Post by 𝓔𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓮 𝓜𝓾𝓻𝓭𝓮𝓻 on Mar 5, 2018 18:04:51 GMT -5
A late eighties television set comes into focus suddenly. The floor model RCA was top of the line in it’s day. A female scream can be heard throughout followed by the Fury Studio’s logo crossing the screen. The static crosses the screen as the buttons on the television begin to bleed. The wide shot comes into focus and is engulfed by military grade drones. The wide shot is of an abandoned village in India. “Zombie” by Bad Wolves begins to play across the incredible shot of Kuldhara, India. Abandoned and left because of a supposed curse put on the place.
♫WHAT’S IN YOUR HEAD!? IN YOUR HEAD!? ZOMBIE! ZOMBIE! ZOMB-IE!♫
The drones film the landscape until they come upon a warehouse hidden by overgrowth and vines. It was built nearly thirty years ago by people who attempted to inhabit the area. They all disappeared. Criminals now use this warehouse for underground fighting away from prying eyes and the police. Inside the warehouse sits empty. The stench of blood, sweat and death lingers throughout from the previous night’s festivities. Three large walls are now painted a lime green to project special effects of any kind all but one wall. The far wall has a painting of the hindu goddess, Kali. A small fenced in area in the center of the warehouse is where fights to the death take place every sunday night. Digital fire engulfs the warehouse walls all around. The dirt floor comes into focus as does two feet that are completely bare.
Cameras are placed throughout the entire building but the feet are only streamed to the battleground network for the moment. The shot widens to reveal The Fury, Tommy Crimson. He walks in the dirt making footprints with each step he makes toward the small gated area where men walk in alive but are carried out dead.
Crimson leaps up onto the fence then hops on over into the pit. Blood, piss and human feces litter the floor of the fenced in square ring of death. Tommy walks along allowing the mud with the mixture of human fluids to ooze through his toes. A smile crosses his face as he can feel under his feet what was lost here. Crimson slowly brings his head up to face a camera.
“I stood right over there last night.” Tommy exclaims while pointing to a corner of the warehouse.
“I watched ten men walk into this box and die. Criminal elements laid bets as to which man would come out alive. All the while, I watched in the corner with real curiosity.” Crimson continues to explain while staring down the camera with a look on true enlightenment across his face.
“I wondered how could a man walk into this box knowing he may be the one to die. Then I saw Kali painted on the far wall over there.” Tommy extends his right arm out to point out the hindu goddess.
“The Hindu Goddess Kali destroys egoism. She separates you from the body which is the vessel for the ego. If you give her any piece of your body then she will free you of said ego. That’s why these men walked into these fights missing ears or eyes. They cut a piece off to rid themselves of the affliction before walking into this box to die, not tarnished by some unfortunate tough guy misgivings about preserving a false sense of themselves.” Tommy announces then briefly turns away from the camera filming the wide shot. The green screen walls show clips of the different men losing their lives from the night before.
“That brings me to you, Mark Storm. You are the perfect example of what I am talking about. You were pushed by smaller promotions that quickly inflated you to be this great and mighty “hero”. All those voices in your ears lied to you. They led you to create a false sense of yourself that you now believe in wholeheartedly. This lie has stood until now..” The Fury proclaims while spinning around in the fenced in death ring. Human excrement and blood splatters about as Tommy stomps around in it. He turns slowly to face the high definition camera.
“Mark Storm has popped his head up out of obscurity only to find himself staring down one of the best in the world. Didn’t you already lose in 4CW? You Are All Hype. The one “dog” with zero bite. That hint of green across your back will be like blood in the water to the entire four corners roster.” Crimson grins then goes silent briefly to allow the sharp words to cut deep into his opponents already weakened psyche.
“I know you are champion in places you believe matter. They don’t. I could care less if you are, "insert bullshit title here" at who gives a fuck championship wrestling. Literally means nothing to me. I accepted this match to start a war. I want to send you back to Hearst crippled, broken, and “changed”. Give him reason to load the dogs up and come find Salvation. You are merely a pawn in my game of manipulation. Mindfuck, initiated.” Tommy continues to rip apart his unpolished opponent with surgeon like precision.
A map appears across all three green screen walls. The projected image is of a tracker on Violet, Crimson’s assistant who’s tongue he had removed to keep secrets. She was captured by the Triads only to escape three days later. Violet is former special ops and also worked as a mercenary for the Mexican government. She now lurks outside the warehouse looking to take a piece of Crimson.
“Violet has found me, Mark. She claims on twitter that she wants to kill me. I know that it’s because that chinese gang stomped that baby out of her. I paid them well for their services. Violet’s here for revenge. I set this all up so I could fuck with your head while also freeing myself of the burden you carry with foolish confidence.” Tommy explains himself as the red dot on the map creeps closer and closer to the warehouse.
“Pride, arrogance, mercy, and of course pity. All human emotions designed to weaken then slowly break the strong. All four can be linked back to the Ego. You have all of these traits and characteristics, Marky Mark. Once Violet frees me of my personal egoism there will be no stopping Tommy Crimson. I will prey on those four weaknesses in your game then expose you for the fraud that I know you to be. In this delusion, that you meticulously created for yourself inside your own head... Does the good guy win in the end?” Crimson curiously asks of his opponent openly with a sly smirk.
“No, You Don’t. You are no hero of mine. You are just “another guy”. An egotistical maniac that led me to repair a part of myself, so I could further my damning influence throughout this world uninhibited by ego, arrogance, or pride. You are no hero… A hero means well and is “good” for the most part. When in actuality, a hero simply gives the weak a false sense of security while in reality it is I, The Fury, That Murder’s All That’s Good.” Crimson finishes the so called “hero” off with his signature line that evokes true terror.
Smoke begins to bellow underneath the sliding doors of the warehouse. Flames can be seen licking up the side of the building. Suddenly the projects on the walls die out as the power to the building is cut. Crimson leaps over the fenced in area then over to the sliding doors.
Tommy slides the doors open then runs out coughing from the smoke he’s taken into his lungs. He rises to his feet only to face Violet. Her face painted solid black and smelling suspiciously of lamp oil. Violet’s eyes are dark with vengeful murderous intent. She raises a handgun then Crimson’s eyes turn solid white.
“Take a piece of me to keep.. Then kill yourself, Violet.” Crimson’s voice booms at his former lover.
Violet pulls out a bowie knife then raises it up above her head. She brings it down to stab Crimson but he holds up his left hand. The blade connects with his ring finger then severs it completely. The finger reserved for a soulmate hits the dirt. Violet’s eyes are solid white, alive with Tommy’s influence once again. She carefully bends over and picks up Tommy’s finger. She then raises her skirt and pulls her panties to the side. Cameras blur her act, as she tucks it up in herself to keep forever. Violet then disappears with her handgun to end her life. A little girl dressed as the goddess Kali appears from behind the burning warehouse out of nowhere. The girl is painted blue and rides a small tiger. Tommy hits his knees as the little girl touches the center of his forehead for a moment to free his binds.
She then rides off as Crimson feels his ego leave his body after sacrificing a finger to the goddess. He balls up his left fist with the missing finger. Blood fills it so he then reaches up and plants his left palm to his face. A bloody hand print remains as he pulls it away leading the camera to come in close.
“I Am Free.” Crimson whispers.
Last Edit: Mar 6, 2018 0:15:51 GMT -5 by 𝓔𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓮 𝓜𝓾𝓻𝓭𝓮𝓻
"Storm against The World." a voice belonging to Your Hero and Mine.
That's what it felt like.
But he liked that fact.
He enjoyed being hated, vilified, loved and adored because it meant he was doing something that affected people. Unlike other professionals, who danced between the line of bland, he was making an everlasting impression that would cement his name in the archives of the wrestling industry. And when it was all said and done, his name would be aligned with the most polarizing men to ever brace the four sided ring.
That was an accomplishment. That's what it was all about.
"Your Hero, and Mine." his voice was calm and collected and you could tell that he was oozing with confidence. The screen remained black, although you heard his voice twice now, you'd yet to be submerged into the environment he found himself in. Gradually, the scene faded in from black and what you're greeted with is a single stool, underneath it lies three championship belts that belong to the man behind the voice. The camera zoomed in and fixated on the belts; glistening before zooming back out and now coming into view is the man of the hour, the man who'd recently approached Union Battleground to partake in their next, extravagant, event.
Shades cover his eyes, dressed in a black suit with a white shirt dress, hanging out of his jacket pocket is a single white rose. He took off his shades and placed them beside the stool before sitting on it. There it was. The familiar smirk planted upon his lips and brought up two of his championship belts and placed them on each shoulder. Clearing his throat and looking directly into the camera, his eyes glued on them - with an emptiness about them.
"It was only a matter of time before I found myself in this place. I've kept a sturdy eye since the humble beginnings and I've watched men and women pour their heart and soul into this company. Some of them actually accomplish something and feel better for it afterwards. But many of them leave with nothing, too ashamed to stick around because they know they're not cut out for a place like this. A place like this, requires you to be at your best every time you step foot into that ring. I've been the observer. But now, I'm the guy who's gonna be participating." he chuckled to himself, perhaps pondering on the absurdity of the whole situation.
"And what a way to make a debut by facing the man they call, "Main Event"... Tommy Crimson."
There was something about the way he said the name, Tommy Crimson. He said it like he knew him. He said it like he hated him. When in fact, Mark Storm had never met Tommy Crimson in his life, nor had he garnered a reason to hate him. They were merely strangers who had heard of one another from opposite spectrum's of the industry, and that's it. He paused for a moment, licking his dry lips before opening them to speak:
"Oh, I've heard of you Tommy. I've heard the stories. I've seen the matches. And I'm impressed and it takes a lot to impress me, Tommy. You have to understand that. Because a lot of people can talk but they can't back up that talk with their ring ability, whilst you on the other-hand, you go that extra mile and you make sure that your opponents have a match that they'll never forget. You embed it in their minds like a nightmare and you make them believe that you're more than just a man. I admire that.
But I've seen it all before, too. I've seen the whole maniacal madman far too many times throughout my career and every single one of them proclaim themselves as special. But that teenage angst look that you have going on... you know, that depressing, "I'm gonna shoot up your school look", emo vibe that you're working with, it's outdated. I want you to know, Tommy, that you're not special. I want you to understand and acknowledge that I'm not like anything you've faced before. I'm not the square folks that come in and out here, ready for you to dominate. I'm not your standard generic wrestler who prides himself on his ego and only has championship belts to validate himself." he checked both shoulders, both championship belts resting firmly on them, and he smiled. "What I have to back up my words are my list of matches already this year that have been credited as match of the year contenders. That's what I have. That's what I pride myself on because it doesn't matter who I step into the ring with, I'm going to push them to a limit they've never reached before. I'm going to make sure that they come out the other-side as broken as I will. I'm already broken, Tommy."
We get a close up on his face and there's a number of bruises and scars, but he wore them with pride, because they were his medals of war.
"I've already been to hell and back and got coupon along the way. You're right. I have lost already in Four Corners Wrestling and that only proves that Mark Storm is human. Human's lose and it's important to because you learn to hate it, and you wanna make sure that every time you have a match, you're not on the losing end. I'll take that loss on the chin but that isn't relevant now. The hype train continues no matter whether I lose or win because the same results happen at the end of it... I make promotions the big bucks. I'm the guy who's gonna make people wanna tune into the action and pre-order Crown of the King Cobra. It's not your job, it's mine. The only job you have is to deliver when you face me and I have no doubt that you will. Because you are a premier wrestler... despite your sadist, teenage look - you're someone who's going to be at the top of this promotion very soon. Hell, after this match that we're going to put on, you can hedge your bets that you're gonna be catapulted to the top, and you're very welcome.
"I'll put you on the map. I'll make people turn their heads and give a shit about you. I'll make you a star."
"But just because I'm prepared to do that for you, doesn't mean I'm going to give you the win here. That's not what's happening. Don't mistake my kindness for kindness. Because I'm anything but kind. But you'll find out all about that, Tommy. New Delhi, India."
Finally, a place he hadn't wrestled in for over two years. India. Whilst the wrestling scene was minimal and compact, Storm had fond memories of his time wrestling in the nation. Memories that told a story of victory, a story he looked to replicate two years after his last visit. He paused, allowing the viewers to digest his words properly as he clasped his hands together. He proceeded to lay down his championship belts in front of him and he gazed at them. Though they were special to him, he knew he couldn't bring them to Union Battleground in a matter of days, because they weren't relevant there.
He allowed a sigh to escape his lips. "I wear my heart on my sleeve and I always have, Tommy. I'm not afraid to cry. I'm not afraid to lose anymore because I've had nothing before. I'm not afraid of you despite your best efforts to get into this head of mine but it's not working. You're not the first man or woman to try play mind games and use threats that don't end up materializing. You're not the first man to call me out as 'just another guy' either and you certainly won't be the last. The thing is Tommy, I've heard everything you've said before... and I want you to forget what you know. I want you to forget what you think you know. Because that knowledge, this idea you have about me... it's wrong.
You think you've got me all mapped out but you haven't, you're just latching on recycled words and hoping that they sting but they don't. I never proclaimed myself as a hero, that's what people decided to call me because I went around being the good guy. That's what my peers called me because I never backed down from anyone and I worked my ass off to get to this point in my career. I just decided to make it into a thing... and here we are. Your Hero and Mine, so I guess that makes you the villain. And you know how the stories go, don't you? The villain always puts up a good fight. And everyone, for a moment, believes that he's the man that's going to emerge the victor. But right at the last moment... the hero steps it up another gear, and throws everything he has left... and he gets that win, and it's happily ever after."
A grin from ear to ear before his final words: "From Your Hero, and Mine."
