go talk to 30-30 and see about getting yourself a piece. I’ll have the boys look in on things just in case the Pride come out beating their chests again… but the next time this shit goes down? Don’t fucking sit on it! Fucking call and let us know so we can handle it! Understand me?!”
”Yes, yes! I swear! Oh… oh, wait…”
”Fuck is it now?!”
”Takama-san wanted me to give you this… said you’d understand when you saw it! C-Can I go now?”
”...yeah. Fuck outta here.”
”What is it, boss?”
”A bonus. You guys head on home. I got some other business to handle before I get outta here.”
> ...end of audio playback...
> ...
> Playing video “file009b.wma”...
> ...
> Date: 07/07/18
> Time: 3:36am, Central
> Location: Metairie, Louisiana
> …
> Scene: The Mitchell Residence, Garage
> ...
> Starting...
Even at a dull roar, the rumble of Forge’s Milwaukee hog is loud in the otherwise-silent night air in the neighborhood in which he makes his home. At least by this point there’s no lights coming on in adjacent houses or people yelling out their windows. Only took a couple nights of that before Forge put a fucking stop to it. People who lived here dealt with him coming and going at all hours. Robi as well. Those who didn’t like it could move for all Forge cared. He wasn’t having loud-ass parties or raising hell; his metal monster just liked to growl sometimes. No big deal, right?
Pulling into the garage next to Robi’s bike, Forge shuts his monster down and unstraps the well-sealed box from the back, taking it over to his workbench and setting it down. He presses his palms against the worn, notched wood surface, noting to himself that he would have to replace it soon enough. Aside from that, the garage was spotless. Every tool in its proper place, every surface polished clean, not an inch of wasted space. Turning and leaning on the bench, still in jeans, boots, a white tee and his Chrome Dragons cut, Forge takes out his cell phone and activates the video recording app. After giving it a few moments, the view changes to one from the phone’s perspective...
”Out of everything else in them, there’s one line from the first Avengers movie that stuck with me. You probably saw it, Ricky-Boy. Probably went home after and order a couple of your house boys to PhotoShop your head onto Thor’s body or something, you sick fuck.”
He half-scoffs, half-snorts at his own joke.
”Anyway… Cap tells Banner that this might be a good time for him to get angry. Banner turns around and tells him that that’s his secret: he’s always angry.”
Giving it a couple moments to sink in, Forge turns to look at the box on the bench, musing before returning his gaze to the camera.
”You people in Mile High think I toss out F-bombs like they’re free candy and hate on everyone and everything cause I got some kind of axe to grind. You buy into this notion that it’s all a front, that this attitude of mind is just a way to get jacked up for a fight. Those rare moments of showing something resembling tenderness and affection for my wife, my kids, my brothers in the Chrome Dragons… hell, even that moment a couple weeks ago when I let slip that I’m starting to care about winning or being a champion. You get a peek at that shit and think to yourselves that you’re finally getting a look at the real Forge, at Trenton Mitchell and not the metal-grinding, bitch-destroying Martyr Machine that’s tore Mile High a new once since he first set foot in the doors.
And that’s why you fucking unpainted clowns will bang your heads against the brick wall that is this wall of humanity before you until you can’t remember your own damn names… because you don’t fucking get it. What you see with me is what is. I’m always angry. I’m always ready for a fight. There’s no good man buried deep under the muscle and hatred, no kind soul imprisoned in a rising sea of blood and refuse. I was born a monster. I grew up a monster. To this day I’m a beast who makes hell itself shudder with every step I take. Affection for those close to me? Even the devil knows of love. Honoring those who ride with me day in and day out? The worst dictators in history had their inner circles who they afforded trust and camaraderie. Has it just not fucking dawned on the lot of you that you’re just not worthy?
What the hell do I owe any of you? Whether the fans cheer or boo me, whether they buy my shirt… that’s fucking inconsequential. You know what it amounts to? A couple numbers in my paycheck and little else. And yeah, I’m all about the green, but I was making stacks by breaking fools long before they started shilling shirts, so spare the indignation right off the fucking bat there. Whether the people in the locker room like me or not? Just another statistic that means two things to me: jack and shit. I don’t care if they like me. I don’t care if they respect me. I’m not about to go out drinking with them after the shows and you’re not gonna catch me making nice with them just because the cameras are off and the bell ain’t rung. If they’re in that locker room, eventually they’re gonna be in my way. No strings, boys and girls: if you’re on the Mile High roster and you ain’t claiming the Shieldmaidens or the Dragons, you’re gonna get chewed up by the Martyr Machine sooner or later. Not fucking sorry.”
He holds the phone out a bit, making sure all of him is in front of it, practically snarling as he imagines the retorts coming from those watching.
”I’m not here to make friends. I’m never going to be the guy that people turn to for advice, the hero that’s gonna save the fuckin’ day. No, kids, I’m the reason you assholes search for and beseech those cunts who THINK they’re heroes. I’m the big bad monster you check in the closet and under the bed for. I’m the one that you pray for someone to save you from. And it’ll be that way until I decide I’m done with this wrestling shit. But long before that happens? A few nights away in Phoenix? I’m gonna give you all another example of why you don’t FUCK with the Martyr Machine.”
Those dark eyes narrow, his jaw setting. One could imagine feeling… SEEING… the heat rising from Forge.
”You hearin’ me, Pretty Bitch? ‘Cause I’m talkin’ right at your bald-headed ass now. I caught your video a day ago, by the way. Must be nice, living and walking in a world without consequences, where you don’t have to answer for your shit-talking and can get away with just about anything you chose. It IS nice, ain’t it? I suggest you savor that feelin’, boy, cause at the Rise you’re stepping into MY world… a world where everything you say and everything you do has a fucking consequence.
And you’re LOOKING at that consequence.”
Even beneath cut and shirt, the sudden isometric flexing of Forge’s musculature strains the cotton and leather alike.
”I’ve been working on something just for you, Ricky-Boy, but that’s a tale I’ll tell another time. Bringing it up now because I want it bouncing around in that skull of yours. I want you dreaming about it, wondering what in the hell I could possibly put together for someone like you. It’s called a teaser. Don’t worry, though; you’ll love it.”
Something about Forge’s tone clearly states otherwise...
”It’s too late to back out now, Stanton. I could hear it in your voice, the concern, the belief finally settling in. It’s finally sinking in exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into and you know there’s no way to back out. Even if you could? All the shit you’ve talked so far would ensure that you’d never hear the end of it, that you could never hope to live it down. You’re still waiting… I get it. You’re waiting to see if money or influence or straight-up executive power can save you from getting your face rezoned for strip mining at my hands. News flash: it can’t. Even if you did run, the shame would make you come crawling back because you’d instinctively know that my beating the shit out of you would be less painful than the embarrassment. It’d mean an extra hit-and-a-half for your ass, making me chase you, but it’d still be better than being known as a full-on bitch rather than the 90% variety that you are now.
You still thinkin’ that I’m just talkin’ shit? So far I’ve backed up my word every damn time. I’m allowed to talk shit because I can do shit. Not one motherfucker in Mile High that’s been in the ring with me has beaten me clean. Not the champ, not Skrabz, not NO ONE. And the one time you grew a set and got physical around here you ended up with my boot print on your face. You’re soft, Stanton. You’re too used to people bowing to your will because you have money or because you can take their jobs from them just like that. None of that impresses me, though. The only thing that impresses me is violence and in that you’re fuckin’ lacking. The throwaway lines about my needing others to get me to the top? Funny how I didn’t need help to put down Candi Bratton or to bloody every poor sap who’s ever stood across the ring from me. You see this, Ricky-Boy?”
He gesture’s to the crater-like scar in his forehead.
”At The Rise, I might just add another one of these in the shape of your tooth. Ever had a tooth knocked out of your skull, Ricky-Boy? Ever felt that sloppy snap as it’s yanked out of your gums, where you taste blood for days after the fact? I can make that happen. It’s all in the angle, you see... “
A small grin forms as the focus is drawn back a bit, then it goes away.
”That’s another little something you fuckers don’t get, and you especially, Ricky. And that’s the simple fact that I like who and what I am. I sleep like a log every damn night and wake up full of fire. I look in the mirror and marvel at the beast I have become, someone who isn’t afraid to hide the truth of what they really are. Every damn day the green rolls in and more assholes line up to get knocked down. Kings and paupers, generals and grunts… I crush them like a steamroller running over a snail. I was born this way, Ricky-Boy, made this way. The fact that I got people who still ride with me and people to go home to who accept the monster in their midst for what he is? Fucking bonus.
You ain’t got that. Family? You got people who latch onto you because you claim you’ll take them somewhere in life. Friends? Only the kind that you can fucking buy. All you have is an entitled twat on your arm, a big mouth and a date with the reaper. I don’t envy you a bit. If I had a heart? I’d almost pity you. Almost.”
Shaking his head a little, Forge stares off into the distance again, ruminating as he monologues.
”Thing is, right now? I know I’m talking to a damn wall for all of this that’s gonna get through to you. Your world begins and ends with Ricky Stanton. If it ain’t gold-plated, you don’t give a shit. If you can’t lord it over everyone else, it isn’t worth your time. You think I don’t know what your deal really is? You think I can’t see through this pussy-ass smokescreen you keep hiding in? You’re wrong. And here’s the moment where I make the rest of the world aware, too.”
Forge’s eyes snap back to the camera, that sick and twisted smile forming again.
”I’m the man you can’t break, the monster that you can’t reason with. I bow to none and respect less. There’s no controlling me, no bending me to your will. And that FUCKING EATS YOU UP! You’ve met your match in the Martry Machine, Stanton, the one person you cannot beat, cannot buy and cannot stop! All your dreams of being the first to truly make me look weak and human? They’re just that. Dreams.”
Back to the ice cold expression as he stands up from the bench, Forge brings the focus in close for the lsat time.
”I’m cold, hard reality, motherfucker. Maybe once upon a time you could fight. Hell, maybe once upon a time you had respect and skill. Now? You’re making one last grab at glory before what’s left of your manhood falls apart. There’s no standing over me, Stanton. There’s no slowing me down or stopping me. You’re walking into that cage… but you’re limping out if you can fucking move at all.
The only thing you’ll see at the end through that red haze is me standing over you like a fucking titan of old. And I’ll have only one answer for your whimpering cries of mercy, Pretty Bitch:
NO.”
Jabbing at the ‘End’ button with his thumb brings a sharp end to the message.
> ...
> End feed...
> ...
> Shutting down...
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Jul 10, 2018 12:25:06 GMT -6
IF there's one thing I've learned about untamed animals is to keep your distance. Eventually, they'll break. They'll break because they'll go hungry, get desperate. Take a wild dog for example. You see the dog, you don't approach it why? It doesn't know you. In fact, it's lived a life you couldn't imagine. The most you can do is leave out a bowl of food and go back inside the house. He may look mean, hell, might even growl, but the internal nature of that dog is telling him that he's hungry. He needs to eat, and provisions have been made to where he doesn't have to work too hard to supply the need. So he goes over, gets the food, eats it. And when he's done, he looks up at the person that supplied it, asking for more. He doesn't even realize it.
That's when you know, that dog is broken.
[Ricky Stanton sits in the back of a restaurant, smoking a stogie and drinking some cold Puerto Rican Rum. The sounds of Anita Baker fill the air as evening gowns and tuxedos fill the room. Lily Stanton sits beside her man, enjoying a steak dinner as Ricky talks to the reporter]
"So why do this? Why go through all of this to break Forge?"
"Because he decided that he wanted to act outside his nature."
"I...I don't understand he said in his promo that he was fine just the way he was."
"Lie. That's a lie. And any man that tells you that is lying. NO man is content. We're always striving for more. And a man with a family is unstoppable. He wants to present the perception he's happy with who he is on the inside. He's a monster with a wrench in his hand. That's all. He's conflicted, lost between wanting to be something vicious and wanting to be something powerful. Those are two different goals. Anyone can be vicious. It takes no thought. Take this for example..."
[Just then his goons bring in a guy in a ruffled up suit.]
"This guy right here...failed to pay up what he owes me."
[Stanton gets up and kicks him in the gut. The guys let him fall to the floor and Stanton stomps on his face. He leans over him and put his stogie out in his blood]
"Get him out of here. We're even now. You see? Thoughtless. But to be powerful moves more pieces around the board. You've got more strategy to deal with, more blind spots to shore up. Hell, Forge is no good at none of that. Take a few weeks ago. Skrabz turns around to go get the sledgehammer, Candi Bratton comes out of nowhere with the belt just a blazing. Skrabz ducks, and dumb ass Forget gets hit with the belt and is busted open. Match over. Dumb. That's what being an unbridled monster will get you. Hell, his basic mentality is nothing different than a horse with blinders on going around the damn track (laughs). And I'm supposed to be concerned? Me? He's a one-trick pony."
"So what is this all about?," the reporter asks. "At the end of the day, what are you trying to prove?"
"Respect. This is all about respect. This is about knowing your place, and staying there. This is about backing down when you are told to. This is about understanding there are bigger fish, but he's been swimming around in his own shit for so long he can't see the outside world. So you stomp out this spark, and everyone else falls in line. He came for me, I didn't come for him. All he had to do was back down. But he wouldn't. So no we're here. In a cage. It's going to be brutal, it's going to hurt. But guys like Forge? Yeah, he wants to be more than the simple guy that he is. He wants his brutality to be noticed. (laughs) LOOK AT ME! I'M DESTROYING THINGS ALL THE TIME! LOOK AT ME BEAT THIS GUY UP! IS THIS ENOUGH FOR YOU! LOOK AT ME! I've seen kids slide across the floors of local grocery stores that were more effective.
He has to validate himself consistently that he's a guy that's worth it. I don't seek such validations. That's why I'm going to enjoy breaking him.
"Have you ever thought, "Hey, I'm the boss, I should be the bigger guy here."
"Being the bigger guy in position never won titles. You have to be a destroyer of light. You haven't lived until you stared down into the eyes of a guy that you've just beat, and witnessed their panic. They're thinking about their families, their career, their everything. Their dreams shoot past their eyes. And then they turn away. That's when you know you've got'em. They're broken. They'll never cross you again."
[Lily motions to Ricky that it's time to go...]
"Gotta go man, good luck with your story."
"Thank you."
The Stantons leave the booth as the reporter goes over his notes.
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Jul 10, 2018 23:47:30 GMT -6
> ...
> ...
> Playing video “file009c.wma”...
> ...
> Date: 07/10/18
> Time: 6:22pm, Central
> Location: Undisclosed
> ...
> Starting...
It starts with a shot of an MC, but make no mistake: these are not the Chrome Dragons. All white, all bearing a ton of ink, 90% of it alluding to some matter of white supremacist propaganda compete with the sorts of symbolism that would get you shunned by decent society and lauded by the President… you know the type. The ramshackle brick building in the background could be called dilapidated if one wished to be generous. The graffiti is the only attention it has gotten in what must be several years. That, of course, makes it the ideal place for a bonfire and a little carousing, right?
The members of the MC known around New Orleans as The Pride, are deep into their carousing. Ice chests full of brew, a couple of local street-corner talents and a lot of hooting and hollering. And why wouldn’t they be partying, acting so pleased with themselves? Taking the fight to their rivals for territory in the Big Easy and catching them off-guard? That’s worthy of some roaring and carrying on, right? As the sky slowly dims in the background, a couple of the MC members toss more wood on the fire, sending sparks scattering into the air, matching for a moment the glow of the fireflies in the distance.
It lasts for a good couple minutes… and then comes the roar of bikes. The carrying-on comes to a slow stop as the Pride members look between one another, making a mental check of who’s present and who isn’t. That ends up costing them, though, that moment of indecision. Headlights turn on in the near-distance as several bikes and a familiar van roll up on the building. Immediately recognizable even beneath helmets and shades are the Four Horsemen of the Dragons as some have called them: Khary, Kyojin, Goldie… and Forge himself. The bikes lead the charge and as the Pride fully realize what’s upon them.
“The fuckin’ Dragons!”
The first prospect to belt out an exclamation is the first one to get his dick knocked in the dirt courtesy of Kyojin. And with that, the brawl is on. Prospects of the Dragons, three of them, exit the van and join in as the Horsemen start throwing down with the Pride, the whole party turning to into a violent, screaming brawl within moments with Forge bellowing over top of it all.
”Find me the bastard that pulled the piece on Jackie!”
Khary’s response is a snarl as he drives a boot into the stomach of one of the Pride members, throwing him across the makeshift firepit like a rag doll. Goldie, not looking like much at first glance to… well… to anyone, is duking it out with another one, marked by his patches as the Sgt-at-Arms of the Pride. The President, coming around the side of the building, takes a running leap off one of the benches and lands on Forge’s back and another brawl starts up with Forge slinging him off and throwing fists! Kyojin is taking his lumps from a dude that has to be pushing three bills yet is still wearing a grin as he comes back and rams his thumb into the man’s throat before knocking him through the rotted door of the building and into the dusty interior.
The hookers have already run off screeching as one of the Pride prospects snatches up a forty from the ice chest and busts it over Goldie’s head, taking him out of the fight! Though he’s leapt on by two Dragons prospects, the damage is done in that regard. The Pride President, thrown aside by Forge, snarls and grabs a burning branch from the pit, slamming the burning end into Khary’s gut after he disposes of another Pride prospect, then aims to crack Forge in the dome… and he would have if Goldie, bleeding from the head, didn’t chuck a baseball-sized stone at the Pride president, catching him in the shoulder.
”Eyes up, boss!”
Turning just in the nick, Forge ducks the flaming wood swung dome-high and grabs the president by his cut, headbutting him multiple times until he drops the branch and falls back to the ground, his nose busted from the impacts! Kyojin is in the process of dragging one of the prospects over to Forge while most of the Pride has scattered along with the hired entertainment, but a handful of dirt thrown in his eyes allows the kid to break free and run like an antelope from a lion. Khary, seeing this, points it out.
”There the little bastard goes!”
”Jackie! Boner! Let ‘em loose!”
While most of the Pride higher-ups have gotten to their bikes and sped off, sans the President who’s still laid out at Forge’s feet, there are a few who have been beaten into submission… that or they’re simply afraid to move. Jackie, a blonde who looks a bit like a younger, more muscular David Lee Roth, and Boner, who has enough metal in his face to make magnets a real danger to his health, dash for the back of the Dragons’ van, opening the back doors. The next thing anyone sees are two huge brown blurs and a lot of barking as Forge yells after the huge dogs now chasing the Pride prospect:
”Judas! Brutus! FETCH!”
A shriek sounds moments after the prospect and the dogs disappear into the trees and brush fifty feet away, the screams turning into howls of fear and pain as, less than a minute later, the big honkin’ pitbulls come back into sight, snarling as they drag the prospect into sight, each one tugging on a leg. Forge, while the rest of the Dragons tend to the business of their opponents, walks over to the dogs and gives each one a pat on the head. They stop dragging, but they don’t let go. The prospect stares up at Forge with wide eyes.
”Gonna be a long night, motherfucker. You gonna tell me who put you assholes up to coming to our turf waving iron around? Or am I gonna have to ruin my boys’ diet?”
“Ain’t tellin’ you sh-shit, you dirt-lovin’ psychopath! Now g-get these bitches off me!”
Grinning slightly, Forge keeps right on rubbing the dogs’ heads, clicking his tongue.
”He called you girls, fellas. You gonna take that?”
The grin disappears and he glares down at the prospect. As though they understand exactly what Forge is saying, the dogs snarl and yank more on the prospect's legs, making him howl even though they've yet to tear flesh.
”Start talking, motherfucker. If I have to ask again, Ol’ Smokey is gonna have his way with you. And what he does to punks who won’t come clean lasts forever.”
The prospect’s response is to try and spit in Forge’s face. He misses… but the intent is clear. At about this point, Jackie and Khary come walking up alongside Boner… who’s wearing a wicked grin, muttering something about “cooking a bitch”. Forge gives him a look, then shakes his head with a laugh, nodding to the three.
”Help Judas and Brutus put this fucker in the van. Take him to the shop. Boner, fire up Ol’ Smokey when you arrive… and don’t start cooking until I get there. Understood?”
Boner looks disappointed for half a second but nods and grins again as he helps Jackie and the dogs get the prospect into the van. Khary comes up to Forge and claps a hand on his shoulder.
”There’ll be consequences for this shit, boss.”
”I’m counting on it. You good?”
”Rapturous.”
”My man. What do you reckon we should do with the fuckers still laid out here?”
”Leave them laying. Let it be a lesson to the rest. We made our point and we’ll get our answers out of the prospect more likely than we will out of any patched-in motherfucker.”
”You’re right. Let’s get back to the shop and get people patched up. Then we’ll have a chat with our guest.”
Within a minute or two, the party is left in shambles… Pride members and prospects laid out all over the place, a ruined bonfire, a lot of beer that’s gonna be too warm to drink soon and the screams mingled with barks coming from the van as it drives off behind the bikes of the Dragons.
> ...end of video playback...
> ...
> Playing video “file009d.wma”...
> ...
> Date: 07/07/18
> Time: 11:19pm, Central
> Location: Metairie, Louisiana
> ...
> Scene: The Mitchell Residence, Kitchen
> ...
> Starting...
Saying that it is late in the evening is almost inconsequential, giving far too much meaning to the concept of time to someone who pays little attention to it in the first place. After all, since when did a wrestler, a biker… a criminal... care about the passage of time? When your world is a blur of violence, mixed with visions of pride, lust and cold, unforgiving metal, little else matters. Some things, however, do make a difference to the man known as Forge. Late Tuesday night, after a day most would consider as one demanding rest and recuperation considering the Wednesday to come, Forge still stands, his attention on the dead flesh in one hand and the sharp steel in the other.
Now, before someone gets any stupid ideas, it isn’t what it sounds like. The Martyr Machine is slicing beef on the cutting board, two empty bowls set nearby on the counter. Quite into his work, Forge either does not know the camera is taking him in or he’s gathering his wrath for just the right moment. The light in the kitchen is pretty dim given the lateness and the fact others are apt to be sleeping. Forge, in jeans and a blank top, keeps up his cutting and slicing, the blade impacting with the cutting board a few more times before be decides to speak.
”So now I’m a mad dog, huh?”
The question posed has the Martyr Machine chuckling darkly, turning just enough to eye the camera a bit as, with a certain cocky flair, he sprinkles some spice on the sliced meat.
”Next thing ya know, children, Ricky-Boy will be claiming he’s gonna put me down like Ol’ Yeller because I snapped on him and he’s still sore that his so-called authority got bucked. I”m having trouble deciding what sadder, Pretty Bitch: the fact that you claimed ignorance of my problem with authority from the get-go or that you think I’d bow to anyone or anything over your table scraps.
What you should be thankful for is that I don’t take it as an insult. If that were the case we wouldn’t be having this happy little interlude right now, would we? No, you’d be laid up in a hospital with half your face gone, trying to remember your name and learning how to wiggle your toes again. And I? I’d probably be warming a cot in jail again. Smiling. Still in a better place in this misbegotten shitpile of a world than you will be at the end of The Rise. But you don’t get that. Said it before and I’ll say it again, though differently this time so your stupid ass might understand it through the bubble filled with amniotic retard-fluid you isolate yourself in when reality gets too painful to bear:”
A little more slicing, a bit of chopping and a few more dashes of seasoning commence before Forge calmly splits the meat between the two aforementioned bowls. Grabbing a larger bowl filled with steaming contents from nearby, he brings them to the board as well. No sense wiping it down, all considered: everything’s going to the same place.
”You can’t buy me.
You can’t control me.
You can’t beat me.
And you’ll be fuckin’ lucky to survive me at the Rise.”
Each comment is paused for a cut or a slice, Forge adding more and more to the bowls in the forms of sliced fruits, vegetables and green beans. He chuckles slightly to himself.
”I’m the one who’s going to be broken and begging, pleading respect when all is said and done? Ricky, you’re already my bitch and you’re too fucking thick to realize it. Think about it, if you’re capable. Just pause, suck in a deep breath and shut down all the paid voices circling you, telling you how wonderful you are, trying to boost you up. Tell them to shut the fuck up a second so you can hear my voice while you can still manage some cognitive thinking.
Everything I’ve said and done up to this point has been a warning. Up until a couple days ago? I’ve actually been doing my level best to get through to you that what you’re doing is only going to get you hurt. But that’s done now. If you’d kept your fucking trap shut, I wouldn’t have had to take things this far, to shatter this illusion you’re living in. It would have been the closest thing to mercy that I could offer you. Predators aren’t known for our mercy, Ricky-Boy. Especially not the sick ones like myself. My prey is begging? That ain’t doin’ a damn thing but making me hard, and the only person who enjoys that is behind the camera right now.”
That unmistakably twisted giggle sounds from behind the aforementioned camera, making Forge smirk slightly as he keeps on cutting.
”But back to the point.”
He adds the chopped veggies a handful at a time to each bowl until both have an equal amount, then going to a small saucepan on the stove and stirring as the camera follows him, his back now to the camera to reveal the cybernetic dragon atop crossed wrenches, the symbol of the Chrome Dragons MC, emblazoned on the back of his cut.
”Your every word and action from the moment I told your little protege exactly what she was in front of the world has been the equivalent of a spoiled, recalcitrant child trying to get his daddy’s attention. Maybe he wants a toy. Maybe his sister won’t stop poking him. Maybe he just needs the shit beaten out of him to remind him of the natural order. Doesn’t matter. He’s being a little bitch and needs to be treated accordingly. Point is? That’s you. Trying to get my attention. Trying to make me buy in to the idea that you have some kind of power or influence over me and what I do.
You’re begging me to acknowledge you, Ricky-Boy, because it will validate you, because if you can make the biggest, baddest dog in the yard sit up and wag his tail when you walk by, people might believe that you’re important, that you’re worth more than a passing glance. You dangle money, influence… hell, you even pay some jackass to let you kick him around a little bit in front of the camera during your so-called interview, as though that will impress me. It just makes me wonder how many stacks you had to put in front of the guy before he finally relented. News flash, dipshit: if Candi Bratton attacking a bunch of bangers outside of a bar didn’t make me twitch, what the fuck did you expect that your little display was going to accomplish?”
Shaking his head almost sadly, Forge takes the pot off the stove and walks it over to the bowls, adding equal amounts of what looks like a thick gravy to both. Taking up the same wooden spoon, he starts stirring it into the meat and greens, making a sharp clicking noise with his teeth and tongue.
A few moments later there comes the tapping of claws on linoleum and a lot of panting and playful growling and snapping. Robi quickly directs the camera to the hallway and follows as two imposing, well-muscled and familiar-looking pitbulls come trotting into the room at Forge’s call. He turns them and half smiles as the come bounded up, shaking with excitement.
”Sit.”
The tone is firm and authoritative, but not loud. A moment later, both brown behemoths are sitting, eyeing big poppa standing at the counter with a bowl in each hand.
”Stay.”
And stay they do; the beasts know what Forge has in his hands. They can smell it. They’re already licking their chops, the taste just waiting to be savored. Yet when he places those bowls down on the floor, they don’t move. Not even as hungry as they are. Not that Forge starves his dogs, but it has become a treat for them. Every Tuesday night before he goes off to raise hell for Mile High Wrestling, he makes his big boys a special meal.
They sit back on their haunches, waiting expectantly. A hand under each chin, Forge gives them a firm scratching, a little sign that tells them what good boys before they are. Then… he stands back up and lets out a low, sharp whistle… and just like that they dig in, tails wagging hard enough to crack wood.
”Let me introduce you, Ricky-Boy, to Judas and Brutus. Two big, brutal badasses that mean more to me than most of humanity, yourself included, ever will. Some sick fuck decided to leave them and their brothers near the shop one day a couple years back… just left ‘em. No food, no water, no nothin’. Decided they weren’t worth their time and left them to die. I’ve made it clear since the start, even if I have to keep reminding motherfuckers, that humanity disgusts me. And that’s one big goddamn reason why. By the time I got to them, they were half-starved and the other four didn’t make it. These two, though, they were tough little bastards even then… hence their names. They’re named after famous betrayers. Why? Because they made death think it had a chance to take them before kicking sand in her face and coming home with me.
I validate myself in a lot of ways, Ricky-Boy, none of which fell from your lips while you spewed into a microphone a little while ago. I did it by saving the lives of the so-called worthless a couple years ago and giving them something the world denied them. I do it by making my name feared no matter where I go, be it here in the Big Easy, up in Denver every time Mile High puts on a show and in Phoenix tomorrow night when I flay you alive. It’s only about respect when YOU’RE concerned, because your every action begs for it. You say you’re going to break me with such fervor because you’re already broken yourself. Everything you said, almost to the letter, is you trying to displace your fear and worthlessness on the rest of the world.
The weak wish to share their pain, to spread their suffering around in hopes that they can infect others, that by infecting everyone around them will somehow lessen the hurt. Do I look worried to you, motherfucker? It’s about time that you woke up to the truth, and not just because I’m sick of having to correct you every damn time. You see these two beasts before you right now? Happy, healthy, obedient, powerful, loyal?”
Forge, still crouched, scratches behind the ears of both Judas and Brutus. Those tails wag a little harder though they never take their attention from the feast before them.
”They’re something you’ll never be, Stanton. They know their place and they’re more than happy to serve. They do what I tell them, when I tell them to do it, and they reap the rewards after the fact. You? You come out and try to antagonize the man in Mile High Wrestling who puts more money in your pocket and food on your table than anyone else. You see the glory I gain and the fear that I espouse, though, and you get fucking jealous. You yearn for a time, if it ever even existed, when you could do the same. But times change. People change. Those days are lost to you. You walk around here like you’re the old grizzled gunslinger who’s forgotten more than the young guns could ever know.
It isn’t enough that I make you richer every week. It isn’t enough that I’m taking this fledgling company to the top, doing more for it than the so-called main event ever will just by being real, by doing what comes naturally to me. You have to try and make a name for yourself, again, by piggybacking off what those stronger than you accomplish. You’re trying to take the meatiest bone from the biggest, meanest beast in the yard and claiming the kill they’re still wearing the blood from. In your fantasy world that makes you great. In reality, it gets you mauled and sent to the ER to get put back together like a spray-tanned, steroid-fueled Humpty Dumpty. And there ain’t enough money on the planet that’ll put you back together when I’m done, bitch.”
He stays where he is, watching Judas and Brutus eat, not giving the camera the time of day any further.
”You’re just like the rest. You bleed the same, you scream the same and you’ll fall the same. Right now the world wants to know who’s gonna be wearing gold coming out of The Rise. But in the backs of their minds, in the lizard part of their brain that loves the carnage and violence, the part they’ll never admit exists? They’re waiting to see what I do to YOU. They’re thriving on the most hated, the most FEARED man in Mile High shutting the mouth of the asshole who ensures they can see it each and every week.
After all you give them, Ricky-Boy, they’re clamoring for your evisceration live on pay-per-view. Not because they like me or hate you, in truth, but because of the primal chord that lies within us all, waiting to be plucked. They’re beasts, rabid animals looking for their next meal, rattling the cage while snapping and snarling, begging for what only their Alpha is capable of providing. You’re the scared rabbit being thrown in the pit as the Alpha’s next meal, already looking for a way out while, in the back of your mind, knowing there is none.”
Forge grins, licking his lips.
”And I? I think you know who I am. I’m the Alpha. And they can have whatever’s left of you when I’m done.
See you in Phoenix, motherfucker. Bring a doggie bag with your name on it. It’ll make it easier to mark your remains when I’m done feasting.”
Fade to black.
> ...
> End feed...
> ...
> Shutting down...
|
|
