Post by đť“”đť“đť“𝓲𝓮 đť“śđť“ľđť“»đť“𝓮𝓻 on Jan 21, 2018 3:13:00 GMT -5
1/17/2018 5:33 PM
A satellite image from google earth suddenly flashes across the screen. A female’s high pitched scream can be heard throughout. The earth draws closer as a bloody pentagram comes into focus to circle an area in Florida. The camera shot draws in closer to Jupiter, Florida. In the center of a deep forest sits a now abandoned amusement park.
“Fury Films”, crosses the screen as the the amusement park comes in to total view from overhead. Three brand new drones then split duties from above now taking the feed over. The amusement park was built in the late fifties by a european steel gothic artist. He unknowingly built the park atop a seminole burial ground. Many unexplained deaths have happened here over the years. Now called, FuryLand, this place continues to haunt the entire area. A gate surrounds the park and an old beat up dirt road leads up to the front gate.
One of the drones begins to film a large white vehicle driving toward the park. The park has been closed since four deaths in the summer. Crimson now uses it for a compound and a safe place to create his “art”.
The vehicle coming comes into full view. An ambulance becomes exposed in high definition. The vehicle has a hospital name written across the side but it is blurred. The ambulance pulls up to the gate then a driver exits. The cameras throughout the park capture his every movement. An older woman who is obviously a nurse, exits the passenger side of the ambulance wearing a blouse. They both approach the back of the ambulance both with dread in their eyes.
They open the door and the light from the afternoon spills into the back of the ambulance. Inside sits a female clutching a plastic baby doll in her arms tight.
“Get out!” The Nurse screams into the back of the ambulance.
The woman’s eyes fill with tears as she scoots out of the ambulance completely frightened. The woman who yelled at the patient is wearing a name tag from a mental institution located in Jupiter. “Wanda” her name tag reads proudly. She looks official and begins to explain to the scared woman what comes next.
“You are being released as part of a work release program. Inside this creepy amusement park turned personal compound, sits your new employer. He will fix you, my dear.” The older nurse explains then carefully strokes the frightened woman’s face to comfort.
The woman turns away from the older lady from the mental facility. She stares at the iron gate with “FuryLand” written proudly across it. Vines cover the gate and entire fence to further hide the inside of the park.
The woman stumbles barefoot toward the gate. She pushes it open then wanders inside the park while the older nurse watches on. The driver approaches her then asks, “Is she safe?”
“Not anymore.” Wanda replies.
The two then get back into the ambulance and quickly drive away from the place locals swear is cursed for all time. The woman they dropped off stumbles through the park toward a building that has a sign out front that simply reads, “Office”.
She passes the infamous huge rusty metal tree just inside the park. Chains hang down off the branches to imitate a willow tree. Now Crimson has added something to the end of the chains. All Tommy's title belts that he’s ever won now dangle from the tree. Many belts cover the tree including thirteen world championships. The sun catches the gold leading the entire tree to gleam at certain angles.
The woman can feel the evil aura in her bones, but she has to get to that office. She reaches the door then pushes it open. A man sits at a desk facing the door. The bright red hair of Tommy Crimson can be made out now by a camera inside the office that picks up the video feed.
“Come in, I’ve been expecting you.” Crimson calls out at the confused crazed woman.
The woman walks in doll clutched firmly and sits down in a chair directly in front of Tommy’s desk. She notices at the end of the handmade desk in the wood.
“Notches. The wood for this desk was shipped in from the suicide forest. I buy it by the grade. These notches indicate how many lives it took. The more deaths, the higher the price.” Tommy explains.
“Violet. I have to rebuild an empire and you are going to help me do it.” Crimson informs Violet.
A folder on his desk has a name written across it. “Violet Mason”.
“You are a former navy seal. You won two underground Chinese tournaments against men and women. You then became a mercenary to kill for money. I’ve read your file, Violet.” Tommy continues.
“Admitted for suicide in Mexico to one of the worse mental wards on earth. You bore a baby in that asylum, nine months after being gangraped by inmates. Those same inmates later took your daughter from your arms then ate it alive. Society did that to you. They used your dead babies blood to lube the cogs of the “machine”. Let me in. I’ll lead you to Salvation.” Tommy whispers at Violet. He then walks around the desk and takes her face in both of his hands.
Violet’s eyes widen. Tommy focuses then closes his eyes. When he reopens them they are solid white.
“You are controlled in every aspect of your life. You are told what’s good and who’s bad. Let me free you of that. No longer will you allow others to dictate your terms. Let me in..” Crimson screams out at the blonde as she wiggles in the chair.
She shakes her head to fight off Crimson’s “influence”.
“That baby is dead but now you are awake. Take hold of my influence and drown in it. AWAKE!” Crimson screams at her once more. Violet reacts by closing her eyes. When she reopens them her eyes are now solid white, alive with Crimson’s influence. Another soul lost to the dead eye society. Violet drops the plastic doll to the floor.
A man walks in wearing scrubs. One of the ten remaining employee’s left at FuryLand, Dr. Hyde.
A camera catches Violet as she signs a contract, Crimson slid over to her on the desk. He then shuts the door. The last young lady who had Violet’s new job told Tommy’s secrets leading him to lose it all. Static takes over the screen.
45 Minutes Later.
The feed returns then the static turns back to the office door. The door swings open. Violet walks out of the door with both corners of her mouth bleeding a bit. She holds a small mason jar out in front of her body with what appears to be her own tongue inside. Sewn up by Dr. Hyde himself after the tongue was removed, she now can know all Tommy’s secrets to help further Crimson’s cause. The entire procedure was legal by her signed contract.
Tommy walks out behind her as a camera comes in close. The creepy rusty rides swing to life as a backdrop behind Crimson.
“See that, Tate? That’s what real loyalty looks like.” Crimson explains into the camera then points at Violet. He then tosses a large bloody knife to the floor where it sticks.
“I don’t expect some part time piece of shit like you to understand that. You have no desire to excel in this business like I do. Where could you wrestle that’s better than Union Battleground? Nowhere, that’s where. You Ain’t Shit, Ha. You are a small fish here in a pond full of sharks. You should go back to where you matter. You can’t escape Salvation.” Tommy exclaims into the camera lens.
Throughout the park are severed heads designed by infamous horror film make up artist, Tom Savini. They all hold candles in their gaped mouths to light the park with a hint of sadistic at night. All of the heads were created in Conor’s image. Tommy walks by these heads as he continues.
“You have rules, Tate. As you can see, I have none. I abide by no code of conduct nor ethics of any kind. I will just eat your soul then shit it out. I bet that still draws more flies than you are able to draw fans to an arena. You’ll finally be a somebody. ” Crimson further belittles his pitiful opponent.
“I debuted in the main event then got the submission victory for Salvation at Relapse. People took a piss while you and Rob wrestled. Think about that when you pump out your chest and do your tough guy from Boston bit. You Suck. I smash uncreative twats like you for a living and business is fuckin’ booming.” Crimson laughs then leans in close to the hovering drone.
“Tate… I know you believe in yourself but it’s over. I will halt any momentum you think you have. I will stop you dead in your tracks because I Am Legend. I’m not some part time eater of cocks that couldn’t draw using a pen and pad like you, Conor. Oh, No... You are outmatched, outgunned, and hopelessly and utterly fucked.” Crimson threatens Tate openly.
Violet walks over to Crimson and bows before him. She offers the jar with the tongue inside of it over to Tommy. He throws it at the large steel tree with all his dangling belts. It shatters and the tongue hits the dirt then wiggles slightly.
“Are you scared?” Crimson whispers into the camera.
Crimson then squats down to Violet and they share a deep kiss. A stitch comes loose in her mouth leading a little blood to run down Tommy’s chin. They turn to face the camera with their eyes glowing white.
Post by "C.T." Conor Tate on Jan 22, 2018 23:44:34 GMT -5
ONE WEEK AFTER RELAPSE
The New Zealand sun shines brightly upon the deck, birds chirping in the distance as Union Battlegrounds Conor Tate stands near the edge of the pool with a dumbbell in each hand. He fires off curls, one after the other, hissing out a rhythmic count while staring down at his own bulging biceps.
CONOR: 32! 33! 34! Come on, baby! Put in the work! 35! 36!
He keeps his pace steady, the vein in his neck bulging out further and further beneath his skin as he focuses on controlling the weights on their entire path. They aren't heavy enough for him. He had specifically requested 50 pound dumbbells at the hotels front desk when he checked in, but was told all they had were these 25's.
'Fuck it' he had told himself, he'd just have to lift them a bunch more times.
CONOR: 37! 37! 39! 40! No one can stop you! They know you'll kill 'em! 41! 42! 43! 44!
His intensity had already chased several patrons from the pool area back to their hotel rooms, and as the midday sun began to reach it's peak he was showing no signs of cooling down. If people don't want to be around him, he didn't care. They hadn't wanted to be around him his entire life up until now either. He still had work to do.
He nearly screams the final number, releasing the weights instantly upon completion of the final rep and letting them crash to the ground at his feet. He's drenched in sweat, peeling his tank top up from his chest to wipe his face before rubbing his hands dry on his basketball shorts.
He looks around the pool. There had been a dozen or so people out here when he first started his workout, but it's totally empty now. Maybe Wesley had been right. Maybe a little more decorum wouldn't have hurt, but Conor was proud of himself damn it! For what may have been the first time in his life, he told people he was going to do something and he did it, shockingly well at that. Not only had he gotten his foot in the door at Union Battleground, but he had won his debut at the Relapse pay per view and earned a shot against a multiple time World Champion in the next show... a man who has made an impact of his own at Relapse.
He was fired up. He was motivated. He was willing to do whatever he could to keep this train rolling; even if it meant screaming death threats in front of strangers at the pool.
WESLEY: Conor! I need to talk to you!
C.T. turns to see Wesley making his way hurriedly along the path from the hotel to the pool, his laptop bouncing in his hand as he uses his free arm to shield his pasty ginger skin from the sunlight.
WESLEY: Conor! Have you looked into this guy at all?
He reaches the pool, slightly winded, and slams the laptop down on a plastic table. He stares at Conor, expecting some kind of grand reaction, but Conor is lost.
CONOR: Who the fuck you talkin' about, Wes?
WESLEY: "The Fury"! "Main Event Tommy"! The leader of the Dead Eye Society!
Conor continues to stare blankly at Wesley, and it soon becomes apparent that those blatant giveaways were less than helpful clues to him.
WESLEY: Christ, Conor! Tommy Crimson! The freak show that's going to try and skin you to make himself a fucking leotard!
CONOR: Skin me? Are you fuckin' serious? He'd have better luck skinnin' a fuckin' grizzly. I'll murder that skinny emo prick.
WESLEY: Conor, listen to me, we're not in a bar in Boston anymore. You can't just look around the room and assume you'll knock anyone out with one punch.
CONOR: Sure I can.
WESLEY: No, you can't. These guys are professionals. Some of them have been doing this for decades, and you can't expect them not to have some tricks up their sleeves! This Crimson guy is serious, OK? He's won something like 13 World Championships, and he's been at this since he was 15!
Conor shrugs his shoulders defiantly. He flares his nostrils and spits into a bush, his eyes suddenly ablaze.
CONOR: Oh yeah?! Well I heard the same shit about Rob Sharpe at the beginning of the month, and where'd that get him huh?! Where'd that get him, Wes?!
Conor takes a step towards Wesley, his fists balled at his side and his head cocked as he all but dares Wes to challenge him. Sensing that he may have hit a button, he holds his hands up innocently, adjusting his voice to a more even and soothing tone.
WESLEY: The win over Sharpe was great, Conor, and I know he was your first drinking buddy on the road and all that... but he was not capable of what Tommy Crimson is capable of. Men may or may not be created equal. Wrestlers are most-decidedly not. Will you please take a look at this?
Conor thinks about it for a moment, but shakes his head and rolls his shoulders a few times.
CONOR: Nah, I don't need to see shit. I'm gonna go in there and do what I do. End of fuckin' story.
WESLEY: Damn it, Conor! Take this seriously! Do it for me, or do it for Cat! We'll sleep better knowing that you aren't unprepared and about to get slaughtered by Nemesis and his goons!
Conor softens at the mention of Cat Callahan, and glances down at the laptop on the table. Wesley doesn't say anything, and allows Conor to wrestle with his own ego.
CONOR: Like I said, I don't need to see shit... I'll let you talk though, and I'll listen.
Wesley doesn't push his luck and immediately drops into a plastic patio chair, snatching up his laptop and beginning to scroll as Conor turns and wanders back towards the edge of the pool. He doesn't want to know what Tommy Crimson has done. He doesn't want to know what he's capable of. He wants to get in the ring with him and look him in the eyes for the first time and know that he's a man, just like the rest of them. He'll bleed, just like the rest of them. There's no man that scares Conor when it's time to fight, but he doesn't want to find out if someone scares him before then.
WESLEY: OK, this dude is like a movie villain. He comes to the ring in a coat that may or may not be made out of human skin, sewn together like in-
CONOR: Uh-uh. I don't wanna hear about entrances, his clothes, his favorite food, any of that shit. I don't care. I can look that up on the Battleground website if I fuckin' want to.
WESLEY: Uhhh, alright, well... he started wrestling with fake papers when he was a minor, and he knocked up his bosses-
CONOR: What the fuck are you doin' Wes? You tryin' to drag this guy onto Maury or Jerry Springer? I don't care! I don't care about his illegitimate kids or anything to do with his personal life! Are you hearin' me, Wes?! I don't want to know what size tee shirts he buys from Hot Topic! If you're gonna make me listen to this shit, tell me somethin' useful! Tell me what he can do to me, so I can watch out for it!
Conor spins away from Wes, shadow boxing furiously to work out his frustration. Wes says nothing, but slowly turns back to the laptop and opens a new tab with a frozen video screen. He hits play. The end of Relapse takes over, Tommy Crimsons shocking arrival and the systematic demolition of Dick Deveraux, Johnny Vachon and Kuk Killswitch. It's brutal. It's bloody.
WESLEY: That's what he can do to you. That's what he's done to countless others in promotions all over the world. I'm telling you that this guy is some sort of sociopathic, cult leading, blood thirsty asshole. He does shit Eli Roth won't write and that the Human Centipede guy think is in poor taste. He's dangerous, Conor.
CONOR: Why are we doin' this Wesley?
WESLEY: Excuse me?
CONOR: Am I supposed to be scared? Am I supposed to tuck my tail and run? I gotta fight him, Wes.
Wesley grins.
WESLEY: I know. I think I found something... a way you might be able to get under his skin, make him fight out of character and take some risks to take you out... wanna jump on Twitter?
It takes a moment, but Conor slowly smiles back and reaches for his phone.
